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ateezscupid · 29 days ago

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─── Into It - PT.2 ♡

SUMMARY / Yunho made it clear that he only saw you as a fan he could hookup with whenever he wanted, so you dropped all contact with him, even though it hurt like hell.

warnings ✩ SMUT, A LOT OF ANGST, DOM/SUB dynamics, hurt with no comfort (beginning), unestablished relationship (situationship basically), idol!yunho, atiny!reader, yunho was an asshole in the flashback, switch!yunho, switch (dom leaning)!fem reader, humiliation, choking, reader gets a little rough, unprotected sex, hate sex

word count ✩ 3,71K

tags ✩@desirehorizon @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @lezleeferguson-120 @hwallazia

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST

NOTE !! Part two to Into It (PT.1) also, unrelated, which do yall prefer me use? "come" or "cum", because i use the terms interchangeably!!

"Tell me," he says, "How many posters of me do you have at home?"

His voice kept ringing in your head, no matter how hard you tried to forget. The question was like a knife twisting in your heart, a painful reminder of your naivety.

"It's just a little fun. You're not actually into me, are you?"

It wasn't just a "little fun" to you. You had actually fallen for him, hook, line, and sinker. But Yunho, the heartthrob singer of your favorite boy band, had made it abundantly clear that you were nothing more than a conquest to him. Each time he'd texted you, the butterflies in your stomach had taken flight, but his words had always come crashing down like a storm.

"You're just another notch on my belt, and you're acting like this is something special."

Did he really mean that? You felt like your entire world had crumbled around you. The walls of your bedroom seemed to close in as you stared at the ceiling, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. You had been so blind, so stupid to think that someone like him would see you as anything more than just a fan.

You reach for your phone and unlock it, opening the messages app and staring at his contact. You told yourself you'd block him, but you couldn't get yourself to do it. Instead, you scrolled through the messages, each one a stinging reminder of his coldness, his arrogance. But amidst the hurtful words, there were moments of sweetness too, the kind that had kept you hooked. The way he'd called you "his little secret," the gentle way he'd kissed your forehead, the times when he'd held your hand in public, allowing you to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was something more. But the reality was stark and painful. He was playing a game with your heart, and you were the one getting played.

He didn't even text you after you stormed out that night, and weeks after, you still hadn't received a single message. The silence was deafening, but it was also freeing. You began to pick up the shattered pieces of your heart, gluing them back together one by one. Each day, the pain lessened a little more, and you started to realize that maybe there was a reason why it had to end.

But what would happen if…he did text you? God, you knew you'd be quick to text him back. Just one more time, you'd tell yourself, just to see if he'd change his tune. But you didn't want to go through that emotional rollercoaster again. You took a deep breath, bracing for the inevitable. And then you hit block. The feeling was strange, like cutting off a limb. But it was done. You had officially closed that chapter of your life.

The next morning, after your all-night crying session, you went to get some coffee from your favorite cafe that was only a few blocks away, and you didn't mind walking. The cool breeze brushed against your tear-stained cheeks as you stepped outside into the early dawn. The quiet of the deserted street was a stark contrast to the chaos in your mind. You had made up your mind; you would move on.

You walked in and the barista, a girl named Mina who knew you by name, greeted you with a smile. "The usual?" she asked, her voice filled with concern as she noticed the puffiness around your eyes. You nodded, trying to put on a brave face. The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, and for a brief moment, you felt a sense of comfort.

"You look like you had a rough night." she chuckled trying to lighten the mood, and you just barely smiled. "You doin' okay?"

"No." you gulp. "Yu- um, a situationship I was in ended pretty…badly."

Mina's eyes softened, "Oh honey, I'm sorry to hear that." She paused before speaking again, "But maybe it's for the best, y'know?"

"I guess." you murmured, trying to convince yourself more than anyone else. "I really liked him though, and he kinda acted like I didn't matter to him."

Mina nodded sympathetically as she handed you the cup of coffee. "Well, you're worth more than being someone's "situationship". You're amazing, and you deserve someone who's going to treat you like it."

You took a sip, letting the warmth spread through you. It was a bit too bitter for your taste, but today it somehow felt fitting. "Thanks," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

As you turned to leave, a man walked into the cafe. He had on a beanie and a mask, so you couldn't really make out what he looked like. But something about the way he held himself seemed familiar. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as he approached the counter, and you found yourself frozen in place, watching him. It couldn't be, could it? But as he took off his mask to sip his drink, your heart skipped a beat. It was Yunho.

Your first instinct was to run, to hide, to avoid the pain that seeing him would surely bring. But instead, you found yourself rooted to the spot, your eyes glued to his every move. He looked up and met your gaze, and for a brief moment, it was as if time had stopped. His eyes widened in surprise, and you could see the recognition dawn in them. He didn't look away.

No. No, you weren't going to do this. He told you straight to your face that you were basically just a toy to him! You gulp and force yourself to turn around and walk out, but your legs felt like lead. You could feel his eyes on your back, and your heart was racing so fast you could hear it in your ears. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down. You couldn't believe he had the audacity to show up in the same cafe where you had just confessed to moving on from him.

You tried to walk as fast as you could. You looked back, he wasn't there. You decided to slow down. Maybe he didn't see you. But as you took a step, you heard the bell on the door jingle. You turned around and saw Yunho standing there, looking at you with a mix of surprise and something else, something you couldn't quite place. Your heart hammered in your chest as he started to walk towards you.

He took his mask off and rushed toward you. Instinctively, you turn and rush off. Just make it home. That was all that was on your mind. But as you stumbled down the street, the sound of his footsteps grew closer. Panic began to set in. You didn't want to deal with this. You didn't want to talk to him.

"Y/N!" He yelled and you refused to answer, speed walking away from him. You didn't know how he recognized you, but the sound of your name on his lips made you want to crumble.

You quickened your pace, the sound of his sneakers slapping against the concrete echoing in your ears. The early morning light cast long shadows and the cool air stung your eyes, making them water. You couldn't tell if it was from the cold or from the tears threatening to fall.

"Y/N, please!" Yunho's voice grew more urgent as he followed you, closing the distance between you. You could hear the desperation in his tone, but you didn't dare look back. The ache in your chest grew with every step, but you couldn't let him see you cry again. Not after everything.

"Y/N-"

"What, Yunho?!" you finally snapped, whirling around to face him. Your voice was shaky, betraying the wall of composure you had so carefully constructed around your fragile heart.

He stopped in his tracks, panting slightly from the chase. His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought you saw regret. But it could have just been the shadows playing tricks on you.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words hanging heavily in the air. "I didn't mean any of those things. I was just…scared."

"Yeah, right." The words spilled from your lips, thick with skepticism. "You expect me to believe that? After the shit you said? You basically told me you only talked to me for sex!"

"Okay, I get you're mad but keep your voice down, I'm still an idol."

"Maybe you should've thought about that before using me for my body and then degrading me while you were balls deep in me!" You shot back, your voice rising despite his attempt to hush you. The anger you'd been holding onto for weeks bubbled over, and suddenly, you didn't care who heard you. You didn't care about the stares from the few early-morning pedestrians or the way Mina was peering out the cafe window with concern etched on her face.

"Y/N, please." he says, his voice a whisper of desperation, his eyes pleading. But you're done with his games, done with the hurt. "Don't."

You inhale sharply and looked behind you. "In my apartment. Come on." You didn't know what you wanted to do once you were there, but you knew you didn't want this conversation out here.

The walk back was tense, each step echoing the unspoken words between you. As you unlocked the door and stepped inside, the silence was almost deafening. You turned to face him, arms crossed tightly over your chest, creating a barrier between the two of you.

Yunho's eyes scanned the small apartment, taking in the posters of his band plastered across the walls, and the various merchandise scattered around. He looked at you, his gaze lingering on your face, and you could see the turmoil in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but you held up a hand to stop him.

"No. You don't get to speak." You spat, the words cutting through the thick tension like a knife. "You had your fun, and now you're sorry? You're only saying sorry because you know I could ruin your career!"

Yunho's eyes widened, and he took a step back. "That's not it." He protested weakly, but you could see the truth in his eyes.

You pointed to the door, "Get out." The tremor in your voice was clear, even to you. "You don't get to come into my life, mess it up, and expect me to just let you back in!"

He took a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if to touch your arm, but you jerked away. "Y/N, please, let me explain." His voice was low, almost pleading. But you were done with explanations. You were done with his excuses.

"You don't care about me, Yunho! You never did!-"

"Thats not true! Fuck, can you just shut up and let me explain?!" He was desperate now, his voice rising slightly. His hand hovered in the space between you, trembling slightly.

You looked at him, really looked at him, and realized that maybe he was telling the truth. But it was too late. The damage was done. "You had your chance, and you threw it away," you whispered, the anger draining out of you, leaving only a cold emptiness in its wake.

He took another step closer, his eyes searching yours. "I know I did," he said, his voice hoarse. "But I want another chance. I like you. Fuck, not even like, I was obsessed with you and I still am! I just-"

You held up your hand, cutting him off. "No. Just no. I can't do this again. It's not good for me, and it's definitely not good for you."

"Y/N, please. Please, I'm sorry. Fuck, I am! I'm serious! I miss you so bad, it hurts!" Yunho's words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity, but the doubt remained, a stubborn knot in your stomach.

You swallowed hard, the taste of your own bitterness still lingering in your mouth. "Miss me?" You echoed, trying to keep the skepticism out of your voice. "You didn't even bother to text me after."

"I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to make things worse, and I was…I was struggling with other shit and everything piled on and I was overwhelmed and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not reaching out, I'm sorry for not communicating, I'm sorry for acting like your feelings weren't valid!"

You felt a flicker of something, a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, he was sincere. But the doubt was still there, a heavy weight in the pit of your stomach that seemed to grow with each of his words.

"I've been obsessing over you for the past weeks and I couldn't get you off my mind! Not being with you made me realize how much you actually mean to me!" Yunho's voice broke, and you could see the raw vulnerability in his eyes. And before you knew it, he was…crying?

You felt a twinge of guilt. Maybe he really did mean it. But the hurt was still too fresh. "What do you want from me?" You asked, your voice cracking.

Yunho took another step closer, his hand still outstretched. "I want us to start over. For real this time. No more games, no more bullshit. Just you and me, figuring out if there's something here that's worth fighting for."

You felt your resolve wavering, the walls around your heart cracking at the sight of his pain. But you knew you couldn't just let him back in without making him understand the depth of his mistake. "What's changed?" You asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

You felt his hand on your cheek and almost immediately melted into his touch, but you knew you had to be strong. "What's changed?" you repeated, your voice shaking.

Yunho took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving yours. "I realized that I was an idiot. That you're not just some fan I can use and throw away. That I actually care about you, deeply." His thumb traced the line of your jaw, his eyes searching yours for any hint of forgiveness.

"That I…I love you."

The words hung in the air like a declaration of war, and for a moment, everything else ceased to exist. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drum, the beat echoing in your ears. Love. The thing you had hoped for, the thing you had been too scared to admit to yourself. And here it was, spilling from his lips like a confession torn out of him. But was it enough? Could you trust it after everything that had happened?

For now, you pushed it to the back of your head and pulled him down, smashing your lips onto his. The kiss was desperate and painful, a silent apology and a plea all at once. You felt his arms wrap around you tightly, pulling you closer to him as if trying to meld your bodies into one.

You led him to the couch and threw him down, crawling on top of him and kissing him once again. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as if you could somehow merge your bodies. You felt his hands on your hips, his grip tightening as the kiss grew more intense. You could taste the desperation in his mouth, the fear of losing you forever. And maybe, just maybe, you felt something else too.

You wrap your hand around his neck and bite your lip, pulling away and smiling. "Fucking joke." you smile a bit, moving your hips back and forth on top of him. "Gonna let me use you?"

Yunho's eyes widened a bit in surprise, but he chuckled. "Always," he murmured, his hands sliding down to grip your hips firmly, his thumbs pressing into your skin. The heat from his touch seemed to spread through your entire body, igniting a fire that had been dormant for weeks. You lean down and kiss him again, your tongue darting out to trace the seam of his lips.

You giggle, moving to undo his belt buckle. "But, I want this to be different." You whispered, your voice filled with a mix of hope and challenge. "I'm in charge now."

You sit up and undo your own jeans, pulling them off and throwing them on the ground, You push your panties to the side and straddle his lap, his eyes going wide with surprise. He had never seen this side of you, the side that takes control. You lean down and kiss him deeply, feeling his hands tense up before he relaxes into your embrace.

You pull his pants down a bit along with his boxers, revealing his erection. His eyes are on you, filled with a mix of lust and surprise. You smirk and lean down to kiss the tip of it, making him gasp. This was your power now. You had control, and you were going to make him beg for it.

"Say it." you look up, squeezing his cock a bit. "Say you love me."

Yunho's eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath. "I love you," he murmured, the words coming out with a raw honesty that made your heart skip a beat. You felt a warmth spread through you, a feeling you hadn't experienced in weeks.

"Say it again," you lift your hips, pressing his tip on your clit.

Yunho's eyes glazed over with pleasure. "I love you, Y/N. I love you so much."

"Yeah?" you smile, moaning softly when you lowered yourself onto him. "Prove it."

He groaned as you slid down, taking him inch by inch. You felt his hands grip your hips as you started to move. It was a slow, deliberate pace, designed to drive him wild. His eyes never left yours as you set the rhythm, the early morning light filtering through the blinds and casting a warm glow over the two of you.

The both of you readjusted so it was easier for him to thrust up into you, and you felt your walls tighten around him. You leaned down, pressing your forehead against his. "I missed you too, Yunho." The admission was a whisper, the first crack in the dam of your anger.

"I-I missed you s-so much," he stammers, his eyes fluttering shut as you start to ride him with increasing intensity. His hips meet yours, thrusting up to fill you completely, the sound of your bodies coming together echoing through the quiet apartment. The friction is delicious, setting your skin alight, and you can't help but moan out his name.

"I bet you fucking did." you choke him again, leaning back and watching him as he starts to pant and moan, his hips bucking up to meet yours. You felt a thrill run through you, a heady mix of power and pleasure. This was what you wanted, what you needed from him.

"You love my pussy, don't you? Couldn't find anything better, right?" You taunt, your voice dripping with a mix of anger and desire. You lean back, arching your back to give him a better view of your bouncing tits, your breath catching in your throat as he fills you up.

"Fuck, yes, baby," Yunho groaned, his eyes never leaving yours as he picked up the pace, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your hardened nipples. The pleasure was almost too much to bear, your body responding to his touch despite the words still stinging your heart. "Your pussy is the only one I want, t-the only one that feels this good."

"You bet your f-fucking ass it does," you panted, grinding down harder onto him, your nails digging into his shoulders. The pain melded with pleasure, a heady cocktail that was intoxicating. You leaned down and whispered in his ear, "But remember, you're mine now. Only mine."

"Y/N-" he gasps. "I-I'm clo-"

"Shut up." You push him further into the couch, feeling his cock throb inside you. "You don't get to come yet." You lean down and kiss him again, biting his bottom lip gently before pulling away. You could feel his body tensing, the muscles in his arms and thighs straining as he tried to hold back.

You start to ride him faster, your walls tightening around his shaft with every stroke. His eyes are locked on yours, the desperation in them making you feel alive again. You lean back, watching the play of emotions on his face as you bring yourself closer to the edge. You want to feel him lose control, to know that you have this power over him.

"P-Please, baby," he whimpers, his voice strained with need. "I-I can't hold on m-much longer."

"Oh?" You smirk, increasing your speed, watching his face contort with pleasure. "You're going to cum for me, Yunho. And you're gonna say it."

His eyes roll back, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. "Y/N…I'm gonna…cum," he chokes out, his body shaking.

You lean down and whisper in his ear, "Cum for me." It's a command that sends him over the edge. You feel his warmth fill you up as he groans your name, his body going rigid beneath yours. The sound sends you spiraling into your own orgasm, your nails digging into his shoulders, your eyes screwed shut as you let out a cry of pleasure.

For a moment, you stay there, both of you panting and trembling, bodies still joined. The intensity of the moment lingers, and for a fleeting instant, you believe that maybe, just maybe, he truly does love you. But the doubt is a persistent thorn in your side, reminding you of the pain he's caused.

"I love you so much," Yunho whispers, his voice hoarse and filled with emotion as you both come down from the intense climax. You lean your forehead against his, your breaths mingling as your hearts race together. The warmth of his body feels like a blanket wrapping you up in a cocoon of safety, but you know better than to get lost in this moment.

"I love you too."

#ateez #ateez hard hours #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #yunho smut #yunho fluff #yunho ateez #yunho x reader #yunho hard thoughts #yunho hard hours #sub ateez #sub!ateez #sub yunho #sub!yunho

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aurumalatus · 7 months ago

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YOU ARE THE ONLY THING

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ (THAT'S EVER MADE SENSE TO ME)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader status. ongoing, slow updates genre/warnings. friends to lovers to enemies (sort of) to lovers, past heartbreak, modern!au, university!au, LOTS of stupid mistakes are made, it's an emotional rollercoaster, they're both kind of dumb, it gets MESSY, eventual smut (final chapter only, but can be read without it!) author's note. another kinich fic...no one is surprised. this one is a bit more mature and emotionally complex, but i'm really excited about it! chapter titles are inspired by keshi, dividers are by @/strangergraphics-archive, reblogs/interaction highly appreciated! taglist. join the taglist here!

summary.

kinich broke your heart three years ago. and sure, he regrets it, but there's no turning back time, and now you're at the same university. when he accidentally gets you fired from your part-time job, the two of you enter a cautious deal: he'll do anything that you want for a month, no limits. (but are current efforts enough to undo past mistakes?)

