#as if she hasn’t made it clear she’s just saying whatever will get her into power with 0 genuinely held beliefs

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

part one

“so how was your first day?” robin asks steve as he slides onto the barstool next to her and chrissy.

“it actually wasn’t that bad,” steve shrugs before taking a long pull from the freshly opened bottle the bartender slides his way.

“it wasn’t that bad?” chrissy asks, incredulous. “so he didn’t make you go to the erewhon all the way across town? the one he goes to because selena gomez was seen there once?”

“that’s why he made me go there?”

“yeah, he really likes that one movie she’s in.”

steve thinks for a moment. “the dead don’t die?”

“no, the one with the dancing,” chrissy snorts.

steve makes a face and then shrugs again. “i made him his breakfast, i drove him around, i organized his tshirt closet… pretty standard stuff for an assistant.”

“you organized his tshirt closet? what the fuck does that even mean?” robin asks, laughing.

“exactly what it sounds like,” steve grins at her. “anyway, really, it wasn’t that bad. sure, he’s insufferable but not anything i couldn’t handle. don’t worry about it.”

“well, thanks for doing this,” chrissy says. “vickie handled it for a while, but i guess once you’ve been fired twelve times in the course of six months, you have to draw a boundary with the thirteenth.”

“it’s really not a big deal, it’s not like i’m doing it for free,” steve responds. “the money is more than worth it.”

“still, i know how he can be. but he’s really not so bad. once he’s… comfortable.” chrissy frowns.

“whatever,” steve shrugs for a third time. “i’m just here for the cash.” he winks and gives her a reassuring smile.

~*~

the next morning, steve pulls up to eddie’s huge beverly hills mansion bright and early, just as he had yesterday. he punches in the gate code, waves to the security guy on duty, and makes his way inside to the kitchen.

eddie storms in while steve is halfway through cooking another omelette, this time with tomatoes and onions and freshly grated cheddar cheese.

“i don’t care, wheeler, i’m not making a fucking appearance and i’m definitely not doing it with him,” eddie snarls into the phone pressed to his face. he hasn’t seemed to notice that steve’s in his house again.

eddie waits for whoever it is on the phone to speak before he says, “well maybe i don’t want to fix it. maybe this is it,” and then hangs up the phone. he lets out a frustrated little scream before he turns to leave the kitchen, finally noticing steve by the stove. “you’re back,” he says, voice monotone.

“i’m back,” steve smiles, sliding the plate full of food across the large island toward him. eddie looks down at it like he’s surprised. “eat,” steve tells him.

“another sweater vest?” eddie sneers instead of picking up his fork.

“i like them,” steve shrugs, still smiling.

eddie rolls his eyes. “whatever,” he mutters and then picks up the plate and retreats from the kitchen.

~*~

eddie is deeply annoyed by how good steve’s omelettes are. he practically licks the plate clean when he’s finished, which only serves to make his bad mood worse.

“can i take your plate?” steve asks from the doorway of the living room.

“jesus christ, man, wear a fucking bell,” eddie grumbles before holding out the plate, forcing steve to walk across the room to the couch and take it from him.

“i’ll remember to announce myself from now on,” steve replies. “chrissy just called; you have another meeting with the pr team this afternoon. we’ll leave here in about an hour.”

eddie doesn’t respond and steve goes quietly back to the kitchen.

~*~

eddie tries to confuse steve with the directions to nancy’s office again, mostly just to annoy him since the car has a built in gps. steve ignores eddie, leaving him to play on his phone in the back seat. the windows are tinted dark, just how eddie likes it & it lulls him into a false sense of security to where he’s almost relaxed by the time they get to nancy’s office.

the meeting is a fucking drag. it’s just a rehashing of the morning’s phone call and eddie had already made himself perfectly clear. he’s not willing to fix anything. nancy and chrissy try to double-team him, begging him to think about the tour & the album roll-out & the rest of the band. the entertainment blogs are running wild with the rumors circulating about the other night and now they’re digging up shit that he wishes would stay buried.

“absolutely fucking not,” eddie spits out. “i refuse to be fucking cordial with that moron.”

“fine,” nancy says finally. “i guess we’re done here then.” she gets up from the head of the conference room table and leaves through the big glass doors and the rest of her team takes that as their cue to leave, too.

chrissy levels him with a look, waiting until the last intern has left the room before speaking.

“eddie, i know you’re pissed right now. trust me, i would be too,” she says, using that tone eddie always hates—the one that makes it sound like she’s trying to placate a rabid dog. “but the label has invested a lot of money into you and they need you to put in some work right now. take a minute, take a breath, and then we’ll talk again. but we need to respond; we can figure out what that looks like. i’ll talk to nance… maybe we don’t need a joint appearance. maybe you can just make a statement.”

eddie knows there are a ton of people relying on this tour & this upcoming album. he knows the band doesn’t deserve the hit from this. but what is there to even say? he’s just so fucking angry about it.