CHAPTER LIST

i. maybe we don't talk enough ii. go back but not the same iii. when we were younger (when we were all about each other) iv. and it's fine if we're only pretending v. know i said no love but i want to vi. fuck it up, laugh it off (and i lost you) vii. tear me to pieces (i won't even feel it) viii. all the time spent couldn't save us ix. stay over and we'll call it love x. i surrender all of me (i'll give you everything) [nsfw]

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #kinich x reader #kinich #genshin impact #adeptus ink #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #kinich smut #primordial jade

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foli-vora · 3 months ago

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run to you: chapter eight

marcus pike x f!reader

A/N: it's here. Finally. Don't look at me. Can't believe we only have 4 chapters to go after this one! I have such a deep fond love for this little universe and I'm so damn thankful for all of your comments, reblogs and asks! Your kind words make my bloody year! Hope you enjoy angels x

Summary: Following on from ‘Traitor’ and ‘You’re Somebody Else’. An unexpected visitor throws you right back into the life you thought you left behind. Working beside the man that put you behind bars is one thing, pretending like you never loved him is another.

Word count: 4.7k-ish

Warnings: angsttttt, swearing, general heartache and bittersweet goodbyes, a break in, these two make me want to listen to a heartbreak playlist all day and just cry

main masterlist | series masterlist

This story will have explicit sexual scenes in the future so 18+ only.

The words play in your mind as you make a beeline to the public bathrooms, a relentless cycle over and over and over. Your conversation with the consultant had been mind achingly frustrating, and yet, despite knowing his little tricks and various mental hoops he gets his chosen victims to jump through, you can’t help it—you give in.

You find yourself jumping through those damn hoops, letting his words drive you borderline insane.

Jane has it all wrong—so wrong—so why can’t you stop thinking about what he said? What would give him the impression that Marcus has feelings for you? Feelings that extend beyond the expected responsibility of a leading agent, and mere guilt lingering from their shared history.

Does he see something you can’t? Has he heard something? Found something?

The bitter tang of resentment builds in the back of your throat as your mind goes down more paths, creating more questions with no answers in sight. This is what he wants.

Jane wants you to be overwhelmed with questions and what ifs and a desperation for the truth, so you’ll go to him for the answers. So he can spin words, play and pick your brain some more. It’s a cycle, one that obviously works well for him. This is how he plays, and it’s vicious and cruel, and—

—and yet you still let his words confuse you, still mull over them in your head.

You keep fucking falling for it.

Your hands shake as they deposit your bag beside the sink, the cold water splashing over your skin doing nothing to divert your thoughts or distract you.

Of course there are no feelings anywhere.

Maybe this is just a ploy to hurt or embarrass Marcus—surely there’d be some bad energy there, given the history between them both. Maybe Jane’s not finding enough entertainment within the investigation and is instead making his own.

You don’t know. What you do know is that you refuse to waste one more fucking second wondering what is going on in that man’s head, and what his ploy is.

It hits you as you stare back at your reflection in the mirror, the obvious internal war written across your face with creases of stress and watery eyes—you can’t do this. You’re not cut out for this rollercoaster of drama. You’ve had enough.

Jane, the case, Marcus, the FBI—you’ve had enough of all of it. You’ve done enough, and Marcus has always said to tell him when you decide you’re done. He’s always said that you’re under no obligation to do anything you don’t want to do, that you could back out at any point. Or maybe that was just another lie.

The bitter part of you churns to life, still angry, still holding onto the aching resentment from the past. Vicious thoughts and memories tainted by heartbreak flood your mind, but it doesn’t seem to cut as deep as it usually would. He didn’t lie about that.

He said you were in control, he gave you his word—and you took it. You trust it.

Would he be disappointed?

You did tell him that you’d help, that you’d do what the FBI asked of you and get them the information they need, but at what cost? Your mental health was already taking hits, an array of emotions continuously assaulting you from merely being around Marcus again, let alone being bombarded and interrogated by some wanna-be mentalist freak from California.

No. He’d understand.

You dry up, blotting the paper towel across your throat and willing your heart to slow down as you look over your frame in the reflection. The wire’s still perfectly hidden, tucked deeply away under your jacket from where Marcus had pinned it, but the mere thought of it sitting there has a cold dread creeping along your veins.

That whole conversation with Jane had been recorded.

Marcus is going to listen to it. His team is going to listen to it. You can’t deal with the fallout of that. You can’t be humiliated like that. What would he do? What would he say?

Though of course you know the truth and that the idea of Marcus having any type of romantic inclination towards you is fucking ridiculous, you’re still not exactly fond of the idea of sitting there and listening to him explain why he does not, and would not, ever have feelings for you.

Maybe—maybe you could get ahead of it.

Surely if you just tell him, ask him, that the recording be discarded as you’re backing out. There’s nothing on there, there’s no need for it. Just delete it, forget about it and move on.

You grab your things and leave the safety of the bathroom, clutching your bag like a lifeline as you begin to make your way towards the exit, but then you see him. He’s a good distance away from the path you’re taking, and you wouldn’t have noticed him at all if you weren’t suddenly highly aware of every person milling about the building.

Edward Thomas.

Someone who had played a big part in your life before everything went to shit. He’d been involved with some of your replicas, their creations and the deals around them once they were complete. You weren’t aware of his exact place in all of it, but you know damn well it was much higher on the food chain than you.

He looks the same, despite everything. Did nothing happen to him when it all fell apart? Was he not arrested along with everyone else?

Probably not. He had money—serious money. He had connections. He had the network you had ensured to keep out of. Perhaps you would’ve been better following his footsteps, kissing asses and sucking up to the underground elites of the world, making more of a name for yourself behind closed doors. You would've been untouchable, invincible.

Where would you be now? Back in your penthouse, mostly unscathed and living life as normal.

There’s no use dwelling on it. It’s a can of worms you could continue to open and close for the rest of your life, wondering what if until it drove you mad.

Doing what Edward Thomas did, does—it’s not you. It wasn’t you back then, and it wouldn’t be you now. You just wanted to paint, you weren’t in it for the money. Although, admittedly, it did help.

You want to move towards him, to hover in the background beyond the group of smartly dressed people surrounding him, enough for him to see you, to peak his interest. This could be what Marcus, the FBI, needs. This could, potentially, help the investigation, if he is still doing dealings under the table.

But then what? You’d be stuck having to go further. There’d be no backing out. There’d be more drama, more headaches, more mind games, more lies. You can’t do it.

This has developed into something you don’t think you have the nerve for. The idea of it all seemed so easy when Marcus came to you, but the reality of it? You don’t have the mentality for it all. You’re not an agent. You’re not trained for this. You don’t have people behind you, covering for you and protecting you.

You turn away.

Rigsby lingers by the bathroom you had exited from, nose in a pamphlet showcasing the must sees of the museum, but his eyes flick to you as if to check on your movements. You swallow, give a barely there shake of your head and then continue on your way out, leaving him to alert Marcus that you had left.

—

You’re only a mere few feet away, but he can feel the distance that now stretches in between you. Distance that could never be removed or forgotten. The thick sheen of glass hides him from your gaze, but that doesn’t stop him from flinching when your eyes glance at the mirror upon entry.

He’s a coward. A fucking coward. He intentionally sat out on the move today, refused to be a part of the team bringing you in, all because he was scared of seeing your face and the look of betrayal in your eyes. Shit, he’s still scared now. Maybe that;s why he stays behind the glass, refusing to be a part of the interrogation.

You’re holding on so fucking strong, he’s damn near proud.

Jenner throws everything at you. He does all that he can, but when you don’t budge, he throws an apologetic glance towards the mirror that you thankfully don’t catch. It’s time to pull out the ace card, to let you know they had more on you than you think, and it makes him fucking sick.

He can’t move.

You’re confused when you hear the mention of his name, his real name, and why wouldn’t you be? You have no idea who he is, who he really is.

Sweat slicks his palm as he pulls at the door to the interrogation room, builds on the back of his neck under the crisp collar of his shirt as he takes a seat. He can’t look at you. He can’t look at you because he’s a piece of shit coward, unable to confront all the shit he’s done.

Bile stings at his throat.

It takes every fucking bit of him to keep it together.

The file is heavy in his hand as he slides it across the table before he finally manages to meet your gaze. It cuts him to the very core. He feels the hit of it deep in his chest. His jaw starts to ache from the pressure of keeping his teeth clenched tightly together, forcefully swallowing down every flicker of pain and guilt and self fucking loathing until he’s nothing but a blank slate.

Tears start to build rapidly in your eyes and he knows then and there that he’ll never forget that look of pure and utter heartbreak creasing your face. The face he had stroked so softly, kissed so lovingly.

“Special Agent Pike,” you rasp softly, almost choking on the words.

It’s a viciously harsh blow to the system and he falters almost immediately.

I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry—

You don’t look at him anymore, and he’s almost glad for it. You’d see how he starts to crumble, how his tongue darts out to wet his lips in a panic and how Jenner makes a small gesture for him to take a deep breath and cool it before he says something that’ll end him in deep shit.

“I want a lawyer.”

—

“I can’t—I can’t do this anymore. Any of it.”

He seems to be expecting the words, taking them in with nothing but a small reassuring smile and a simple, “Okay.”

Honestly, you were expecting a little more. Maybe a few questions fired as to why you couldn’t do it when you seemed so intent on following through with it all originally, but when he says nothing else, you deflate. You wet your lips, wondering if there’s some sort of catch, but Marcus remains silent, watching the flutter of emotions pass over your face.

“That’s it?”

“When I told you that you’re in control of this, I meant it. If you’re done, then you’re done.”

Hearing him confirm it brings such a sweet relief to your mind, you can practically feel the weight of it all start to seep from your shoulders, but despite that guilt still sits in the pit of your stomach, uncomfortable and relentless. It falls from your mouth before you can even think to stop it—

“I’m sorry. I thought—I don’t know. I guess I just thought it would feel different, or be easier than it actually is. I think I’m just… tired. Of everything. I want—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he cuts in quietly, giving a small reassuring smile when you glance at him. “We asked a lot of you, and I understand that. It’s okay—really.”

Your conversation with Jane plays back through your mind, almost tauntingly. A small part of you wants to tell Marcus about it, he should know Jane’s off parading about on his own path without a care for the plans or rules or whatever it is that gets set in place during an investigation, but then what?

He’d want to know what he said, and you don’t have it in you to look him in the eyes and tell him. You don’t want to open yourself up to that embarrassment. Of course what Jane said is all bullshit, it’s ridiculous to even think about yourself, but to have Marcus bluntly tell you so would be a bit of a slap across the face.

“The recording,” you start with the creepings of hesitation, tongue rolling along your lips in an effort to bring the words out smoother, “what happens to it?”

A flutter of a frown creases his brows as he eyes you from across your kitchen before he gives a noncommittal shrug, finding no harm in your curiosity.

“It gets put in with the rest of the evidence.”

“Even if there’s nothing on it?”

“It would need to be cleared by an agent first, but if there’s nothing of use on it then it just gets discarded.”

“If—if I asked you to delete it now, without listening to it, is that… would you?”

The frown immediately deepens.

He seems to stand straighter, something seeping into his expression as your question lingers in the air, and you watch, waiting for the suspicion that doesn’t seem to come. He just seems concerned, whether on your behalf or his investigation you don’t know. He doesn’t seem to know that Jane had jumped on you at the museum, surely that would’ve been something he would address immediately upon seeing you after the last time, so you’re positive he’s unaware of what’s on it.

“I—” he stops, tongue running along his lips, “I can’t risk the case—”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you. There’s nothing worthwhile on it, but if I wanted you to forget about it and delete it, would you?”

Would you trust me?

It goes unspoken, but it lingers behind your words. Despite the anxiety churning in your stomach and the panic building in your chest from how he’ll take your request and what he’ll think of it, you’re curious. He has no reason to trust you whatsoever, especially given your history, but some sort of shaky foundation had been built between you over your time working with him—how far did it go?

His concern grows, and he takes a careful step towards you. “Has something happened?”

Should you tell him? No. Just be done with it all.

“Just answer the question.”

“What happened?”

“Marcus.”

The frown remains steady between his brows, his eyes unwavering as they focus on yours and study your features, but eventually, after a few moments of searching your expression, he gives a small careful nod. You can’t help but recoil slightly in surprise, not expecting the answer. You don’t even know what you were expecting.

Your first response is to call him out, because surely he wouldn’t, but as you watch him and the way he starts to shift almost nervously, you start to believe him.

“You would?” You question softly, brows pulling together. “Why?”

“Because you asked me to.”

That’s it? That’s all it would take?

He swallows, eyes falling to the floor as his hands find his hips. “Are—are you asking me to?”

“Maybe.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“No.”

It’s not an answer he wants, but he seems to accept it. His frown stays on you, his eyes bouncing back and forth between your own as he attempts to work out whatever you may be thinking. You see the conflict play across his face, the urge to push for more answers, the want to understand.

Something seems to click behind his eyes and you don’t know what to brace for in the seconds that follow. Anger? Accusations?

He strides towards the kitchen counter, takes the little device in hand and holds a small button along the side until it gives a small beep followed by a clear confirmation of ‘recording deleted’. It’s over and done with within the span of thirty seconds and you’re left reeling.

Holy shit. He did it. You stare, wide eyed as he tosses it back down and runs a hand over his mouth, before turning and pacing the small width of your apartment.

You watch him go.

There was nothing on it other than your little spat with Jane, but he didn’t know that. You could be hiding anything. You could’ve turned on him, evaded Rigsby’s watchful eye, found someone in your old circle and told them everything you and the FBI have been doing. Anything could’ve been on it, and yet he listened to you.

He trusted you.

“You could’ve just deleted evidence,” you breathe, still stuck in disbelief.

He knows it wasn’t. He fully believes you would never ask that of him, but at that very moment, he couldn’t have cared less if it was evidence. He would’ve dealt with it, like before. Technology isn’t always reliable, and issues almost always arise during cases with something tech-related. No one would know. No one would need to know.

“Yes,” he states plainly, and you’re so perplexed by the word and how he seemingly shrugs off his actions that you need to take another moment to process it.

“Just like that.”

He finally stops pacing, turning to face you fully.

“Just like that,” he echoes quietly.

This was a bad idea.

Not just the erasure of potential evidence and his apparent nonchalance regarding it and the risk to the position he had gruellingly earned over the years, but the whole thing.

The whole fucking thing.

He should never have bought you into this. He should never have knocked on your door. He’s right back to where he was back then, stuck and doing some very questionable shit he would easily lose his job over all because he’s an idiot.

You don’t hide away from his gaze, and he doesn’t shy away from yours. You’re still trying to work out his thought process, the logic behind his actions, and you keep coming up with nothing. There’s no reason why he would do something like this, for a nobody like you. There’s no motivation, no need on his side to do as you ask and blindly delete shit without questioning it further… unless—

Unless, what Jane said holds some merit.

Why else would he do it?

No.

Maybe he’s just doing it as a favour, to try and make up for all of the shit he put you through. That makes more sense than him having feelings for you. He hasn’t been around you enough to justify any sort of feelings—he doesn’t know you. Or is he carrying them from your previous relationship? But it’s been ages since you were together, and that was all fake back then. There was nothing real there, it was all a lie.

The headache is coming back.

You exhale slowly through your lips, eyes falling away from him and to the simple black device once more. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. You don’t need to know any more. It’s all done. It’s over, and you can finally get back to your quiet little normal life. You can move on.

“Thank you.” And you mean it.

“Thank you,” he murmurs quietly, clearing his throat. “I know this must’ve been very hard for you, and we appreciate all of the hard work you’ve put into this investigation. I appreciate it.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” you half smile, the pull of it natural.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he huffs softly in amusement, slowly coming closer to pick up the device from the counter and tuck it away into his pocket.

“I mean, I wasn’t thrilled to begin with, but… it turned out okay.”

He smiles fully, and it hits just like it used to. You don’t look away. There’s no harm in taking it all in one last time. You won’t see him after this. You didn’t know last time, before it all fell apart. You didn’t get a chance to enjoy all of the little things you liked. You didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

“Well, I’ll—I’ll leave you to it. Thank you again. There might be some final paperwork, but I’ll post it out.”

You nod as you follow him slowly to your door, tucking your cardigan around you and crossing your arms tightly across your chest. You ache. Somewhere deep inside your chest twists, and your throat starts to tighten. You’re not exactly sure what you’re thinking when you call out to him before he can reach for the door, and you’re left with nothing to say when he pauses and turns to you.

There’s nothing to say. He doesn’t bother filling the silence. You stand there, eyes roaming his face in an effort to picture him as he was back then, when he was Alex. He lets you. There’s something there, something hanging in the stillness surrounding you both because you can feel it start to tug and twist at your insides.

Finality.

This is goodbye—a proper one.

It’s not Marcus you want to say goodbye to.

Slowly, deliberately, you step into him and he doesn’t move a muscle. He stills under the hand you steady yourself with on his arm, breath all but hardening in his lungs when your face nears his own.

Your lips press ever so softly to his cheek, only mere millimetres from the corner of his lips, and the shaky little exhale he lets out confirms it all for you.

Jane was right, but you have no idea just how much. He was in deeper than you could have possibly ever imagined. Everything was still there, simmering right under the surface and threatening to be his entire undoing. He doesn’t speak, can’t speak, for fear of saying the wrong thing and fucking this last little moment up.

He relishes in it, in the one final tender touch of your lips that sends his pulse to a heavy hammer beneath his skin. It kills him, destroys him, but he takes it willingly with an open heart. The final punishment to close the last chapter of your story.

His eyes are closed when you pull away, but they soon flutter open to meet yours, and they swim with all the apologies and guilt he doesn’t let himself say anymore. You’re thankful for it, you don’t want to hear it. Not now. Your lips tingle, and a warmth spreads along the skin of your cheeks.

“Bye Scribbles,” he rumbles finally, and you swear there’s a slight shine of tears in his eyes.

They mirror the ones suddenly building in yours.

Goodbye Alex.

“Goodbye Marcus,” you return softly, and then he’s gone.

—

He wants to tell you to run.

The words sit on his tongue: a beg for forgiveness, a plea to just get on the first plane out of the fucking country and disappear, and he damn near draws blood to stop himself.

Though he tidied up as much as he could, ensured there were appropriate plea deals in place and a chance for you to get out of this better than the others if you cooperated, he still dreaded the next few days.

You have no idea.

No idea that your world’s essentially going to shatter and come down around you, and it’s all his fault.

Your kisses feel like a punishment. Each one threatens to cut through his restraint, and when you whisper those three sweet words in his ear he wants to vomit.

He wants to tell you everything. He wants to explain that this fake persona you had given yourself to so fully was still him—it was all him, just under a different name.

He doesn’t.

He lets the guilt eat away at him, lets the heartache practically tear him apart from the inside out until he feels raw. There’d be no salvaging this. There’d be no walking away from this with you still on his side, and rightly so. This will fucking break you, and he’ll carry that for the rest of his life.

He sits up long after you fall asleep, studying each dip and curve of your face and committing it all to memory. He traces over your skin, attempts to smile when you sleepily wake from his touch and hides the presence of his tears by scooping you into his arms for the last time.

—

It’s surprisingly easy to return to life as it was before he knocked on your door. A weight had been lifted free from your shoulders, a promise of new beginnings born from finally gaining closure. Was it what you expected? No, but it was no less welcome.

You managed to get your old job back at the diner, and spent days sketching aimlessly in the park.

It was normal, until it suddenly wasn’t.

The door’s pried open when you return from a late night shift, the obvious signs of a forced entry with the wooden edges of the door chipped and the frame split from pressure. Your hand shakes as you push it open, stomach turning as it gives way to the utter chaos that is your little apartment. Your home.

Your things are everywhere, drawers are opened and the contents spilled out onto the floor, furniture upturned and tossed carelessly to the side. Someone had been looking for something, but you know you have nothing of worth. Not anymore. They wouldn’t have walked away with anything of significance but still, there’s a bitter sting of loss, of intrusion that seems to rattle you to the core.

Heart beating heavily in your throat, you carefully step over the mess and further into your small apartment, and beyond the thunder of your pulse you hear nothing else out of the ordinary. Whoever had been here was long gone, leaving nothing but destruction and questions in their wake. Who the hell did this?

He’s the first and only person that comes to the forefront of your mind, and when you shakily reach for your phone and find his name still saved in your small list of contacts, he answers after the second ring despite it being so late. You almost feel guilty for bothering him, but something about the way he seems so immediately concerned placates any doubt.

“Hi, I—I’m sorry, I don’t… someone broke into my apartment—”

There’s a sudden flurry of movement on his end that crackles down the phone.

“Get out of there,” Marcus demands, before you can even finish working out the right words to say.

He doesn’t tell you to call the cops, he doesn’t tell you it’s not his problem and that you’re on your own now. You feel a slight wave of relief, but facing the disaster of your apartment has a wave of vulnerability hitting you and your eyes start to burn.

“There’s no one here,” you mumble around the sudden dryness of your throat, “they’re gone. Can you—”

“I’m on my way. Listen to me, I need you out of there, do you understand? Do not touch anything, leave everything as it is.”

You nod, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to see it, and step back out into the quiet corridor of your floor.

There’s no one around.

Your skin prickles with worry, your nerves working into overdrive to stay vigilant. Every quiet shuffle and bump beyond the walls of neighbouring apartments rattles your senses, and the hand holding your phone starts to shake. He must sense your panic, hear the way your breathing starts to pick up as your chest starts to tighten.

“It’s okay, I’m coming. Stay on the phone with me.”

“Okay,” you exhale as a tear tracks down your cheek, leaving a cool trail in its wake.

Maybe this is an overreaction. Maybe it’s just some random burglary, someone out to get a quick bit of cash for whatever they need, or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s not all over as you had hoped. Has someone found you? Do they know who you are? Do they know what you did?

You feel sick.

Your voice catches in your throat, “Marcus—”

“I know. I’m coming.”

#run to you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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catsushinyakajima · 4 months ago

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KLANCE FIC RECS FOR THE NEW YEARS RECAP PART ONE

2024 has come to an end! Here are all of my fav fav Voltron fics and authors that I've interacted with throughout the year. I'm trying to make this list as diverse as possible so everyone can find some tropes they like but I PROMISE all these fics are worth a read. Listed in no particular order, we have:

fear no more the heat o' the sun by taromi | 28k | Canon-Divergent

This fic is an ASTOUNDING depiction of Keith's perspective on life and how Lance changes things up. Every scene between them added not only to their dynamic, but also to our vision of Keith. We see how he is and how things unfold so beautifully. The prose is beautiful and the scenes carry both fluff/emotion so well.

Silver Bells by heavily_caffeinated/@heavilycaffeinatedsblog | 86.3k | Christmas AU

I'm not one for much holiday cheer/hallmark-esque tropes, but caf's writing still managed to draw me in so much. I applaud Caf sincerely for their incredible diligence to upload a chapter everyday (totaling to 86k words in 25 days!!), and their enthusiasm to include everyone in it's creation. This fic is a pure show of passion, in both it's story and the creation of the story. I encourage you all to check out their other fics too.

late night talking (can’t get you off my mind) by ShatterinSeconds/@shatterinseconds | 5.8k | Werewolf!Keith

This fic is SO GOOD for touch starved Keith. It's short and sweet and you get both perspectives of their pining and feelings together. It's a really cute one shot, and I had trouble picking between this fic and other fics by the author so check those out too! Also @shatterinseconds is the goat for not only commenting on all my fics, but somehow always being in the comment section of every fic I read.

Hearts Don'/t Break Around Here by klancekorner | 135.5k | Roommates/Childhood Best Friends

This fic is a classic in the KL fandom but I still don't hear it talked about enough!! I don't usually like childhood best friends trope that much but this fic made me LOVE it!!! It also portrays Lance's anxiety and Keith's avoidance so so well and shows them growing up beautifully.

Cores of Diamond by speaks/@speakswords | 25.6k | Friends with Benefits

One time I lost this fic in my bookmarks and spent a whole day trying to find it. It's such a good depiction of the way KL don't always see eye to eye due to a lack of proper communication and bridging that gap between them. Has NSFW scenes!

Where the water meets the sky by speaks/@speakswords | 106.3k | Mer!Keith

I NEEDED to rec another speaks fic, this one is unfinished but it ends on a conclusive note. There's themes of growing up, living with changes, reunions, and also lots and lots of feelings.

got got got it bad by kairiolette | 10.3k | Post-War | Pining Keith

This one is also pretty popular. It's so so funny. And so real. Keith goes through the five stages of grief as he realizes he loves Lance and like. Of course he would do that. Really sweet.

so kiss me (kiss me kiss me kiss me) and tuesday's sweetheart (sunday's lover) by hearttpoem | 10k | roommates AU | getting together

This author writes the BEST modern/roommates AU. I love the way KL lives together in their fics and I love the way you can see different love languages in the fics. I was going back and forth between which fic to rec and I chose both these fics cuz I read them all the time!!

Where the apple falls by europa_report/@jupiters-junipers | 130k+ | post-war | comatose

No fic rec list is complete without this fic. This fic is genuinely one of my favorite KL fics, its not finished but I believe the author will finish it. The prose is beautiful and it is an entire emotional rollercoaster. You guys should definitely check this fic out

I've Said Too Much (You Promise I Can't Ever Say Enough) by negativefouriq | 1.8k | Autistic!Lance | Est Relationship

This fic is short, sweet, and such a good depiction of having so many thoughts and wanting to share them all and the anxieties of it. Keith's perspective and his reactions to Lance are very healing to read.

baby, i'll rock your world by AsterikaMay/ @catsushinyakajima | 9.5k | Christmas AU | Gift giving

I am putting one of my fics here lol because I did enjoy writing this one a lot! I keep writing fics about gift giving and pining...this must say something about me ahahah

Part two here

#klance #klance fic rec #keith kogane #lance mcclain #vld fic rec #voltron fic rec #voltron legendary defender

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wondrouswendy · 6 months ago

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Forget to Remember, Chapter 17 Fandom: Alan Wake (Video Games) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fictional Alex Casey/Alan Wake Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Canon Compliant, Canon Retelling, POV First Person, Romance, Horror, Angst, Drama, Humor, Friendship, Character Study, Self-Discovery, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Miscommunication, Canon-Typical Violence, Slow Burn, Established Relationship, Alan Wake Has 99 Problems and Dramatic Irony Is #1 Series: Part 2 of Kill Your Darlings Summary: The trip to Bright Falls was supposed to be a relaxing vacation, a chance to get out from under the collapsed remains of my writing career and to reconnect with my wife. But it was just another part of the spiral. The longest fall into dark depths. I landed into the arms of the person I least expected, the hero I had forgotten.

Determined to find answers, Alan breaks into Hartman's office. Instead of finding the file the psychologist has on him, he discovers two cassette tapes which reveal another perspective on the tragic turn of his writing career following The Sudden Stop.

Read chapter 17 on Ao3 here!

#alan wake 2 #alan wake #alex casey #caseywake #remedy entertainment #wondrouswendy's writing #fictional alex casey #forget to remember fic #we interrupt the boopening with a fic update #another rollercoaster chapter for alan #thank you so much for reading!!

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biasbuck · 3 months ago

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BiAsBuck’s ficrec frenzy

Hi everyone, after a little bit of a break I'm back for 2025 with a new rec post of fic that I've read and loved over the last month! Delighting in the hiatus spec fic, thank you to all the authors for making winter hibernation so much fun. As always you can find previous rec lists here.

25 January 2025

like a lonely seabird by organyx is a 55k one shot that picks up directly from the buddie realtor scene, with Buck spiralling and Eddie trying to follow his heart and find joy, just with a bit of a push to get there. It's beautifully characterised, and a rollercoaster spanning to El Paso and back again, with vital conversations. With excellent teenage Chris characterisation and inclusion. There's a call mishap that had me gasping, and an amazing coming together with mutual understanding. Gorgeous, romantic and satisfying!

if you like it weird, i like it strange by @pairofraggedclaws I am definitely a greedy reader of everything Lou writes! These stories have such a fun indulgent and sexy writing style and the way Buck and Eddie get hot under the collar is incredibly enticing. Here we see them have some fun with orgasm control and a dream inspired fantasy of Buck's set at work. And in the equally gorgeous TRUST! we have Eddie who is particularly sensitive and insecure about it, however Buck has a fantastic time showing him just how they can work with it in their favour. It's a lovely fic that shows partnership and play in a both heartwarming and hot dynamic that suits them so well.

The Whale Fall Principle by @fastcardotmp3 another author whose work I've been delighting in, The Whale Fall Principle is an alternate timeline fic in which Daniel Buckley survives childhood, and it shifts the dynamics of the Buckley siblings forever. Daniel takes on some of the Buck we know and loves escapism needs, he's the one who travels to find himself, whilst Buck is left behind with the sense of responsibility and pressure of being the saviour baby, meanwhile Maddie is trying to keep her brothers together in her life. Eddie is simply trying to understand Buck and where he fits in to their lives. This is such a beautiful, thoughtful, heartbreaking and uplifting fic. I could talk about it for hours. And I also loved:

carefully, I was going to live by fastcardotmp3 - in which Buck finds out about Eddie's will after the shooting....but not from Eddie. Thrust into guardianship, he finds his way with Chris, whilst grieving for his best friend who is in a coma....but after two years, Eddie is waking up, and for him, no time has passed at all. Told in dual POV, each alternate chapter explores Eddie's perspective from two years on and pairs it with Buck's from the time Eddie slips away from him, and eventually, they meet in the middle. It's complicated and full of love, hurt and healing.

paving hell with energy by Elgney ahhhh an 8b spec fic that fits with MY 8b spec re the serial killer based on that trailer...'Buck is having a hard time dealing with Eddie's impending move to El Paso and resorts to some Buck 1.0-style coping mechanisms. Unfortunately for everybody, this backfires in spectacular fashion. Especially for Eddie, who waited until now to realize he was in love with his best friend.' Heed trigger warnings, but I love the sibling dynamics with Buck and Maddie here, and the way the author has nailed the character voices in the 118 banter. Dark and twisty!

Where the Light Enters by @beecauseevan is SUCH a beautifully written and heartfelt story dealing with Eddie's religious trauma. 'Chris is 800 miles away, and Eddie's house feels emptier than ever. As always, Buck is right there, ready to have his back, to catch him without hesitation if he falls...This is fine, until it isn't. Until Eddie finds himself drawn to Buck in ways he never expected—ways that might not be so new at all.' I'm in awe of the way the narrative threads weave together and peel back the layers to let the light into Eddie's story. This one has so much vulnerability, it was healing to read.

and longingly i long by @effervescentwolf explores established relationship Buddie and a touch starved Buck, who craves being held and touching and revelling in the physicality of their love. And Eddie, who he learns feels similarly. I love how the craving and need is written here, it's powerful and sympathetic, and the eventual communication and asking for what you want unfolds so well.

Death Becomes Him by @kungfunurse was such a cool way of examining the 118 (and Buck specifically's) many brushes with death! 'Each time Buck dies, something in him changes. After all, every change is a sort of death, and death is the ultimate change. Or, what does the supernatural look like in the "real world"?' Such a clever character examination, like Buck's lightning math superpowers on acid! And how it affects those closest to him, and his developing relationship with Eddie, with some questions answered and some left to linger enticingly.

A Life For A Life by icewhisper RAVIIIIIII! 'The first time Ravi met Evan Buckley, he never got his name. He only knew him as the man who pulled him onto a firetruck during a tsunami before he jumped back into the water after his son. Five years later, in a collapsed building, it’s Buck who needs saving and Ravi gets a chance to return the favor.' An excellent team based call gone wrong fic, this is Buddie in the background with Ravi and Buck friendship at heart, and it's fantastic hurt/comfort fic. Ravi beloved.

Next to your heartbeat, where I should be by @rainbow-nerdss in which Buck sends Eddie an accidental dick pic, and then through their resulting texts Eddie realises the power of exchanging photos as a means of self love and self esteem boosting to reclaim and celebrate his body...so pic exchanges ensue...totally platonically of course. This is sexy and silly and so much fun, the oneupmanship is hilarious and hot, and as their inhibitions drop...so do their pants.

the sweetest apparition by @hyruling in which 'Eddie moves to Texas. Buck keeps accidentally telling people Eddie's dead. It goes about as well as you'd expect.' I died laughing and then swooned and then cackled, and then cried, and it was all so wonderful. Crack treated seriously, this is one for anyone who is a fan of Buck's perpetual foot in mouth syndrome.

I'll be back next month with my next round of recs, happy reading everyone! 40 days until 8b!

#biasbuck recs #buddie #buddie fic #buddie ficrec #buddie fanfic #911 fic #911 ficrec #911 abc

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claramelooo · 5 months ago

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Hey, babies! Let's go to a another chapter (penultimate chapter)! To write this chapter all i needed was a sad playlist, beign on my period and one KitKat, can you believe that?

If you want, I can make available the playlists that helped me create the story.

Now, enjoy it <3

FEEL FREE TO FEEL

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST, ANGST, HOMOPHOBIA, CHRISTIAN GUILT

Paring: Mommy Wanda x Brat Fem Reader

Summary: The consequences of your actions arrive.

VELVET CHAINS

Consequences

The last month had been an emotional rollercoaster. The time at Wanda’s house had been intense, almost surreal, like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. But, like all dreams, it came to an end. Returning home brought reality back, with controlling parents and suffocating expectations. You and Wanda kept talking, but something had changed.

She didn’t text as much as before. The calls, which used to be long before bed, now barely lasted 30 minutes. And even when you took the initiative, her responses became colder, shorter.

You tried to ignore it.

The SAT was approaching, and that consumed all your energy. “She must be busy,” you told yourself. But an uncomfortable feeling of loss began to grow, like a silent emptiness.

As soon as the test was over, you felt like you could breathe. You felt confident—the test model this year was the same as what you had studied. But now, all you could think about was fixing things with the woman who haunted your mind, even in your dreams.

You wanted to see her, to get answers. But when you arrived, no one was there. A neighbor mentioned that the Maximoffs were at the hospital—Billy had fallen ill. Panic gripped you. You spent days trying to contact Wanda, sending messages, calling, but it was like shouting into an abyss. Her silence was deafening.

Then, during a family lunch after Sunday service, your mother casually said, “Wanda really needs our prayers right now.”

You furrowed your brow, confused.

Your father fervently agreed. “Yes. Now that Billy has finally received his diagnosis, it will be easier for our prayers to reach the ears of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Your heart seemed to stop for a moment.

“What… happened to Billy?” you asked, fear creeping into your voice, gripping your utensils harder than necessary.

“Oh, dear! Billy has cancer.”

The world stopped.

Your mother’s words echoed like thunder inside you, shattering any fragment of calm left. Billy has cancer.

The utensils fell from your hand with a dry clatter onto the table. The air seemed to freeze in your lungs as the weight of those words seeped into your mind like poison.

Images of Billy flooded your mind: his mischievous smile, the spark in his eyes when he ran through the garden, the way he threw himself into your arms without hesitation. Now, all of that seemed distant, fragile, as if it could disappear at any moment.

“Are you okay, dear?” your mother asked, but her tone felt more like an obligation than concern.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to blame your mother for treating the news so lightly. But the words wouldn’t come. There was only a tight knot in your throat, choking you.

“Excuse me,” you murmured, hastily getting up from the table, your legs shaking with every step.

In the bathroom, you slid down the door to the cold floor, your chest burning with despair. The news hit you like a violent wave, and you couldn’t breathe. The tears came, hot and uncontrollable, as you pressed your hand against your mouth to stifle the sobs.

All you wanted was to see him, to see Wanda, to say you were there for whatever they needed. But how? Wanda wasn’t answering. She didn’t want you around.