“fine. i’ll make an appearance. but i won’t, under any circumstances, be seen with him,” eddie tells her firmly. he slides his sunglasses back onto his face before pushing himself out of his chair and making his way over to the door. “just tell me when and where. and make sure nancy doesn’t make me sound like a fucking idiot.”

“great,” chrissy smiles so bright she looks like a teenager again. “i’ll talk to nancy. we’ll figure it out.”

any reassurance eddie feels is washed away by a renewed sense of annoyance when he sees steve waiting for him in the lobby, still wearing his pastel yellow sweater vest, drinking a purple smoothie from a straw and scrolling on his phone. he’s laughing at something on the screen and the sunlight comes through the huge front windows just right, making him glow golden, and eddie just feels something inside him twist unpleasantly.

steve looks up then to see eddie coming, but eddie breezes past him to the sidewalk. steve jumps up to follow, handing the valet their ticket. when the car finally pulls up, eddie says, “no liquids in the car,” before sliding into the back seat.

he sees steve shrug before smiling at the valet and handing him his half empty smoothie to dispose of and a tip.

the car ride home is silent. eddie practically leaps from the car before it’s even come to a stop when they pull into the driveway. there are packages on the table in the foyer, likely brought in by the security guy at the gate. “grab those,” eddie tells steve with a wave of his hand.

steve follows eddie into the kitchen, arms laden with paper bags and boxes. most of it, eddie knows, is free product and merch, stuff he never uses and mostly stuff he doesn’t even want. steve places the packages on the counter and watches as eddie sifts through them, clearly looking for something.

“do you want lunch?” steve asks. eddie ignores him, finally finding the package he’d ordered earlier today. he flings it across the kitchen island toward steve on the other side.

steve catches the package in his hands and arches an eyebrow.

“open it,” eddie tells him, nodding at paper wrapping. he opens the fridge to pull out a bottle of water and takes a long sip as he watches steve’s fingers tear at the brown paper.

once the package is open, steve huffs out a laugh, barely a breath, before holding up a bright pink cat collar with a tiny bell attached. he shakes it in the air, making the bell tinkle. the collar clearly will not fit him.

“fuck you, man,” steve says, still smiling.

“fuck you, too,” eddie says.

and then he leaves the kitchen.

[sturns-mermaid]

Chapter 4: Spilled Milk

✮ wc: 979

no warnings :)

other parts here | chapter 5 coming soon!

You continued walking into the crowded hallway because all the other students were moving to their next class. You were stunned by Chris’s claim; human time travel seemed impossible. Moving through universes was only something you saw on TV or in movies. Never did it occur to you it could happen in real life. You sat through your class with Chris poking your arm every so often waiting for your answer. You didn’t know what to say or do. How could you wrap your head around this strange story he was telling? Did he get stuck in a video game? Was that even possible? A croaky voice interrupted your thoughts as Mr. Jones cleared his throat looking straight at you. You hadn’t been paying too much attention to the lesson. “Do you have an answer?” he cleared his throat once more, looking away from the blackboard as you felt all eyes on you. You open your mouth to say something but the bell rings once more, and the class nearing an end quickly interrupts you. You let out a sigh of relief. Everyone packs their things and heading for the exit you pack your, bag feeling Chris gaze on you the entire time. “So are you gonna help me or not?” he asks, running a hand through his messy brunette locks. “Help you with what?” you mutter, throwing your bag over your shoulder, the two of you walk out of the classroom. “Get back to my life,” he replies, walking beside you. You freeze, noticing his lack of backpack or any belongings; he doesn’t even seem to belong to this era—perhaps it was just chance. “Are you still on this whole time travel fiasco?” you snort, continuing to walk and make your way toward the lunchroom. 