Without thinking twice, you went to the Maximoffs’ house.

However, when Wanda opened the door, her gaze was cold as she looked at you.

“What are you doing here?” The question cut like a knife.

“I... I heard about Billy. I wanted to know how you both are,” your voice trembled, but you tried to sound firm.

The woman sighed, crossing her arms—building a wall between you.

“This isn’t your problem,” she replied, her tone sharp.

You stood frozen at the threshold, as if the icy pain of her words was physical. Her tone was distant, almost cruel, but her eyes… Ah, Wanda’s eyes told a different story. There was something there, a shadow of pain, of something unsaid, that made your chest tighten even more.

“Wanda, please,” you tried, taking a step inside, but she raised her hand, blocking your entry.

“I said it’s not your problem,” she repeated, more firmly, though her voice had a slight tremor at the end.

“How can you say that?” Your voice cracked, the words coming out desperate. “I care about you both. I care about him! About you!”

Her green eyes closed for a moment, as if gathering strength. When they opened, they were harder, but the pain you saw there almost made you collapse.

“You don’t understand. You can’t understand.” Her voice dropped, almost a whisper, but still heavy with weight.

“Then explain it to me!” you pleaded, feeling the tears threatening to fall. “I’m here, Wanda. I’ve always been here!”

She laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, without humor. “You think that’s enough? That being here will fix anything?”

You took another step, desperate to break the invisible barrier she had placed between you. “I don’t know, but I want to try. I want to help!”

Wanda shook her head, her golden hair swaying with the motion.

“You can’t help. Not now, not ever. You need to go.”

“Don’t say that…” your voice broke.

“You need to go,” she repeated, quieter this time, but still unyielding.

Silence fell between you like a stone, heavy and unbearable. Her eyes, so bright and so full of everything she didn’t say, pleaded with you for something her words denied.

“Why are you doing this?” you whispered, unable to contain the tears now.

She took a deep breath, looking away, but not before you saw the glimmer of her own unshed tears. “Because it’s better this way.”

“Better for who?”

She didn’t answer. She simply closed the door slowly, leaving you on the other side.

You stood there, your forehead pressed against the cold wood, the sobs finally taking over you. The emptiness she left was suffocating, and all that was left were her cold words, which didn’t match the warmth and pain you saw in her green eyes.

You left with half of your heart shattered.

A month later, the SAT results finally arrived. You were in the living room, your heart pounding so loudly it seemed to echo through the space. When you opened the email and saw the word “Congratulations!”, tears immediately filled your eyes.

“I did it,” you whispered to yourself, disbelief mingling with happiness.

But it wasn’t just a “Congratulations.” It was Yale. The university you had spent countless nights dreaming about, imagining its halls, the lectures, the debates that would shape your future. It was the beginning of something monumental, the start of a journey that always felt so distant and yet so viscerally yours.

You ran to the mirror in the hallway and looked at yourself, laughing as tears streaked your flushed cheeks. “I did it! I did it!”

The dreams you’d held close to your chest began to take form. Studying International Relations at one of the world’s most prestigious universities was more than a personal achievement; it was the first step toward making a difference. You envisioned nights buried in books, exploring cultures, questioning systems, trying to understand—and maybe, to change—the world.

Above all, there was your dream of becoming a writer. A quiet desire that grew with every story you created, every character you brought to life, every corner of the world you translated into words. You wanted to be more than an observer. You wanted to be a storyteller, someone who could take the complexities of life and turn them into something that could touch others.

Changing the world—that had always been the goal, even when it seemed impossible. Perhaps it was too ambitious, maybe even foolish, but it never stopped you. You knew that, with the right words, you could reach hearts, open minds, and perhaps inspire someone like you to never give up.

In that moment, alone in the room, you allowed yourself a moment of pure joy. Every sacrifice, every sleepless night, every doubt—it had all been worth it. You weren’t the girl who just dreamed anymore. Now, you were the girl who made it happen.

And Yale was just the beginning.

But when you were ready to share the news with your parents, you were met with a suspicious look. “So?! What’s this news you have to share with us?!” your father asked, his tone sharp, leaving you confused.

You swallowed hard, the paper with the printed Yale email trembling in your hands. The pride you’d felt just moments ago was suffocated by the tension in the room, as if the air itself might shatter.

“I… I wanted to tell you that I got into Yale,” you started, trying to ignore the edge in your father’s gaze and the false softness in your mother’s voice. “I did it. I’m going to study International Relations. My dream—”

“Yale?” your father interrupted, his voice icy, almost harsh. “And what exactly do you plan to do there, huh? Continue with this shameful behavior we’ve been hearing about?”

“Shameful?” Your voice came out as a whisper, confusion and fear gripping you.

Your mother let out a deep sigh, as if exhausted by something beneath her notice. “Don’t act innocent, Y/n. People talk! One of the sisters at church told us you’ve been behaving… inappropriately with Yelena.”

You felt your heart plummet, your hands tightening around the paper until it crumpled. “Yelena is my friend!” you tried to explain, but your mother raised a hand, silencing you.

“Friend?” She laughed, but there was nothing warm in that sound. It was cold, harsh. “We hoped you would understand what happens to girls who stray from God’s path. Or do you think you can ignore His teachings and still expect us to tolerate it?”

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice faltered, but anger began to simmer beneath the surface, mingling with humiliation and hurt.

Your father took a step forward, his expression dark as a storm. “You know exactly what I’m talking about! Don’t pretend to be blind. Or do you think we’re fools?”

“Dear, please,” your mother attempted to soothe him, but he ignored her.

“I’ve always known there was something wrong with you, Y/n. Always so… different. Strange. God knows we tried, we prayed, but maybe this was a mistake. Maybe we never should’ve given you life.”

Those words landed like a knife, slicing through everything inside you. You stepped back, wide-eyed, trying to process what you had just heard.

“How can you say that?” Your voice trembled, but it was strong enough to echo through the room.

Your mother shook her head, a look of false sadness on her face. “No one’s saying you have no worth, Y/n. We just want you to understand… this path you’re taking is wrong. We don’t want you to lose your soul.”

You felt tears burn your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not in front of them. The pride of getting into Yale, the dream you so desperately wanted to share, was ruined—drowned in the pain of prejudice from the very people who should have loved you unconditionally.

“I haven’t lost my soul,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “But I think you’ve lost yours.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and walked out, clutching the crumpled email against your chest. The pain was suffocating, but the small flame within you—that dream of changing the world—refused to go out.

Their words were cruel, irreversible, leaving a wound you knew would never fully heal. You cried, but instead of drowning in the hurt, you did what you always did: you turned to Wanda.

When you arrived at her house, Wanda was in the living room, absently toying with a book.

“I needed to see you,” you began, but she didn’t even look up.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her voice cold.

“Wanda, please. I have no one else. Let me explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain,” she interrupted, finally looking at you.

Her eyes glimmered with something that felt both vulnerable and cruel. “You need to move on with your life.”

“You’re pushing me away,” you whispered, the pain spilling over.

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

She closed her eyes, sighing deeply, as if searching for calm—or perhaps the words. “Because I need to be here. With my children, with my husband.” The mention of Vision as her husband made your heart bleed.

The pain in Wanda’s words was like a direct blow to your chest. You searched her eyes for a spark of truth, something to tell you this wasn’t real, that she didn’t mean it. But her gaze was implacable—cold and empty.

“Is that it? You’re saying everything we had… was nothing?”

“It was a mistake.”

The word hit you like a dagger. You stepped back, feeling the ground disappear beneath your feet. “A mistake?” Your voice was barely audible.

“Yes,” she insisted, as though repeating it could convince herself. “I can’t keep doing this. You’re young; you have your whole life ahead of you. I’m just a woman trying to keep my family together.”

Her words left you shattered.

“You’re lying,” you said, tears finally escaping. “You feel it too, Wanda. I’ve always seen it in your eyes.”

She hesitated—a crack in the mask. But then she shook her head, bitterness lining her expression. “You need to leave, Y/n. Don’t come back. Don’t write. Don’t look for me.”

“Wanda…” you started, but she raised her hand—final, definitive.

“Go.”

You stood there for a moment, searching her face for anything—anything to hold onto. But all you found was emptiness. So you turned and walked away, feeling like each step took you further not just from her, but from a part of yourself.

Outside, the air felt colder, heavier. You didn’t know where to go. But you knew you couldn’t stay. And as the door shut behind you, the sound echoed like a full stop on a story you weren’t ready to end.

The bus that would take you to the university was crowded, yet somehow, you felt completely alone. The worn-out suitcase rested at your feet, carrying the little you had decided to take with you. Everything else—the memories, the broken bonds, the weight of unspoken words—was stored somewhere else, too deep to reach.

As the vehicle moved along the road, you stared out the window. The trees turned into blurs of green and brown, as though the world was rushing away from you, leaving behind a trail of silence and emptiness. Yet, amidst that emptiness, there was something different. A faint but unbreakable strength that kept you standing.

The first days in Connecticut were difficult. Loneliness felt alive, pressing on your shoulders as you explored Yale’s campus. The dream that had once seemed so bright now felt clouded, dimmed by the absence of something—or someone.

Still, you forced yourself to keep going. Routine began to fill the empty spaces: classes, books, notes. You threw yourself into studying, as if every word absorbed was a step toward rebuilding yourself. But at night, when the world grew silent, your mind wandered.

Wanda.

Her name was a constant whisper, echoing through the most fragile parts of your mind. You saw her in small details: in the brown of an autumn leaf, in the faint scent of citrus perfume, in the muffled sound of laughter in the distance. No matter how hard you tried to push her away, she always found a way to return.

But amidst the pain, there was resilience. You forced yourself to remember why you were there. It wasn’t just for a diploma; it was for something bigger. For a future. For a version of yourself that Wanda could not destroy.

One morning, as you sipped coffee at a small café near the university, you noticed something. The bitter taste of the coffee didn’t seem as bad as before. The sunlight filtering through the windows carried a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. Small things that once went unnoticed now felt... possible.

You knew there was still a long road ahead. There were still nights when the weight of Wanda’s absence was unbearable, and days when the world seemed empty without her. But amidst all of that, there was a growing strength.

You were learning to stand up again. And maybe, one day, you could look back and realize that even in loss, you had found yourself.

[...]

"Mom!" Wanda dropped everything the moment she heard the boys’ scream from the bedroom.

“What happened?” She grabbed their cheeks harder than necessary, checking them over.

“Look, Mom, a hair grew!” Billy said happily, and Wanda smiled at the sight of a small brown tuft growing.

“Oh, look at that... We can finally pick a hairstyle for you, can’t we?”

Wanda laughed, feeling a genuine relief for the first time in months.

The joy in Billy’s eyes was contagious, as if that small strand of hair was a trophy—a victory over everything they had faced.

“I want a mohawk!” Billy declared enthusiastically, crossing his arms in a defiant manner.

“A mohawk?” Wanda raised an eyebrow, pretending to be horrified. “Do you know who's in charge of the style in this house?”

“Oh, Mom! Please!” Billy begged, pulling his best puppy-dog face, while Tommy, always the smartest, joined the conversation.

“If he gets a mohawk, I want one too!” Tommy said, already messing with his own hair.

Wanda placed her hands on her hips, staring at the two of them with a mockingly stern look. “If you two show up with mohawks, you’ll have to explain to Dad why he’s the only bald one in this house!”

The boys burst into laughter, and Wanda couldn’t help but laugh too, sitting on the carpet between them. It was a simple moment, but one filled with meaning. As the two argued about the most ridiculous hairstyles they could try, she realized how much these little things mattered.

She ran her fingers through Billy’s newborn strand of hair, her smile soft. “You know, you’re the bravest boy I’ve ever met.”

“I know I am!” Billy replied confidently, earning more laughter from her and Tommy.

As the boys laughed and made impossible plans, Wanda allowed herself something rare: hope. Perhaps the weight she carried could, little by little, dissolve in moments like this.

For a moment, she felt the urge to share this joy with you. To send a picture of the small tuft of hair or tell you how well the boys were doing. But then, she remembered you weren’t there anymore.

Even so, looking at her sons, Wanda knew she still had a reason to fight, to smile. She pulled both of them into a tight hug, ignoring their playful complaints.

“I love you both, you know that?” she said, kissing their foreheads.

“We love you too, Mom,” Billy replied, with the same smile that lit up Wanda’s world, even in the darkest moments.

Later, as Wanda stirred the stew with a wooden spoon, her thoughts drifted to ten months ago.

Discovering Vision had been like a lightning bolt shattering the perfect world Wanda had fought so hard to maintain. He hadn’t yelled, hadn’t confronted her directly. He didn’t need to. He simply looked at her with a mixture of disdain and disappointment, and in a cold tone, made his threat clear: “If this continues, I will take the boys. You know I can. And you know I will.”

That night, while Vision slept, Wanda sat at the edge of the bed, her hands trembling with pure rage. She watched him silently, battling thoughts that terrified her. A dark part of herself whispered that it would be so easy to end it all—one move, one spell, and Vision would be nothing but a distant memory. But then Billy coughed from the other room.

Reality came crashing over her like a wave—cold and crushing. The boy’s soft cough was the harbinger of the nightmare to come. Within days, the diagnosis arrived: skin cancer.

Wanda’s world collapsed.

Seeing Billy so fragile, so vulnerable, was a pain no words could express. The chemotherapy sessions left her boy weak, his bright smile fading little by little, replaced by a weary expression. He began losing weight, and the soft curls Wanda loved to caress fell out, untilnothing remained.

Wanda stayed by his side, but every treatment session was like a dagger to the heart. She held Billy’s hand as he cried, his small body shaking with pain and exhaustion, and the guilt grew inside her like a monster. She wondered if all of this was divine punishment—for betraying Vision. For letting herself be carried away by you.

And yet, in the quiet moments, while Billy slept, she thought of you. She thought of how you made her feel alive, how your presence illuminated the darkest corners of her soul. Of the smiles you pulled from her, even when the world felt too heavy.

But now you were part of the weight, too. Vision knew. Vision was watching. And Billy needed her. Wanda knew she had to cut off what existed between you two. As much as it hurt, it was the only way to protect her children.

So, she hardened her heart. She said the cold words she knew would push you away and that she knew she would regret later—even as her eyes silently begged you not to believe them. When you left, she cried in silence but tried to convince herself she had done the right thing.

As Billy began to recover, the guilt and emptiness only grew. With each day he grew stronger, Wanda felt grateful but also painfully aware of your absence.

And it hurt. Wanda began to experience withdrawal—she saw you in everything.

You were in every corner of the house, in every shadow of the sunset that lit the living room. Wanda heard your laughter echo through empty hallways, your soft voice whispering things only she could hear. It was as if the entire world conspired to remind her of you, and the more she tried to escape, the more you haunted her.

The nights were the worst. The pillow beside her seemed soaked with your scent, and it drove her insane. She would clutch the fabric, eyes closed, trying to recreate the feeling of your lips on hers, the warmth of your skin. But it was useless. It was torture.

Wanda began spending more time in her room, sitting on the bed, holding a book she couldn’t read. Every page she tried to focus on was a blur, replaced by images of you smiling, you laughing, you crying. The memory of your voice calling her name was almost tangible.

She began to wonder if she was losing her mind. The withdrawal was physical. There was a hole in her chest that couldn’t be filled, an insatiable hunger that no food or drink could satisfy. Wanda stopped eating, stopped sleeping. The woman who controlled everything and everyone in her life was now at the mercy of a desire that was slowly destroying her.

In a desperate impulse, Wanda grabbed her phone and typed in your number. Her hands trembled, and her heart beat so hard she could barely breathe. But before pressing the call button, she stopped.

She knew she couldn’t. That you were better off away from her. But knowing that didn’t make her feel better. It didn’t stop her from wanting you with an intensity that made her hate herself.

Wanda threw the phone onto the bed, her eyes burning with tears she refused to let fall. She leaned forward, hands in her hair, pulling it hard as she breathed deeply, trying to erase you from her mind. But you were an addiction.

An addiction that was killing her slowly.

“I hate you,” she whispered into the void, her voice hoarse, broken. “I hate you for making me feel this way.”

She loved you. She loved you so much it destroyed her. And as the days passed, Wanda knew she would never be whole again. Because even as Billy grew stronger, as life returned to some form of normal, somet

Another Sunday, another church service. But the woman had a plan—Wanda was nervous, though she tried to hide it. She dressed with her usual elegance, maintaining the calm posture that often intimidated others, even when everything inside her was chaos. As she walked to your house after the service, she rehearsed in her mind what she would say to your parents. Nothing too direct, just a casual question. She needed to hear something about you, anything that could connect her to you again.

When the door opened, your mother greeted her with a hesitant smile, as if she already knew the visit wasn’t purely social. After a few exchanged words, Wanda asked the casual question—or at least tried to make it sound that way:

“So, how’s Y/n? It’s been a while since I’ve seen her…” The woman’s eyes scanned the room, searching for your figure, for your shadow.

Your mother’s face hardened, and your father, who was sitting on the couch, let out a bitter laugh.

“How is she? We don’t know, because she left without even saying goodbye.”

Wanda froze, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it was crushing her ribs. “She... left?” Her voice came out low, almost a whisper, but heavy with disbelief.

“She did,” your father replied, his voice cold. “After everything we did for her, she decided to abandon us as if we were nothing.”

Your mother sighed, though she seemed more irritated than sad. “She was always… difficult. And now, look at her. Yale? Big deal. It means nothing if she doesn’t have respect for her own family.”

Wanda couldn’t hear the rest. The phrase “she left” echoed in her mind, a mantra that ripped apart every piece of logic or self-control she had left. She stood abruptly, mumbling something incomprehensible as an excuse to leave.

As soon as she stepped out the door, the mask fell. Her hands trembled violently as she searched for her car keys. The thought that you were gone, that you were far away and out of reach, was unbearable.

On the way back, Wanda could barely drive. The road was a blur as tears filled her eyes. She parked haphazardly in front of her house and rushed inside.

As soon as she shut the door, she collapsed onto the living room floor. Tears streamed down her face as she held her head in her hands, her body shaking with sobs she could no longer hold back. You had left. You weren’t there anymore. And she had never said goodbye.

“Why did you do this?” she whispered to the emptiness, her voice broken. “Why did you leave me? I… I just wanted to protect you…”

But she knew. She knew that pushing you away had been the greatest mistake of her life. And now, you were gone, and Wanda was alone, trapped in a world where everything felt colorless, lifeless.

That night, she picked up her phone again and typed in your number. But, just like before, she couldn’t bring herself to press “call.” All that remained was the emptiness of a name on the screen, and a hole in her chest that nothing could fill.

[...]

The morning was like any other over the past five years: a stifling Sunday, and Wanda sat in the back seat of the car next to the boys while Vision drove with his usual precision. She didn’t pay attention to the words he was saying, only nodding mechanically, keeping the serene face that had become her mask.

The twins, now 16, were as irreverent as teenagers could be, arguing over something trivial. Wanda heard the sounds but didn’t process the words. Her heart beat in the slow, hollow rhythm of a life on autopilot.

When they arrived at the church, Wanda adjusted her dress and put on sunglasses to hide the tiredness in her eyes. The family looked perfect—Vision held her hand with a polished smile, while Billy and Tommy walked ahead, grumbling about how much they hated being there.

Then it happened.

As they walked toward the church’s grand doors, something caught her attention. It was a woman standing across the street, scrolling on her phone. Her hair, the way she held her bag, her posture… everything made Wanda’s heart stop for a moment.

It was you.

Wanda blinked, feeling the blood freeze in her veins. It couldn’t be. You were far away. For years. But that woman...

Without thinking, she let go of Vision’s hand. “Wait here,” she said quickly, not looking back.

“Wanda? Where are you going?” Vision asked, confused, but she was already crossing the street.

“Hey, Mom! What the hell?” Tommy shouted, but she didn’t respond.

Wanda’s heels struck hard against the asphalt as she ran, her heart racing. Every step made her believe more: it was you. It had to be you. The world seemed to stop, all the noise around her muffled by the sound of her ragged breathing.

“Y/n!” she shouted, her voice hoarse and desperate.

The woman stopped and turned slowly, a confused expression on her face.

But it wasn’t you.

Wanda’s heart plummeted. Reality hit hard, like a cold blow to the stomach. The woman was taller, her eyes a different color, and the smile she gave was polite but completely unfamiliar.

“Are you okay?” the stranger asked, unsettled by Wanda’s intensity.

“I… I’m sorry,” Wanda murmured, stepping back, her face burning with shame. “I thought you were someone else.”

Without further explanation, she turned and began walking back to the church, her shoulders tense, trying to hide the trembling in her hands.

Vision was at the entrance, arms crossed, with the boys beside him, both looking visibly confused.

“What was that?” he asked, his voice laced with irritation.

“I just… thought I saw someone,” Wanda replied, her tone flat.

Billy tilted his head, narrowing his eyes at her. “Are you okay, Mom?”

She forced a smile, briefly caressing his face. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t. Because as Wanda climbed the church stairs, the emptiness inside her felt even larger, as though it had been ripped open again by the memory of you. And she knew, with crushing certainty, that she would never stop searching for you—in crowded streets, in dreams, in the past she could never bury.

That afternoon, the house was silent, except for the distant clatter of dishes being washed in the kitchen. Vision had gone out to deal with something for work, and Wanda sat on the couch, her hands clutching a cup of tea as if it were a shield.

Billy and Tommy were upstairs, but she knew it wouldn’t take long for them to come down. That’s how every Sunday was: a mixture of monotony and tension that seemed to suffocate the air in the house.

When the sound of their footsteps began echoing down the stairs, Wanda tried to brace herself. She knew the boys were growing up, becoming more curious, more incisive. And lately, they seemed much more attentive to her.

Tommy appeared first, followed by Billy, whose expression was more serious. They sat on the couch opposite her, exchanging looks before Tommy finally broke the silence.

“It’s time for you to talk, Mom,” he began, as direct as always.

Wanda lifted her eyes to them, frowning. “Talk about what?”

“About you,” Billy replied, his voice softer but just as firm. “You haven’t been the same in years.”

She laughed nervously, trying to deflect. “Of course I’m the same. You two are just growing up and becoming nitpicky.”

“No, Mom. That’s not it,” Tommy insisted, leaning forward. “You’re different. Since… I don’t know, since we were younger. It’s like you’re living on autopilot, like you’re here, but not really.”

Wanda looked at them, her heart tightening. They were so perceptive, much more than she wished they were.

“And, like,” Tommy continued, hesitant now, “there’s something you don’t want to talk about. There always has been. We just didn’t know what it was before.”

“Tommy…” Billy shot a warning look at his brother, but Wanda was already on alert.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” she said, her voice low.

Tommy took a deep breath, hesitating for a moment before blurting out, “It’s about that girl, isn’t it? Y/n?”

Wanda’s world seemed to freeze. Her breathing stopped, and the name rang in her ears like an explosion.

Billy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Tommy!”

“What? You think I don’t know? Every time someone mentions her name, Mom gets that look…” He gestured dramatically at Wanda’s face, which was now completely pale.

“That’s none of your business,” Wanda finally managed to say, her voice trembling.

“But it is our business,” Billy replied firmly. “Because you’re our mom, and this has been eating at you for years. Who was she, Mom? Why is she so important?”

Wanda looked at them, her chest tight, her eyes burning with tears she wouldn’t let fall. How could she explain? How could she put into words something so overwhelming?

“She was…” Her voice faltered, and she closed her eyes for a moment, trying to find strength. “She was someone I never should have met. But someone who changed everything.”

The boys exchanged confused glances but didn’t interrupt.

“She… She made me feel alive in a way I never had before,” Wanda continued, her voice barely a whisper. “And I lost her. Because I chose to lose her. Because I had to choose you.”

Tommy fell silent for the first time, and Billy looked as if he was about to say something, but Wanda stood up, gripping the cup tightly.

“That’s all you need to know,” she said, her voice now firm. “She was a mistake I couldn’t keep.”

Tommy was the braver of the two, while Billy had always been more sensitive. Billy pulled the woman into his arms, even though she hadn’t asked for the hug. Wanda didn’t refuse—she wasn’t in a position to.

“So that’s it? She was a mistake in the past, but what about now?” Tommy asked, his tone impassive.

Wanda looked at the boy, cursing how much they had inherited her stubbornness.

“Tommy, I’m married to your fa—”

“Oh, Mom! Don’t start!” The boy huffed. “We all know your marriage is just a façade. Everyone knows.”

Tommy’s words hit Wanda like a punch to the stomach. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He was right. Everyone knew. She knew.

Billy still held her in his arms, squeezing her with the tenderness that only he seemed capable of offering. Wanda relaxed momentarily, letting herself be embraced by her son, but Tommy’s gaze remained fixed on her, as if he wouldn’t let her escape so easily.

“Tommy, you don’t understand. I can’t just…” Wanda started, but her voice faltered.

“Can’t what?” Tommy interrupted, standing up from the couch. “Can’t go after the one thing that actually makes you happy? Can’t fight for someone you still love? That doesn’t make sense, Mom!”

“Tommy, it’s not that simple,” Wanda insisted, her voice trembling. “There’s so much at stake. I have you, I have responsibilities—”

“Responsibilities that leave you like this?” Billy murmured, letting her go but staying close. “We can tell, Mom. You pretend all the time, but you’re not happy. You haven’t been happy for as long as we can remember.”

Wanda ran a hand through her hair, frustrated. “You don’t know everything. You don’t know what I did, the choices I had to make. You don’t know how much I lost.”

“Then tell us,” Billy said softly.

Wanda looked at him, feeling tears burn her eyes, but she held them back. “I can’t. I don’t want you to see me differently.”

“We already do, Mom,” Tommy shot back, his tone serious. “And you know what we see? A woman who sacrificed so much for us that she forgot about herself. It’s not fair. Not to you, not to us.”

“Tommy…”

“Listen,” he continued, his voice firmer. “If she’s still that important to you, why don’t you try? Why don’t you do something? You’ve always told us to fight for what matters. Why is this any different?”

Wanda looked at him, stunned. “You’re… encouraging me to go after her?”

“Yes,” Billy replied, nodding. “We don’t want a mom who lives on autopilot. We want you to be happy, even if it means things have to change.”

“But what about you? What about your father?”

Tommy rolled his eyes. “Dad can keep pretending he’s perfect. He’s more worried about appearances than the truth.”

Billy took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Mom, you deserve this. If she’s the one you love, then go after her.”

Wanda felt her heart tighten, but also a spark of something she hadn’t felt in a long time: hope. She looked at her sons, her boys, who were now almost grown, and saw in them the strength she herself seemed to have lost.

"You two are impossible," she muttered, but there was a small smile on her lips.

"True," Tommy replied, crossing his arms. "And you'd better do it before it's too late."

Wanda closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to stop running from what truly mattered.

[...]

The rain was falling heavily, but Wanda didn’t care. Her soaked coat clung to her skin, golden hair plastered against her face as she walked down the nearly deserted sidewalk. Each drop seemed to press against her harder, as if the force of the storm was trying to send her back home. But she couldn’t turn back. Not now.

When she finally spotted Yelena's small shop, Wanda felt a mix of relief and nerves. The dim light inside cast a faint glow, and the blonde’s silhouette moved behind the windows. Wanda pushed the door open with force, the bell above ringing in a tone that sounded almost desperate.

Yelena, who had been shutting off the lights and closing the register, turned around slowly, a cigarette between her fingers, her face faintly illuminated by the ember. She didn’t look surprised at all.

"Well, look who decided to show up," Yelena remarked, blowing smoke toward the ceiling. Her eyes assessed Wanda with both disdain and curiosity. "What do you want here?"

"I need to know where she is," Wanda replied, her voice firm, but her eyes betrayed her desperation.

Yelena let out a short, humorless laugh, extinguishing the cigarette in the nearest ashtray. "You think I’m just going to hand that information to you on a silver platter? After everything you did to her?"

"I didn’t come here to argue," Wanda replied, fists clenched at her sides. "I just need to find her. Please."

"Please?" Yelena raised an eyebrow, stepping closer. "You think a ‘please’ can erase the years of pain you caused? She loved you, Wanda. And you broke her heart."

Wanda swallowed hard, the guilt pressing heavier on her chest. "I know," she admitted, her voice wavering. "I know what I did. But I need to fix it. I need to talk to her, to explain—"

"Explain what?" Yelena cut her off, crossing her arms. "That you chose the comfort of a false life over her? That you preferred hiding behind a sham marriage while she suffered?"

"I didn’t have a choice!" Wanda exclaimed, the pain overflowing in her voice. "I had to protect my children. I had to protect everything that was important to me."

"She thought she was important to you too," Yelena shot back, her eyes hard.

The silence between them was broken only by the sound of the rain pounding against the windows. Wanda took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

"Please, Yelena," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "I need to see her. Just tell me where she is."

Yelena was silent for a moment, her eyes carefully studying Wanda. Finally, she sighed, grabbing a small piece of paper and a pen. "This isn’t for you," she said, scribbling something down. "It’s for her. Because, despite everything, she deserves the chance to decide whether she wants to hear you or not. Go there, and bring my little sister back."

She handed the paper to Wanda, but before Wanda could leave, Yelena grabbed her arm. "Don’t screw this up again. If you do, don’t ever look for me. Not for her, not for anyone."

Wanda nodded, clutching the paper as if it were a lifeline. Without another word, she stepped out into the storm, the rain now feeling slightly less heavy.

Wanda stopped in the middle of the street, the rain beating relentlessly against her face, but she hardly felt it. Her eyes were fixed on the paper in her hand, the address already smudged by the water but still legible. A distant thunder rumbled, but nothing could drown out the turmoil inside her.

The truth was raw and inescapable: she hadn’t been alive since the day you left. Every heartbeat since then had felt borrowed, as if she were just occupying space in a body that no longer belonged to her.

"Be it too late or not," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling but full of conviction, "I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering."

She gripped the paper so tightly it nearly tore, her fingers trembling—not from the cold, but from sheer desperation. Because if Wanda knew one thing now, it was that she had already lost too much. She couldn’t lose you again, even if it meant facing the worst parts of herself.

Lifting her face to the sky, Wanda let the rain wash over her—though it could not lift the weight from her chest. Then, without hesitation, she took the first step, the sound of her heels echoing against the wet asphalt.

Each step was a declaration. Each beat of her heart, a scream. She loved you. Loved you enough to tear down any barrier, to face any storm. This time, she wouldn’t let fear win. This time, she would be brave enough to fight for what truly mattered.

Even if it was too late.

~*~

Mommy Wanda will go after what is hers.

UREVISED CHAPTER

Tag List <3

@vyvvycg @rosekjsses @3liyuh @trindad2k

@indentity0018 @beggingonmykneesforher

@idkwhatever580 @valentine585

@reginassecretlover @trying-to-do-good

@imjustvibingsworld @mbxoxo @jazzyxqzl @bees-for-brains @eternallyconfuzed @ctrlaltedits @sheriffhaughtearp

@lesbiansweet @i-luv-w1men @sheriffhaughtearp

@wandasslut3000

#mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #mommy k!nk #elizabeth olsen x reader #lgbtq #lgbtqia #mommy k1nk #wanda x you #wlw post #lesbian #lesbianism #angst

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ginnsbaker · 1 year ago

Text

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (13/?)

Part Summary: “I love you, Leigh,” you declare, the words tumbling out almost uncontrollably. Ever since you stepped off that plane and your feet touched back on home ground, you've been aching to say it. Her eyes turn steely, the brief flicker of doubt swallowed up by resolve. “You say that now,” Leigh counters, her laugh dark and hollow. “But I'm not easy. Loving me might just kill you.”

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.900+ | Warnings: Some angst | Author's note: I think there will be just 2-3 more chapters before we close this book. Just fyi!

When you finally stir awake, the room is washed in a soft morning light. Beside you, Leigh is already up, sitting on the edge of the bed in yesterday’s clothes. Her hair is pulled back casually, a few strands hanging loose, looking a bit disheveled but still unintentionally perfect—or perhaps that's just your infatuation speaking in the early morning haze. But you can't help yourself.

“Morning,” you mumble, voice gravelly from sleep, as you try to tame your own bedhead. You're still barely clothed under the thin covers in contrast to Leigh’s state of fully dressed. The realization makes you blush, remembering last night’s affairs. Subconsciously, you pull the covers tighter around your body, a wave of shyness washing over you.

“Hey,” Leigh whispers in return, giving you a small smile.

You prop yourself up on your elbows, feeling a pleasant ache in your inner thighs and back. “What time is it?” you ask, glancing around, trying to determine the time based solely on the sunlight filtering through the windows.

“It's still early,” she says, checking her phone. “But I've been up for a bit.”

You notice the creases in her clothes, evidence of a night spent on your floor. She seems a bit distant this morning, thoughtful, like she's already planning her day.

“You could have woken me,” you say, letting a small, teasing smile play across your lips.

Leigh shakes her head. “You were sleeping so soundly, I didn't want to wake you,” she says, her eyes holding yours for a moment longer than necessary. There's a warmth there, but also something you can't quite read.

“But I did make coffee,” she offers, tilting her head toward the kitchen. Her eyes land on the pile of your clothes scattered on the floor, remnants of just a few hours earlier. She clears her throat and her cheeks color a little as she says, “I'll let you get dressed first then.” Without another word, she heads back to the kitchen.

You grab some clothes and quickly dress, and then a thought hits you. Was Leigh watching you sleep? The idea makes you a bit giddy, flipping a fluttery feeling through your stomach. It's strange to think about, but also kind of endearing. Her sticking around this morning feels like a small victory. Being with Leigh felt good, but you weren’t sure what to expect at sunrise.

In the kitchen, you watch Leigh move with an easy familiarity, exploring the cabinets and figuring out where things are stashed. She quickly locates the mugs right above the coffee brewer, grabs two, and sets them down on the counter.

“How do you take yours?” she asks, her hand hovering over the sugar and cream.

You shrug. “Two creams, two sugars?”

Leigh is meticulous, measuring each spoonful of sugar, ensuring there's just the right amount of room for cream. Every small adjustment she makes for your preference makes your heart skip. You’re touched by the simple fact that she cares enough to know and remember exactly how you like it.

You realize, not for the first time, but perhaps the most profoundly, that you’re falling in love with her. You have been for some time now, but this morning it feels like the descent down a rollercoaster—fast, exhilarating, and a little bit terrifying. There's no slowing down or stopping it; you just have to close your eyes and hold on for dear life.

As you both sip your coffee, you find yourself easing into the comfort of small talk, curious about Leigh's return to working at The Beautiful Beast. She mentioned needing to help her mom out, especially after a few recent resignations—a situation you understand all too well from your own experiences with running a business and the never-ending struggles of hiring staff and managing them.

While part of you listens, another part is preoccupied with thoughts of last night. You want to delve into what happened, to ask if she enjoyed herself, and to apologize for not being more assertive. You want to confirm what it means for both of you, but the thought makes your hand tremble slightly around your coffee mug.

Before you can gather your courage, Leigh’s phone vibrates loudly on the table. She checks it and her expression tightens. “I need to go,” she says suddenly, standing up.

You automatically stand up too, but without a clear next move, you find yourself frozen, waiting for something to happen. Both of you are just standing there—Leigh figuring out how to leave, and you, how to say goodbye.

Then, as if deciding for both of you, Leigh steps forward and gives you a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll see you later,” she says.

“Bye,” you reply, a bit dazed as you watch her grab her things and leave.