Chris nods, his legs following suit behind you as you grab your lunch tray. Something feels familiar about this practice that he hasn’t done in years since he was in high school, in his own timeline, of course. He never expected to time travel or be back to his 18-year-old self again. It all felt so surreal. He knew he had to get back before Matt and Nick noticed they were most likely freaking out. Observing you get your lunch, the food made Chris lose his appetite. “So if you’re not from this year, what year are you from?” she asked, picking up an apple from the container as she made her way through the lunch line. “Twenty-twenty-four,” Chris replied, opting for an apple and a carton of chocolate milk. He watched as your brows furrowed before letting out a laugh. Your laugh sounded like music to his ears. “Yeah right, forty-one years in the future?” she questioned, shaking her head as she found yet another claim of his to be nonsense. Chris opened his chocolate milk trying to catch up with you as he seemed to get lost in the crowd of students making their way to their tables. “Hey! Wait up” he shouted as he tried to slip past people to get to the table where you sat. “Look, Chris, I’ll play whatever game you’re so obsessed with but that’s only because I feel bad,” you say as you sit down and set your tray in front of you, unwrapping your sandwich. “Why would you feel bad?” he asks, watching you as he takes another drink of the milk. “You’re clearly living in some fantasy world,” she says as she chews her food, picking out the tomatoes from in between the bread. Chris watches you, his mind replaying how Matt doesn’t like tomatoes either, he doesn’t know how long he has been away according to their time. Your friend Monica, her hair tangled and in her face, interrupted his thoughts by sitting down across from you both. “Who’s he?” she questioned as she nodded her head towards Chris, popping a grape in her mouth. You eyed her grinning as you set your sandwich down, putting a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “This is Chris, he’s a time traveler,” you replied in a mocking tone. She bursts out laughing, causing the grape to fling across the table, starting Chris as he drops his milk carton out of his hand, spilling it everywhere. “Oh, no! Are you okay?” you ask, noticing his clothes are now soaked. Chris looks down at the puddle of chocolate milk covering the table and sees the words “read the handbook” With a sudden blink the words are gone leaving him to process what they mean and if he was the only one who had seen them.

You shook Chris seeing as he stared at the spilled milk dripping from the table you gathered some napkins from the lunch line as you walked back over and tried to clean up the mess. “Hey, it’s okay no need to cry over spilled milk” You whispered to him watching as he finally lifted his head to meet your gaze. “Did you see that?” he asked pointing to the puddle that was now being soaked up by the napkins. “See what?” you question confused as you continue to pile on napkins in the mess. Chris shook his head clearing his mind of the thought he was probably just seeing things his brain tricking him into this whole situation. “I gotta go,” he mutters as he stands up abruptly his clothes still dripping with chocolate milk. You try to protest but he slips past you too fast. You're left watching him with hunched over shoulders make his way out of the lunchroom. You turn over to your friend who sits with a raised eyebrow, before gathering the pile of wet napkins. “What’s his deal?” she asks helping you throw them away as you two walk after him. “Beats me, but I’m going to find out,” you say determined to understand what exactly is going on.

divider: @rubybara

tags: @itsmaddielouis @oliviasthatgirl @scorpio1205 @submattenthusiast @mattsplaything @courta13 @anyaa2s @brianna-grace12 @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @sturnshood @stxrsniolo @immaqulate @t0riiiis @heartsonlyforchris @blushsturns @conspiracy-ash @hearts4werka @mattsbows @sweetshuga @ilusa @luzstarkey @chrissweetheart

dm or comment to be added!

[fishyartist]

Think maybe a lot of cruel and stupid people just Actually want to hurt others, and are using the excuse of self preservation to justify it

[shouyuus]

─── Ⅵ CHAPTER FIVE: DON'T HATE THE PLAYERS

violet; 5,460 words; fluff, suggestive content, drama, hockey!vi, figure skater!reader, smau-intermissions, miscommunication, fake dating, lesbian situationships rly hit diff, toxic ex!cait, simp!vi, rival!sevika, inappropriate use of locker rooms, vi is down so horrifically bad its kind of sad tbh

summary: in which instagrams are posted, texts are sent, hockey games are played, and you try your best to make it back in time to gie vi her present.

a/n: a lot of things happen here. LOL but i promise they're not all bad! ALSO. the insta post picture IS NOT PERFECT but it was the best i could do. and i didn't have time to commission an artist to draw the exact image that i wanted :( but i hope it at least gives the vibe of the post. and... it starts getting frisky here so... yall have been warned!

< table of contents

─── Ⅵ "OH SHIT, she said that?”

Vi grunts, rolling her eyes as she drops the deadlift bar with a loud thunk, flicking her belt off with her thumb.

“Yeah. I told her to fuck off.”

“Atta girl!” Jayce says, thumping her on the shoulder. Vi casts him a disgusted look.

“If you value your future offspring, Talis, never call me that again.”

Jayce laughs, reaching down to help Vi put the weights back onto the rack.

“I honestly thought it was gonna take much longer for you to, y’know —”

Vi pauses before straightening to pin him with a look.

“What? You thought I’d super hung up on her or something?”

Jayce shrugs, “Well, yeah. You seemed pretty deep in it when you two were together so…”

Vi sighs, carding a hand through her sweat-slicked hair.

“I mean, I was, but… I dunno… seeing her with that new girlfriend of hers… and just… her reaching out to try and — what… sabotage my…” Vi bites back the word ‘relationship’ so she just makes a vague sort of gesture and continues, “really kinda put things into perspective for me.”

Jayce hums thoughtfully, “Yeah, but that Nolen girl’s no joke either. Her whole family’s been in the military — her dad’s some sort of war hero, and her mom’s the daughter of a politician, I think.”