You touch your lips, feeling the ghost of Leigh’s quick kiss, an electric zip that lingers like the aftertaste of strong coffee. You’ve seen Leigh in nothing but shadows and moonlight, felt the undeniable press of her bare skin against yours, but the shock of her kiss never dulls. It’s a bit like being struck by lightning—no matter how many times it happens, you never get used to the jolt.

Sara sits confidently across from you, dressed in a black turtleneck and slacks, attire appropriate for a formal interview. Earlier, she mentioned she's finishing her thesis and is interested in a part-time job that can accommodate her academic commitments, which seems ideal. However, the situation is far from perfect. Ideally, hiring someone you once found attractive isn't the best practice, but she's the only applicant who has responded to your job postings so far.

Feeling her eyes fixed on you, you fiddle with the sleeves of your coat while reviewing her résumé. Between you is a history as transient as a wisp of smoke but clear nonetheless. You’d almost ventured into something with her after a lonely night spent swiping through an app you swore off a dozen times before. And with the recent memory of Leigh leaving your apartment still vivid in your mind, you question whether considering Sara for the job is the right decision.

“So?” Sara ventures after you've been quiet for a while. You feel your cheeks warm with a blush, realizing you've been stalling. Forcing yourself, you tear your eyes away from her rather impressive qualifications.

Letting out a sigh, you set down your glasses, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Honestly, this just doesn't feel serious,” you confess. “I keep expecting Suzie to pop out with her phone, recording this whole thing as a prank.”

Sara's laughter spills out, rich and melodious. It’s infectious, and after a while you find yourself chuckling too.

“I promise, I'm serious,” she assures you, still smiling. She leans forward, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. “Look, our history was brief. We didn’t really date, we just met that one time—”

“Twice,” you interrupt, unable to resist correcting her.

Her smile broadens. “—outside of the app. We can be friends, forget all that other stuff, okay?”

You consider her words, searching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. Finding none, you ask, “And that won’t be weird for you?”

“Not at all,” she replies confidently, her head shaking slightly. “And… if you're alright with just part-time for now?”

“Yeah, I can manage reception on my own some days,” you say. But there's another nagging thought that won't let you go.

Sara quickly catches on to your dithering. “What is it?”

“It's just... aren't you worried this job is a bit beneath you? You're chasing an MBA. Wouldn’t you rather find something more aligned with your degree?” you ask.

She leans back, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “I’ve considered that,” she says slowly, “but right now, the flexibility this job offers is what I need most. And honestly, I believe in what your clinic is doing—it's a good place to be, even if it’s just a stop along the way.”

You smile at that, genuinely touched by her kind words about your establishment and the work you do.

“Alright, then, I just have one more question to, uh, make this official,” you say, shuffling the papers in front of you. “You've got impressive organizational skills and a solid background in customer service. How do you think these will help you in a medical office setting?”

Sara doesn’t hesitate, her answer ready almost before you've finished speaking.

“Are we sure it's okay to leave Sara by herself while we grab lunch?” you ask, a slight frown forming as you think about what might need handling while you're gone.

Suzie gives you a reassuring smile as she slings her purse over her shoulder. “She’ll be fine. It’s usually quiet around this time, and I’ve given her a rundown of the essentials. Plus, she knows she can text me if anything comes up.”

You can't shake off a sliver of worry, knowing how overwhelming the first day can be. “Alright,” you say, still unconvinced but trusting Suzie’s judgment. “Let’s make it quick then.”

The two of you make your way to a charming little café tucked around the corner. It's a snug nook, celebrated for its hearty sandwiches and home-cooked soups. As you walk, the idea of bringing Leigh here bubbles up in your thoughts—she'd appreciate their renowned kale soup, you reckon.

As you line up to order, Suzie nudges your shoulder lightly. “So, not weird at all hiring an old flame?” she teases.

You roll your eyes. “It's strictly professional. And technically, we never really dated. We just… hung out.”

“Yeah, you hung her out to dry.”

“I’m still your boss for the next two weeks,” you remind her jokingly.

Suzie smirks and raises her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, boss. I'll behave.”

“But seriously, you can't tease me about Sara anymore because, you know…I'm with Leigh now,” you say, looking down at your feet, hiding your grin.

Suzie turns to you, her eyes widening. “Oh. When did this happen?” she asks, her tone noticeably flat. You were expecting her to be more excited about the news.

Your spirits dip a little at Suzie's lackluster reaction. You straighten up and decide to share the brief version of your reunion with Leigh. As you recount the events to Suzie, you keenly watch her reactions, hoping for a clue into her thoughts. You mention forgiving Leigh and how, after forgiveness was exchanged, Leigh kissed you. Throughout your story, Suzie's expression remains unreadably neutral.

When you finish, she finally speaks, “Honestly, I'm happy for you. Just make sure you're both on the same page.”

“She did stay until morning,” you tell Suzie, feeling a need to convince her—and maybe yourself—that this is significant. After all, someone making you coffee in the morning has to mean something, right?

“Okay, that’s definitely a good sign,” she says with cautious optimism. “But have you guys talked about what this all means? Like, are you actually together now or what?”

The reality of her question gradually settles on you after a few moments. “We haven't really defined anything,” you admit.

Suzie heaves a sigh just as it's her turn to order. She picks a dark chocolate frappuccino and a salmon bagel, loaded with extra cream cheese, then drifts off to a corner to wait while you place your order. As you step up to the counter, you realize you’ve lost your appetite. You settle for an Americano and a mixed bowl of fruit to go. When your food and drinks are ready, you both head to a corner booth by the window.

Suzie, picking up on your nervousness, advises, “Just take things slow, okay?”

You murmur a noncommittal, “Mhm,” your thoughts adding, Too late for that. The two of you eat in silence until the chime of a text notification breaks through—from Leigh.

You can feel Suzie’s curious gaze at you while you read Leigh’s text:

[12:33 PM] Leigh: Thanks for last night

You hover over the keypad, unsure how to respond.

You’re welcome?

The pleasure was all mine?

You shake your head, cringing at your own thoughts. Suzie catches your expression and squints at you. “Everything alright?” she asks.

“It’s Leigh,” you mumble, glancing briefly from your phone to meet Suzie’s questioning look.

“What did she say?”

Instead of explaining, you tilt your phone towards Suzie, letting her read the message herself. A few seconds later, a knowing smirk forms on her face.

“She’s playing it safe,” Suzie concludes.

Your phone pings again, making you jump. Almost fumbling it, you quickly check the new message and read it aloud:

[12:34 PM] Leigh: Hey, quick question. What dog shampoo would you recommend? Logan's perfumed smell doesn't really last long.

“She's playing it way too safe,” Suzie remarks, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

Ignoring Suzie, you quickly type back, suggesting a favorite of yours, and include a link to an online store.

[12:35 PM] You: Try this one <link>. It's hypoallergenic and it should keep Logan smelling fresh longer than the others I've tried.

After sending the message, you look up to find Suzie still wearing a small smile.

“What a bunch of modern idiots,” she murmurs, loud enough for you to hear, before taking a hearty sip from her drink.

You and Leigh continue texting about Logan and his needs. She mentions she'll drop by tomorrow to pick up his supplies. You keep to yourself that you're already planning to gather everything and surprise her by dropping it off at her place—an excuse to see her again.

You leave the clinic early, gripping a bouquet of flowers in one hand and Logan’s bag of supplies in the other. Since that lunch with Suzie, you've been introspective and quiet, wrestling with the idea that she might be right about defining your relationship with Leigh. You realize you're already in too deep, weary of assumptions and the uncertainty of not knowing where you stand with her.

Expecting to find Leigh at her mom's fitness studio in the late afternoon, you make your way there.

But she isn't there.

“Oh, hi, Y/N,” Jules greets you from behind the reception desk. She's busy wiping down the counter and sorting through stacks of folders—membership forms that appear to have accumulated over the past few years.

“Is Leigh around?” you ask, scanning the mostly deserted area. Your eyes sweep past the maintenance staff quietly going about their cleaning, but there’s no sign of Leigh.

You miss the brief flicker of discomfort that crosses Jules's face at the mention of her sister. “Leigh's probably at home,” Jules says evenly, going back to her task. “She takes every Tuesday off.”

While you’re still distracted (and a little disappointed), Jules notices the bouquet you’re holding.

“Are those for her?” she asks.

You give the bouquet of red Chrysanthemums a slight wave, then a bit sheepishly, you nod and confirm, “Yeah.”

“That's sweet, Y/N,” Jules comments, her lips curving slightly.

She seems to expect you to leave since Leigh isn't around, but instead, you take a seat on one of the stools at the reception.

“How are you, by the way?” you ask, flashing a warm smile at her. You lean your arms on the counter and start drumming your fingers, genuinely interested in her response.

“You sure you wanna hang around? Leigh hates waiting for anyone,” she says. Though her words are light, there’s a shadow behind them that yanks your attention.

“Is everything okay? I mean, with you and Leigh?” you ask cautiously. Jules doesn’t speak for a moment too long, and you nearly backtrack, thinking maybe a lighter topic might salvage the awkward silence.

But just as you’re about to pivot, she blurts out, “I moved out recently.”

You gawk at her, surprised by the sudden confession. Jules notices your open-mouthed shock and it almost coaxes a laugh from her. She's somewhat entertained by your astonishment but also touched that you cared enough to ask. Inside, she’s glad she secretly cheered for you over Danny.

“I know, right? Bet you didn't see that coming,” she says with a wry smile.

“Moving out is definitely a big step,” you reply, “but uh, you kind of didn’t really answer my question there.”

Jules chuckles and rounds the counter to sit beside you. “No,” she says flatly, her expression sobering as she sits beside you. “And honestly, I'd rather not hash out my issues with Leigh unless it's with my therapist. Talking about it just feels like letting her win somehow.”

She lets out a deep breath, her gaze drifting away momentarily. “And no, I didn't plan on moving out. I just got tired of being treated like crap by my own family.”

Jules starts picking at the edge of the counter before she looks up. She had mentioned not wanting to discuss it, but somehow, she finds it easy to open up to you.

“I mean, obviously, we're not related by blood,” she continues, “and yeah, it's the 21st century—being adopted shouldn't be a big deal, right? But even though it's common, it doesn't make me feel any more part of the family, any less like an outsider. I feel like an eternal letdown, like I'm always just shy of what they hoped I'd be.”

“What exactly are they hoping for?” you ask softly.

Jules shrugs, her eyes darting away as she wraps her arms around herself protectively. “I don't really know. It's more of an outline than a shape.”

You think about her words for a moment before adding your two cents. “Could it be that maybe some of this pressure is self-imposed? Maybe you're the one filling in the blanks with what you think they expect of you? It's okay just to be yourself, you know. You don't have to be everything to everyone, and that’s perfectly fine,” you say.

Jules nods slowly, her gaze fixed on some distant point. Then, quietly, almost a whisper, she adds, “It's tough, especially with my…you know…past drinking problem. Even though I've been clean for months, it feels like I'm always on trial, always having to prove I’m better now. And when I slip up, even just a little…” her voice falters, “I just... I imagine what they must think of me, if they—”

“If they love you any less for it?” you interject gently.

Her eyes snap back to yours, slightly wet and reddened. Instinctively, you reach out for her hand. Jules grasps it in return, and you give her hand a comforting squeeze.

“I don't really know Leigh in terms of family stuff,” you say, shifting uncomfortably on your stool as you choose your words carefully. “And maybe you've got it right, Jules. But then again, maybe not. See, when we really care about someone, we tend to put them on a pedestal, root for them so hard that sometimes, without even realizing it, we might push them a bit too much.”

You let the thought sit for a while, then continue, your own quandaries weaving into your speech. “Maybe it's best if you talk to Leigh about this... I mean, personally, I need to talk to Leigh about something too. I want to stop assuming things and thinking my perspective is the whole reality. We all do it, don’t we? Set traps for ourselves with our own expectations and assumptions.”

Jules sniffles, manages a faint smile, and discreetly wipes away a tear with her pinkie. Then, unexpectedly, she leans forward and hugs you, her head resting snugly against your cheek. You return the embrace, gently rubbing her back in random circles.

When she steps back, there's a new light of recognition in her eyes.

“You remind me of Matt.”

You're not sure if that's a flattering comparison or not. You did connect with Matt, after all, not because you were opposites that attracted, but because you saw parts of yourself reflected in him—similar interests, similar ways of thinking.

You can’t help but ask, “How so?”

“Matt always played mediator between Leigh and me. Oddly enough, we both really listened to him, took his opinions to heart. He had this wisdom, you know?” She stops for a second, her expression clouding over. “Which really threw me when I found out about some of the... stupid choices he made.” She gestures towards you apologetically, adding, “No offense.”

“None taken,” you assure her quickly with a lopsided smile.

“Yeah, Matt was that person in the family who really saw everyone, who tried to knit us all together. I miss him,” Jules says wistfully. She looks past your shoulder, into the distance, as if she's seeing his ghost. You don’t look behind you. You can see his ghost in her eyes clearly.

Jules continues, “And whatever went down with Leigh, I don’t think it was all his fault. Leigh... she can be challenging to love sometimes. Oh god, that sounds awful, doesn’t it? I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, understanding what she means more than she might think. “It's okay, Jules. It's hard, loving people isn't always straightforward or easy. They say love brings out the best in us, but often, it brings out the worst.”

“It’s like I can hear Matt talking, but in a female voice,” Jules jokes, returning to her post. “Anyway, are you and my sister finally going out?”

“That’s what I’m hoping to find out soon,” you say, gesturing to the bouquet you're holding. You feel a bit forward buying flowers for a girl, especially since you don’t even know what Leigh's favorite flowers are—or if she likes them at all.

Jules gives you a mischievous grin and says, “Well, good luck with that. For what it's worth, I don't think Leigh dumped Danny for nothing. She seems to really like you.”

“Thanks, that means a lot,” you say, feeling a bit more buoyed as you rise from your seat.

With a final nod to Jules, you head out, the bouquet of flowers in hand feeling less silly and more like a talisman as you drive straight to Leigh's house.

You pull into the driveway of the Shaw residence, your hands gripping the steering wheel a tad too tightly. The bouquet of flowers sits next to you, a daunting shade of red against the gray upholstery, and Logan’s supplies are carefully arranged in the backseat. You mentally rehearse your opening line to Leigh, hoping the surprise might soften the ground for the conversation that needs to follow.

You ring the doorbell and wait, shifting from foot to foot, your hand gripping the stem of the flowers a little too tightly while your other arm cradles the box containing Logan’s things. But when the door swings open, it's not Leigh who greets you.

“D-Danny,” you stammer, the subtle smile on your lips completely falling away.

What is he doing here?

Danny looks equally unenthused to see you. “Hey,” he replies, his eyes briefly dropping to the flowers before meeting yours again. “Looking for Leigh?”

Before you can respond, Leigh appears behind him. Her face emerges as she peers at you over his shoulder, his towering height partially obstructing your view of her. She looks utterly surprised to see you at her doorstep, giving you the impression that she wasn't expecting you and maybe you shouldn't be here at all.

“I… I thought of bringing Logan’s supplies now since I’m free, but… yeah, I should probably go—”

“Danny was just leaving,” Leigh announces abruptly.

You find yourself frozen, rooted to the spot as you turn to face her. Danny looks poised to object, but Leigh fixes him with a look. It's enough. His defiance melts into resignation, his shoulders dropping slightly as he exhales a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” he grumbles, “I'll call you later, Leigh.” He stalks off without waiting for a reply.

You’re still looking at the ground, the front door cracked open, a draft passing in between you and Leigh as you stand on her doorstep.

What was Danny doing here? You can't seem to shake it off.

Leigh reaches out and gently touches your elbow, nudging you inside. “Come in,” she murmurs, leading you past the threshold.

Inside, Leigh takes the box of supplies from your hands. She starts sorting through it, tossing a casual “Thanks” over her shoulder as she examines the contents. Her focus is entirely on Logan’s needs until she looks up and spots the bouquet you’re still hanging onto.

Your cheeks flush as her gaze shifts to the flowers. You had fantasized about a dazzling smile breaking across her features at the sight. Instead, Leigh’s expression tightens with skepticism, her eyes narrowing slightly as she regards the bouquet.

“Flowers?” Leigh inquires uncertainly.

It's not the response you'd imagined, and you suddenly find yourself scrambling for an explanation, the bouquet feeling unexpectedly cumbersome in your grasp.

“I, uh, passed by a flower shop,” you start, fiddling with a petal as you concoct a small white lie. “I bought some for myself and figured, since I was coming over with Logan's supplies, maybe you'd like some too.”

You've both seen each other naked just hours ago, yet somehow that doesn't seem to matter now. This doesn't feel any easier than before you slept together.

“They are pretty,” she says, accepting the flowers. She looks around for a moment. “I'll find a vase for these.”

Relieved she's accepted them, you seize the opportunity to change the topic. You're on the verge of asking why Danny was just here, but to your own surprise, a completely different question slips out.

“Where's Logan today?”

“He's with mom,” Leigh says, returning to the living room holding a plain-looking vase. “She’s really bonded with him. Actually, she's out showing him off to some old friends today.”

That coaxes out a small smile from you, imagining Logan charming everyone he meets.

Now the roles reverse and Leigh takes her turn with the questions. “How about you? Weren't we supposed to meet for Logan’s stuff tomorrow?” A beat passes, and she adds, “I wasn’t expecting you.” Her tone isn’t harsh, but it's clear that Leigh isn't fond of surprises. You mentally file that away for future reference.

“I wanted to see you,” you say, the words tumbling out more bluntly than planned. “You left so quickly this morning after... after last night.”

Then, almost without thinking, you find yourself nodding toward the door Danny had exited through, the question spilling out before you can reel it back. “Why was Danny here?” It sounds more accusatory than you intend, and you hurry to cushion it, not wanting to come off as possessive. “I mean, I thought you two were—”

“Broken up?” Leigh fills in the blank sharply. She sets the vase down slowly, then turns to face you, her expression becoming more earnest by the second.

“Yes, we are,” she confirms, crossing her arms lightly over her chest. “Danny came by to pick up some of his things he had left here. It's not... we’re not back together. But if you’re asking why he’s still in my life, then I have news for you, Y/N: we’re friends. And he’s still Matt’s brother.”

You bite your lip, feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within you. “I'm just wondering, that's all,” you manage to say, trying not to sound too confrontational or possessive. You’re suddenly aware of how precarious your position is—you’re not really entitled to feel jealous or make demands. After all, Leigh hasn't given you any sort of claim over her; you're not officially anything. You came here hoping maybe that would change, but now you worry you might be messing it all up.

“Of course you can be friends with whoever you want,” you add hastily.

“Exactly,” she says, but then she pauses, scrutinizing you with a curious tilt of her head. “But what about you?” she presses, taking slow, deliberate steps towards you, like a predator stalking its prey.

You give her a quizzical look.

“The flowers, showing up without a heads-up... What are you hoping to get out of this?”

As Leigh’s gaze bores into you, probing and skeptical, something inside you snaps. The hurt ricochets through you, searing and unexpected. She was so delicate with you, making you feel all sorts of things while doing wonderful, unspeakable things to your body, and now she’s making you question your own reality.

“I've been falling in love with you, Leigh,” you say, your voice rising without your permission, the words bouncing off the walls with a force that startles even you. “Are you just enormously daft or do you not care at all?”

Silence crashes down like a heavy curtain following your admission.

But Leigh doesn’t flinch from your outburst, nor does she display any signs of distress. She remains eerily still, almost statue-like. Yet, when you look into her eyes, you see it—the unsteadiness there, the only part of her that seems vulnerable to your scrutiny.

Then, she speaks. Just one word, but it's enough to completely deflate you, a response more chilling than if she had simply said she didn't care.

“No.”

“What—” you start, but she cuts you off.

“You don’t love me.”

The certainty with which she says it feels like a door slamming shut, final and resolute, leaving no room for doubts or arguments. Your mouth hangs open, muted by her unequivocal assertion that you don't love her.

You’re gearing up to tell her how wrong she is, to insist that what you feel is real, but she cuts you off with a question that feels like a bucket of ice water.

“When you learned that ‘Nick’ was just Danny all along, that Matt’s brother helped him betray me, what was your first thought?” Leigh's voice is clinical, almost detached.

You feel like you’re missing something, grasping at the air for an answer that will satisfy her. Her gaze traps you, demanding truth, and you realize you can’t escape until you give it to her. What does she want to hear? What is she trying to understand from this?

“My first thought?” you repeat, trying to remember how it made you feel. “I felt sorry for you, Leigh. I couldn’t believe someone so close to you would do that. I felt angry for you, and yeah, I felt really sorry that you had to go through it.”

Leigh's eyes flicker, a subtle shift like a wince. “You pitied me,” she says, her voice cold. “And you also wanted to fuck me. That can be a real killer combo you could mistake for love.”

You stumble back a step, your legs suddenly weak as her words sink in. It's as if she's taken your heart and laid it bare under a harsh light, reducing your feelings to something small and pitiful, far from the love you thought you felt.

Finding the nearest surface to lean on, you press your back against the front door. The temptation to leave, to walk away from this painful confrontation, is strong. But the beautiful, infuriating creature in front of you couldn't be more wrong about you, about love, about how you feel for her. And you’re hell-bent on changing her mind, even if it’s the last thing you do.

“Then why be with me last night?” you challenge, your voice strained. “If you really think that, why even bother?”

Leigh's smile takes on a mocking twist, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Just satisfying your curiosity,” she says. “I wanted to lift the veil for you, help you realize it's nothing more than just guilt and sympathy.”

You shake your head. “I don't believe that. Last night wasn't just curiosity or some misguided sense of duty. It was real, Leigh. And I think you know that too.”

Her eyes remain hard, but just beneath, there's a shimmer—perhaps doubt, or something like it.

“You think you know what love is?” she whispers, her voice so faint it's almost lost. “You think it's just about feeling sorry for someone and wanting them?”

“No,” you say firmly. “I think it's about seeing someone for who they are, flaws and all, and wanting to be there for them anyway. I think it's about standing by someone even when it's hard, even when they push you away. And Leigh, I see you. I see all of you, and I still want to be here.

“I love you, Leigh,” you declare, the words tumbling out almost uncontrollably. Ever since you stepped off that plane and your feet touched back on home ground, you've been aching to say it.

Her eyes turn steely, the brief flicker of doubt swallowed up by resolve. “You say that now,” Leigh counters, her laugh dark and hollow. “But I'm not easy. Loving me might just kill you.”

“Leigh—”

“Why do you think Matt was found at the bottom of a forty-foot drop?” she nearly screams, her voice fraying at the edges of hysteria. She starts pacing, her movements restless and agitated. “Why do you think he came to you? Why do you think he kept running from me?”

At the mention of her dead husband, everything suddenly makes sense. The walls she’s built, her reluctant heart—it’s not about being mysterious or difficult. It’s about fear, a deep, visceral terror of being the storm that wrecks another life. Leigh isn't just pushing you away out of whimsy or cruelty; she's doing it because she believes it's the only way to prevent history from repeating itself.

“I’m not Matt.”

She stops pacing, her eyes locking onto yours, filled with anger, fear, and something that looks a lot like pain. “No, you’re not Matt. But you don’t get it. He couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle me. I drove him away, and I’ll drive you away too.”

“You didn’t drive Matt away. He was running from his own demons, not you. And I’m not afraid of you. I’m here because I want to be. Because I—”

Her face crumples, the mask she’s been wearing cracking. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” she whispers. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

“I know it’s not easy,” you say, closing the distance between you. You feel her radiating every feeling she’s struggling to contain, the ones she’s attempting to shield from you. “But I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for all of it.”

Her eyes well up, tears slipping down her cheeks. But she doesn’t move away. “Why?” she asks, her voice so small and child-like. “Why would you want to stay?”

“Because I love you,” you say simply, “and I’m not afraid of the cost.”

Leigh gives you a look that could freeze fire—like you’ve just spoken the worst of blasphemies.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmur, cupping her neck gently.

“Like what?” she asks, her voice trembling.

“Like it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard.”

She attempts to smooth over her expression, trying to regain some semblance of control, but there’s a fleeting moment where she resembles a chastised child. You can't help but smile gently, touched by her unguarded reaction.

“Leigh,” you whisper, taking her hands in yours. “One date. Go out with me. Let me prove it to you. Let me show you why it can be a good thing.”

She lets out a shaky breath, and for the first time, there’s a glimmer of hope in her eyes. She nods, almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough. It’s a start.

“Okay,” she whispers in surrender. “One date.”

#unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #sorry i had to tag wanda x reader for visibility

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rosemariiaa · 7 months ago

Note

besides begging for a part 3.. even though you should give it to us :)

what are your all time favorite fics, i need some recs!! could be old and new

the way i was about to make a fic rec post lol!!

Fic Recs

@pb524830

Right where you left me- This was the first fic i’ve read of hers and i fell in love, the writing is something else i tell you

Pride and Prejudice- 10/10 would read it again it’s sooo good

Moth to Flame- I am loving this series so far , literally obsessed hello?

@imaginespazzi

You weren’t mine to lose- the amount of angst in that is so necessary and i just love it sm

UCLA fic- all time top 5 favorite series

GH- Begging for chapter 11 because i am too obsessed !!

@azzibuckets

For the love of the game- this was something else and i have sooo much love for it, cessa is a queen

Good luck Babe- hurt my heart but i still love it smmm

@thaatdigitaldiary

Open your eyes- ke knows what she is doing and i love it , that had me in awe i tell you

from ms to mrs- YES YES YESS

What Am I to You- YES.

@ohbueckers

two can play that game- i love tropes like these and ju is eating up the chapters left and right

What’s my name?- impatiently waiting on another chapter because that series did something to me..literally

HOAW- new fav fic hello?

@patscorner

Ace of Hearts- i will be harassing pat for chapter 3 don’t worry guys

@sierrale8ne

40 days and 40 nights- i just think this is spectacular and that’s all there is to say

Power trip- this was something else..everything about i adored literally

@mrsarnold

white ferrari- i love me some fics from leila, this fic was teww good i enjoyed it smm!

@cosmopretty

read her new fic on wattpad “her girl” i love it so far!!

i don’t have a specific fic i love because all of them are really good, i would say take your pick bc i’m indecisive!!

@money4martin

the nanny- i’m mostly reading this on wattpad and i loveee it, she’s such a good writer

@lupinqs

firsts- me being a pazzi girl, i loved this fic sm it’s one of my top 5 for sure

take me to church- i love everything about this series, like it’s really just a chefs kiss and it’s relatable too??

@makethemhoesmad

skip this part?- y’all know i love me some angst.. and karly delivered it perfectly with this fic! thank god!

liability- she likes to play with my heart but i forgive her eveytime bc the writing is impeccable, this series was a rollercoaster for me

@sellasstories @heyitssells

Close- i loved this with all my heart ,she’s amazing bye

@d3arapril

Invisible strings- yes.yes.yes.

@azzifuddworlddomination

Casual- my inspiration for my fic because hers i just can’t get over like i love you down 🤗

@bbydoll18xx

don’t even have a favorite, all her fics are chefs kiss and that’s the truth

@kmoneymartini

fics are sooo easy to obsess over hello?? i’m glad she’s my moot too

@wcbblife

all there is to say is yes and go read NEOWWWW

@iminlovewithpaigebueckers

i should slap myself because why haven’t i read any of her fics earlier hello? I FREAKING LOVE THEM?

@bueckersstrap

my sweet baby celeste and her writing 😫 i yearn for it thank you queen

@lovegalor333

chefs kiss EVERY.SINGLE.TIME

@pboogerswbb

my lila baby is on a roll and i need MORE.

@leilanihours

it’s saurrrr good 10/10 i love!!

@luvergirl-866

writing is so teaaa i’m obsessed with the pazzi series <33

@onlyhereforpazzi

love the pazzi fics down!!!

@pazzilover101

@pbaz7

everything written is just OUU

@bueckersbitch

my sweet baby yes

@ldapper

mhmhmhhh 🤭

@bucketbueckers

ouuuweeee i love

@starlighttsv

my sweet baby

@ohmybueckers

just.. FUCKKKK

@vamptizm

my queen 😊😊😊

@uconnwbbcrashout

@basketball-lesbians

you’re gonna love i swear

@bueckets

@loeysoi

10/10 would ready everything again <3

@hcneymooners / @spcncershasting

my fav twin <3, just beautiful

@cherryswisherz

——-

Ao3

Grow as we go- all time favorite pazzi series, i will be reading it again thank you!

Slow falling- i fear the author has given up on us but i will still like to have hope we get another chapter 😞

I’m pretty sure i have more but i can’t remember atm, i will add on as i find and read more fics!! 💌

#rosie moots #rosierecss 🝮#asks ❣︎#pazzi #paige x azzi #paige x reader #uconn wbb

294 notes · View notes

luvismenu · 4 months ago

Text

Only When It's Us ,, chap: 19 — let go ✎

// series index //

warnings: emotional rollercoaster? silly -> freaky -> cute -> sobbing (but in a good way!) i had to write this as quickly as possible, pls ignore the mistakes, i literally rushed it but i still think it's good !! 😣

nsfw warnings: lots of kissing (IT'S THEIR THING), tittie play, oral (f! recieving), dirty talk-ish??, protected sex.

wc: 5.2k+

note: probably my fave chapter haha

the cafe is quiet, the soft hum of conversation and the occasional clink of cups creating a relaxed atmosphere. it’s not crowded, just a handful of students scattered across tables. you and jungkook decided to meet up here, both having an hour to kill before your next class.

jungkook is sitting beside you, one hand intertwined with yours while his other hand holds his phone as he casually scrolls through his schedule for the day. he’s dressed in his usual casual style; sweatpants and a simple shirt that somehow manages to make him look unfairly attractive. his dark hair falls messily over his forehead, making him look effortlessly sexy. he's literally making it hard for you not to stare and drool over him.

he hums softly, almost to himself. “i could skip the next class if i wanted to,” he says, placing his phone down on the table.

you tilt your head, curious. “oh really?”

he nods, leaning back in his chair, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “yeah, it’s just a lecture. i’ve already got the notes.”

before you can say anything else, a soft voice cuts in. “i am so glad i don’t have any classes after this,”

you glance at the silver haired man infront of you and smile slightly before another familiar voice speaks up. “yeah, guess what? i don’t even have classes anymore,”

jungkook chuckles beside you, his thumb brushing over your hand absentmindedly. “must be nice, hyung,” he teases, and you can’t help but laugh a little.

yoongi and jimin are at your table too. jimin, the silver-haired guy you’ve seen before in a very awkward situation, is here to meet yoongi today. and to your surprise, he talks like you’ve been part of their group for ages, his energy is warm and welcoming, which you really appreciate.

jimin leans back in his chair, turning to yoongi. “you know, i was just thinking about that night.. the one when jason got punched.”

your stomach drops at the mention, and you shift in your seat, suddenly very interested in your cup of coffee.

“i was like, over there in the middle of the dance floor,” jimin starts as he recalls the scene. “i don't even know who i was with, there was some chick grinding on me and then POW! i heard the punch, and everyone just stopped and turned towards the sound. taehyung was already sprinting towards jungkook and jason, and oh my god, i was so ready to cheer for the fight!!!” he pauses. “but then i saw the look on yoongi's face and thought, ‘oop, never mind. gotta make it stop.’”

jimin chuckles and glances at yoongi, who shakes his head, clearly unimpressed by the retelling.

a few days after that night, jason apologized to you. it was awkward but sincere, and you listened as he explained himself, it was clear that he regretted it.

“i messed up, i know that,” he said,“i shouldn’t have pushed things the way i did. and, uh… i totally deserved that punch.”

you raised an eyebrow, surprised that he was acknowledging it so openly. “yeah, well. i am glad you're aware,” you said.

he sighed, looking down for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “i guess it's time for goodbyes? i don't know, i don't think we're gonna get along well, especially since your boyfriend hates me.”

you were surprised at the ‘boyfriend’ title but you chose to ignore it and nodded slowly, “i get that, and yeah.. i think it’s best if we’re not friends anymore. i don’t want to keep dragging things out too,”

you watched him walk away. you haven’t talked to jason since that day, and this time, you knew you made the right choice.

jimin turns his attention to jungkook, who’s now watching him with an amused grin. “besides that, i thought it was fucking awesome, jungkook,”

jungkook chuckles softly, “yeah, getting into a fight with one of your friends is awesome now.”

jimin waves him off. “oh please i don't even care about him, he just happens to know a girl i used to fuck,”

“you’re lucky no one called the cops,” yoongi mutters, taking a sip of his coffee.

“oh, come on,” jimin says, grinning. “it wouldve been legendary, right jungkook?"

“i don't know, legendary or not ,” jungkook glances at you with a soft smile, “i’d rather not have a repeat of that night.”

you nod in agreement, grateful that the topic seems to be winding down. but jimin’s energy is contagious, and even though you’re a little embarrassed, you can’t help but smile at how he's excited about the 'fight'.

“well i think that he deserved it,” jimin announces playfully.

jungkook’s got that cocky grin on his face, the one that always makes you... well, horny. his hand casually slips under the table and onto your thigh. your breath hitches when you feel his fingers inching higher, sliding under your skirt. you glance at him, trying your best to act unbothered, even as your body betrays you with a slight shiver.

“he deserved it, didn’t he?” jungkook asks, his voice low and teasing, his dark eyes locked onto yours. the way he looks at you like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, makes you so fucking wet.

“yeah,” you manage to say softly, even though you have no idea what he’s talking about. your mind is too preoccupied with the warmth of his hand gently stroking your inner thigh.

jimin interrupts with a playful grin. “i think ___'s awesome too, by the way. i saw that slap from miles away, and i was definitely cheering for you,” he pauses and gives yoongi a quick glance before continuing. “quietly, of course.”

you’re not embarrassed about the slap itself. honestly, to this day, you think she deserved far worse. but having it brought up so openly now, in front of everyone, makes you squirm a little.

“oh, um, yeah haha... thank you.” you mumble, feeling jungkook’s eyes on you. he’s smiling ear to ear, clearly entertained by your reaction.

yoongi clears his throat, his expression neutral but his tone laced with humor. “it’s good to see you two not being petty to each other anymore.”

both of your heads snap towards yoongi at the same time, and you chuckle nervously. jungkook smiles, slowly withdrawing his hand from under your skirt and intertwining it with yours on top of the table like nothing happened.

“we’re trying not to. at least i am,” jungkook says, half-joking, his tone so casual that you roll your eyes at him and without missing a beat, you kick him lightly under the table, shooting him a glare. jungkook shrugs a little and kisses your cheek and you can't help but smile.

yoongi and jimin watch the little exchange between you and jungkook, amusement evident on their faces. yoongi raises an eyebrow, shaking his head lightly, while jimin stifles a laugh behind his hand.

“you two are something else,” yoongi comments under his breath, earning a grin from both of you.

but neither of them presses any further, quickly falling back into their own conversation. jimin leans in closer to yoongi, gesturing something with his hands as he starts talking about something you can’t quite catch. yoongi listens intently, nodding along and occasionally throwing in a remark that makes jimin laugh.

their voices become background noise when you hear your phone ding, drawing your attention to the screen. you pick it up and unlock it, only to see a message from jungkook.

jungkook: you look so fucking hot rn, yk that?

you glance at him, raising an eyebrow as he sits there casually, his face unreadable except for the slight upward curve of his lips.

you type back quickly.

you: keep ur hands to yourself and be patient.

his phone buzzes and he checks the message, his grin widening as he types a reply.

jungkook: i am, baby. if i wasn't i would've ripped that skirt open and eat that pretty cunt of yours right now.

you feel your cheeks heat up, and he chuckles softly, clearly enjoying your reaction. you shove your phone into your lap, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered again, but the wetness building between your legs is saying something else.

jungkook is patient.

very patient.

no one's ever been this patient with you (except your parents, of course). your brother used to make fun of you—and still does—for having what he called "ridiculous standards." he’d tease you, saying that anyone who wanted to be with you would need the patience of a saint to deal with your stubbornness. back then, you’d laugh it off. but as you grew older, those words began to settle in your mind, twisting into a belief that maybe he was right.

that maybe no one could keep up with you.

you convinced yourself that your standards were too high, your stubbornness too much to handle. and the more you thought about it, the more it solidified into a quiet truth; you weren’t cut out for relationships.

but then theres jungkook.

he proved you wrong in ways you didn’t even know were possible.

he waited for you, even when you didn’t ask him to. even when you didn’t think anyone would. even when you were being stubborn as fuck.

he had this stubbornness to him that mirrored your own. when you were avoiding him, trying to brush him off with short responses or ignoring him altogether, he didn’t back down. he didn’t let you push him away.

he was like you in some ways, and that’s what made everything so frustrating annd oddly comforting at the same time. both of you were being immature about your argument, refusing to give in or apologize at first. but somehow, through all the tension and standoffs, he didn’t back off, and neither did you. and in a way, that’s what made it work.

and in other ways, you could probably say that... he matched your freak?

it was like he saw through all the walls you put up, and instead of trying to break them down, he just... stood there, waiting for you to let him in.

and when you did, he didn’t disappoint. he met every piece of you with something of his own, and it was messy, and it was imperfect, but it was real.

he’s the most patient man you’ve ever met, and the more time you spend with him, the more you realize just how much that patience means to you.

it’s in the way he looks at you, with so much love and care, as if he already knows you’re worth waiting for.

and you can’t stop loving him more and more for it.

but right now, in this moment, he's anything but patient.

jungkook's kissing you, hot and sloppy. his tongue grazes your bottom lip every few seconds, the kiss is wet, messy, and so fucking good.

he waited until you were done with your classes, but as soon as you stepped out, his patience snapped.

the next thing you knew; he was pulling you to his car and you didn't stop him because oh my god were you horny for this man. now you're in the back seat, ur hands tangled around his neck. one of his hands gripping your waist, and the other sliding under your skirt to rest on your thigh, squeezing it gently.

“fuck—does this remind you of something?” he pulls back, panting. his lips are swollen, and you can barely catch your breath.

“when we first—?” you start, breathless.

“yes,” he says, cutting you off with another kiss. you hum against his lips, melting into the way he moves.

“i fucking love kissing you,” he murmurs against your lips, sending a rush of heat through you.

“kiss me more then,” you challenge, your lips brushing his as you speak.

he pecks your lips once, a smile spreading across his face. “let's go to your place first,” he says, his hand giving your thigh one last squeeze before he pulls back, leaving you wanting more.

. . .

“ow—s-stop!!”

you laugh as jungkook keeps kissing your neck, the way he's doing it is almost like he's tickling you. he smiles against your skin but doesn't stop, his hands firm around your waist as he guides you backward into your room.

“jungkook!” you squeal when you feel his hands slide down your waist to your thighs, and with ease, he lifts you up, carrying you through the doorway.

he finally stops his playful kisses when he reaches your bed, his lips parting from your skin as he looks at you. both of you are smiling, your foreheads gently pressed together as you both savor the moment.

“you're so pretty,” he whispers, his voice soft and he sounds so sincere.

you feel yourself melting at his words.

“are you trying to flirt with me?” you tease, raising an eyebrow,

he tilts his head slightly, mirroring your teasing grin. “yeah, i am,” he says, placing you gently on the bed. he climbs over you, taking off his shirt immediately and leaning down to you.

his lips brushing your jaw as he murmurs, “can’t i flirt with my girlfriend?”

a pause.

your hand cups his cheek, pulling him closer. his lips inch toward yours, but just as he's about to kiss you, you press your palm against his mouth, stopping him.

he frowns, confused, while you smirk teasingly.

“but you ain't my boyfriend,” you say softly, leaning up slightly to place a playful yet soft kiss on the back of your hand still covering his lips. “and i ain't your girlfriend.”

he smiles against your palm, his eyes twinkling with amusement. he gently grabs your wrist, lowering your hand as he leans closer.

“but you don’t want me to see nobody else?” he asks, his lips barely brushing yours, his voice low and matching your teasing tone.

you shake your head slightly, your words barely above a whisper. “and i don’t want you to touch nobody else.” you confess

“but i ain’t your boyfriend?” he counters softly, placing a delicate kiss at the corner of your mouth.

you hum as your eyes flutter shut when you feel the heat of his breath and the gentleness of his lips.

“baby, we don’t have to tell nobody,” he murmurs, his hands slipping under your cardigan to rest on your waist. his thumbs gently rub your skin, the touch sending shivers down your spine.

your smile mirrors his as his lips meet yours again, the softness of the kiss promising more than words ever could.

he kisses you softer this time, and you do too, both of you lost in the intimacy. your hands graze his face, then trail down to his neck, too preoccupied with the moment to think about anything else.

his hands gently lift your cardigan up. you help him remove it, and as the fabric falls away, his touch lingers on your skin. and next comes your bra. he leans back slightly, his lips never straying far from yours, his big hands undoing the clasp at your back. the straps slide down your shoulders, and soon, it's discarded.

his kisses shift lower, finding your neck, and you let out a soft gasp when his lips touch your collarbone. your hands explore his chest, feeling the hard planes of his muscles. his hand catches your wrist gently, and he presses a tender kiss to your knuckles, making your heart flutter.

he moves lower, pressing soft kisses along your chest. his lips linger at the top of your breasts, and his large hand comes up to cup one of them gently.

“fuck…” he breathes out, his voice low and needy. his mouth finds your nipple, yyou can feel the warmth and wetness as he sucks it, his tongue swirling in slow, deliberate motions. his other hand kneads your other breast, his fingers brushing against your sensitive nipple.

your head falls back, a quiet moan escaping your lips, your back arching toward him. he hums against you, the vibrations sending shivers through your body. his mouth moves to your other breast, giving it the same attention, his lips and tongue working in harmony to drive you crazy.

you feel completely consumed by him, every touch and kiss leaving you breathless.

your legs are wrapped tightly around his waist, your skirt bunched up high, revealing the soft fabric of your underwear. his lips trail lower, leaving tender kisses along your stomach and hips, each touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. with care, he slides your skirt off, tossing it aside, leaving you exposed in nothing but your underwear.

“can i?” he asks as his head settles between your thighs, his gaze meeting yours.

“please,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need.

he doesn’t hesitate. his fingers hook into the waistband, sliding your underwear down, baring you completely to him. his lips press soft kisses against your lower lips, and you shiver, your body already aching for him.

his fingers part your folds gently, and he pauses for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening arousal. his lips curl into a grin as he looks up at you, his eyes dark. “all for me?” he asks, his voice a husky murmur.

“all for you baby,” you manage to breathe out, your voice filled with desparation.

his grin widens, and he doesn’t waste another second. his tongue glides over your wetness in one slow, delicious stroke, and you gasp as pleasure courses through you. your thighs tighten around his head instinctively, pulling him closer as he devours you.

his tongue circles your clit, flicking and sucking gently before moving to lick broad, teasing strokes along your folds. his lips close around your sensitive bud, and he sucks softly, making you moan his name louder and louder.

“mmmph— so fucking— pussy so delicious,” he mutters, his words muffled against your heat. his voice vibrates against your core, adding to the overwhelming sensations building inside you as he continues his relentless rhythm, savoring every inch of your pussy.

his tongue slowly glides down to your aching hole, he licks up the wetness there and pushes his tongue inside you. he starts tongue fucking you and you swear you see the fucking stars.

he moves his head up and down and you can feel his nose rubbing against your clit whenever he moves. you're literally a moaning mess right now.

“mmmgh— j-jungkook so goodd!!”

he grabs your thighs, tight enough to leave marks. he continues tongue fucking you, occasionally pressing kisses and licks on your clit.

you cum.

it's all sloppy and messy, all over his mouth, and he fucking loves it.

he licks you up so good, moaning at the taste of you as you try to catch your breath.

“fuck me, jungkook, p-please,” you gasp, panting, as he rises from between your thighs, quickly removing the rest of his clothes to reveal his already hard dick, standing tall against his lower stomach.

“fuck me jungkook.. please” you moan

“yeah? you're gonna beg for it baby?” he strokes his cock, grunting a little. “gonna beg for my cock like a good girl?”

“y-yes, please fuck me,” you beg. “need you in me,”

he moans and leans down to kiss you. the kiss is hungry, desparate, sloppy and so fucking hot.

he puts on a condom as fast he can and he positions himself at your entrance, gently tapping his dick on your dripping pussy.

he groans. “you look so fucking sexy,” he says as he looks at you panting and moaning, your pussy clenching around nothing, and he loves the way you look so needy for him.

he pushes his thick length inside you, stretching you wide. you let out whimpers as you grip the bedsheets around you. your walls clenching tightly around his girth. he groans, his face contorting with pleasure as he starts to move slowly, his hips rolling back and forth.

“o-oh fuck, baby— good fucking— pussy—” his words come out muffled as his thrusts grow faster and more urgent, his pubic bone slamming against your clit with each thrust. you're crying out in pleasure, your hands grabbing at his back and arms as you try to hold on. he's fucking you hard and fast, his dick pounding into your pussy like there's no tomorrow.

he sinks deeper, filling you completely, “mmnh!!... so good,” you pant, voice strained with pleasure. with each thrust, he hits that sweet spot inside you, coaxing out whimpers and gasps.

“fuck, baby— love this tight little cunt,” he grunts

the room fills with the sound of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans. sweat beads on his forehead as he thrusts into you with increasing urgency, chasing his climax.

“g-god, you feel amazing,” he gasps, his eyes locked onto yours. “love how fucking wet and hot you are for me.”

your own pleasure builds, coiling tighter with each thrust. you arch your back, meeting him halfway, desperate for more contact.

“y-yes! yes, oh my god, jungkook—” you cry when picks up the pace even further.

with a final, deep push, he buries himself to the hilt and stills, his body shuddering as he reaches his peak. you can feel his cock twitching inside you.

your legs tremble, fingers digging into his shoulders as you ride out the intense orgasm.

he wraps his arms around you, pulling you close as you both pant and quiver in the aftermath. he presses gentle kisses to your neck

“i fucking love you.”

the next morning, you and jungkook are on the couch, in the living room, wrapped up in each other's warmth. you're peacefully sleeping with your head resting on his lap, while his fingers gently play with your hair. he's shirtless, and you can't resist softly tracing your fingers along his toned stomach and chest.

"you know what i think when i look at you?" jungkook asks, his voice soft as he brushes a strand of hair from your face. you hum in response, not fully awake.

"how can someone be this pretty?" he smiles down at you, his eyes sparkling, and you return the smile.

"back at ya," you reply with a playful grin.

"oh, you think i'm pretty?" he teases, his grin widening.

"yeah, of course! you're the prettiest," you say, your smile growing as you scrunch your nose, which he finds utterly adorable.

"what about hot?" he asks, his voice turning a little more playful. you sit up, shifting to climb onto his lap, and he smiles, his hands finding your waist to help you settle comfortably.

"the hottest," you respond, and he chuckles, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

the two of you lean in to kiss... but!!!

just as your lips are about to meet, the doorbell rings.

you sigh.

"must be the delivery guy or something," you say, and jungkook nods, pulling away from you. as you get up, jungkook gives you a playful slap on your ass. you yelp in surprise, and you can hear him laughing behind you as you make your way to the door.

you open the door, expecting to see a delivery person, but instead, your eyes widen in shock.

"what the fuck?" you say it out loud, clearly surprised by the sight in front of you.

"is this how you treat your guests?" a male voice calls out, sounding amused.

jungkook notices your surprise and quickly gets up, walking towards you to see what’s going on. "what happened, baby? who is it—" he stops mid-sentence when he sees a tall man standing in front of you. the man is holding a suitcase, dressed in a sharp navy blue suit, his dark hair perfectly styled, and his face... perfect.

“who is this?” the man asks, his eyes never leaving jungkook, waiting for you to say something.

"who are you?" jungkook asks him, his protective instincts kicking in as he pulls you behind him.

the man frowns.

“geez guys, stop it!” you step forward, standing between them now. jungkook's eyes follow you, a little confused.

"jungkook, this is my.. older brother," you say, and jungkook's eyes widen in surprise. you turn to cal and continue. "and this is jungkook, my... well, you know—"

"oh, i know," cal interrupts, eyeing jungkook with a pointed look, his gaze scanning jungkook's shirtless body. jungkook fumbles awkwardly, trying to cover himself as he looks around for his shirt, only to realize you're wearing it.

oops, you think.

“nice to meet you, i am jeon jungkook,” jungkook introduces himself, his voice a little awkward as he bows slightly to your brother. he’s clearly trying to make a good impression, but the situation he's in right now is the worst.

your brother glances at you, and you subtly mouth, ‘be nice’ to him. cal rolls his eyes, clearly not amused, but he lets out a small sigh and turns back to jungkook, holding out his hand.

jungkook, not missing a beat, reaches out and shakes his hand firmly, though still trying to mask the awkwardness.

“i’m calvin.”

“is this how you live?” your brother muses, his eyes scanning the room as he settles onto the couch where you and jungkook had been cuddling just a moment ago, taking in the surroundings with a critical eye.

“mind your own business,” you reply as you set a glass of water on the table. cal grabs it, grinning at you as he takes a sip.

“i was gonna say it suits you,” cal remarks, casually taking a few gulps of the water before setting it down on the table.

“okay, mr. richie rich,” you say, raising an eyebrow, and cal smiles.

just then, jungkook comes out of your bedroom, now fully clothed, walking towards you and cal. cal’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression hard to read. you catch it, but before he can comment, you give your brother a little kick in the leg. cal scowls, not expecting it.

you move over to jungkook, and he instantly wraps an arm around you, and he feels a little more at ease. cal notices this shift in the air, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” you ask your brother, sitting down next to jungkook on the other couch, trying to act casual.

“i did tell you,” cal points out, his tone unbothered.

“no, you didn’t—” you pause, thinking for a moment. “that was weeks ago!”

cal just shrugs, his face unapologetic. “i told you, didn’t i?”

you roll your eyes, clearly not impressed.

cal leans back on the couch. "oh yeah, mom and dad sent you some stuff," he says nonchalantly, as if it’s no big deal.

you furrow your brows, a little confused. "what stuff?" you ask, glancing between him and the suitcase he brought in with him.

"in the suitcase," cal replies, pointing at the bag. "you know, your old stuff. i also saw that plushie you always used to play with."

at the mention of the plushie, you feel something in your chest. you don’t even think twice before getting up and walking over to the suitcase. jungkook watches your every movement, curious.

you open it carefully, your hands trembling slightly as you sift through your old belongings. when your fingers brush against the familiar fabric of the plushie, you pull it out, immediately hugging it tightly to your chest.

cal watches, a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "yeah, that ugly fat guy," he comments, and you glare at him and he just laughs softly, immediately apologising.

you clutch the plushie closer, but as you look down at it, you notice a small tag attached to it, and you read the words on the tag aloud: “we realised that we can let go now.”

the realization hits you, and a wave of emotions rush over you.

mom and dad..

it makes your throat tighten and your eyes well up with tears. you blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay, but it’s hard. you hug your totoro plushie tighter, a pout forming on your lips.

both jungkook and cal notice it. jungkook smiles softly, his eyes warm, while cal looks at you, his eyes softening.

for a moment, cal doesn’t say anything. he watches as you hug the plushie tightly, your fingers clutching it as though you’re afraid to let it go. despite the teasing earlier, he can’t help but see you as the same little sister who used to carry that plushie around everywhere.

he remembers the way you’d refuse to sleep without it, how you’d drag it around by one arm. you were always so stubborn. you were always insisting that it wasn’t just a toy, it was your “friend.” and now, seeing you holding it again, it’s as if time has rewound.

he can only see you as the same little girl, clutching your plushie like it’s your whole world, and it makes his heart ache a little— but in a good way.

“we’re proud of you, you know,” cal says suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

you and jungkook both look at him, a little surprised.

“yes, we,” he repeats, his smile growing as he starts to list, “me, mom, dad, totoro, noisy boy-” he chuckles as he recalls some memories. “we’re all proud of you, little star.”

his words hit you hard. it breaks you, completely.

you bury your face in totoro, clutching the plushie tightly as the tears begin to fall freely. soft, shaky sobs escape your lips, and cal doesn’t hesitate. he stands and moves to kneel beside you on the floor, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. his hand strokes your arm gently, up and down, a comforting rhythm as you cry into his side.

“i missed you,” you manage to say through the tears, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

cal’s smile softens even more. “me too,” he whispers, his voice quiet but filled with warmth.

jungkook kneels down in front of you, his gaze filled with nothing but tenderness. cal looks at him, their eyes meeting for a moment, and with a small, approving smile, cal nods at him.

jungkook seems to understand immediately. he reaches out, gently pulling you into his arms. you let yourself be held, your sobs gradually quieting as he rubs soothing circles on your back.

cal watches the two of you, his chest tightening in a bittersweet way. he sees how jungkook wipes away your tears with careful hands, murmuring something about totoro that makes you chuckle softly through the emotions.

jungkook presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a moment before he pulls back to look at you. his eyes full of love and reassurance, and it’s enough to make cal feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re in good hands.

and all cal can think as he watches the two of you is,

we can let go now.

note: one more chapter :(( i have so much to say about owiu i am gonna cry (already did writing the last part,, idk i am js really emo today)

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#jeon jungkook #jungkook x y/n #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts fanfic #jungkook smau #bts jungkook #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #smut #fluff #angst

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