Vi casts him a sidelong glance before scoffing, “Wow. Mel really did her research, huh?”

At this, Jayce jerks up, sputtering, “Well — she just — you know — her family’s also — I —”

Vi laughs, waving him off, “Whatever dude… but I already knew all that — why d’you think Caitlyn even ditched me in the first place?”

Jayce frowns, “Wasn’t it… because her mom didn’t approve of you or something like that?”

“Yep. We had one dinner together, and her mother made it very clear that she didn’t think someone of ‘my elk’ was worthy of being with her daughter. Apparently, having an adoptive father who owns a local watering hole and coaches college hockey isn’t the exact pedigree she’s looking for.”

Jayce lets out a low whistle.

Vi grabs a dumbbell for bicep curls.

“And… it seems like Caitlyn really look her mother’s words to heart. Cause a few weeks later… well, you know the rest.”

Jayce sighs, “That’s… unfortunate. But hey, look on the bright side. Without Cait’s mom, you would’ve never had the chance to date an Olympic athlete, right?”

Vi’s mouth twists into a half-grimace as she puffs out a breath and flexes her arm up, her eyes focused on her form in the mirror.

“Yeah well — not sure what exactly we are right now so… who knows.”

Jayce folds his arms, “Give her time. I haven’t known her as long as Mel has but she’s still a really good friend and…” Jayce allows himself a tiny, slanted grin as Vi pushes through her reps, “Mel wasn’t lying when she told you that we’ve never seen her like this with anyone else before.”

Vi finishes her first set with a loud exhale, glancing up at him.

“Don’t go getting my hopes up like that, pretty boy,” but she’s smiling when Jayce bends down to hand her a bottle of Gatorade, “hasn’t anyone told you it’s not good manners to toy with a girl’s feelings?” she pitches her voice up at the end, wiggling her fingers through the air even as Jayce rolls his eyes.

A few minutes later, Jayce frowns as he turns back to Vi.

“You’ve blocked her number, right?”

Vi huffs, still counting beneath her breath, “— twenty-two, twenty-three — who? What? — Twenty-four —”

“Caitlyn’s.”

Vi grunts, straining through a few more reps before stopping to glance up at Jayce.

“No. Why? Should I?”

Jayce licks his lips, frowning slightly.

“Yeah. Might be a good idea.”

Vi shrugs, “Yeah. I’ll do it later.”

Jayce nods, “Good. Alright — abs, lets go.”

You’re antsy all the way to the airport, checking your phone every four seconds, your knee bouncing even as the cab driver pulls up into the terminal and opens the trunk to grab your bag with a smile.

You bolt through the doors, thanking the heavens that the TSA Pre line is nearly empty.

Just as soon as you get through security, Mel calls.

“Have you got it?” you ask, without even saying hello.

Mel sigh, “Yes, yes, but it won’t do much good if you’re not here to give it to her —”

“I know! I know — I’m at the airport, and just got through security. Are you and Jayce —”

“I’ll come pick you up at the airport — thank god it’s only 16 minutes away from campus.”

“And you’re sure we’ll still make it on time for the game?”

“So long as your flight doesn’t get delayed —”

“It won’t.”

Mel laughs, the sound soft as you speed-walk your way through the terminal, slumping down next to your designated one with a long breath.

“Alright then, darling. I’ll see you in a few hours,” Mel says.

You make a loud kissing noise into the speaker and hang up, your fingers automatically flicking through the open windows till you come to yours and Vi’s text history.

You grin down at it stupidly for a few more seconds before jolting out of your seat as one of the gate agents comes to shake your hand and help you board first. As you sink into the wide, business-class seat, you close your eyes, taking a few deep breaths. Your fingers fiddle with a thin gold chain around your neck and you bite back another grin.

You tug out the small teardrop locket dangling from the chain and flick open the clasp. Inside is nestled a single violet flower, pressed and perfect, preserved behind a thin pane of shimmering glass.

Vi makes a round of the rink, scanning the crowd with furrowed brows.

Nope. Nope. Nope…

She swears silently to herself, rolling her shoulders as the crowd roars.

You promised you’d be here tonight.

“And tonight, we’ve got our season’s top two favorites for the NCAA’s Frozen Four Championship — the Piltover Enforcers, and the Zaunite Barons!”

Vi grins as the stadium positively shakes with applause. It’s always nice playing on home-ice. Across the rink, she can see the huge, lumbering shapes of the Barons, and her jaw clenches as she catches Sevika’s eye.

They’d been something like childhood friends once upon a time. But after a falling out of meteoric proportions, they’d settled somewhere between grudging acquaintances and mortal enemies. Where they land on the scale on any particular day typically depends on the weather, the orbital tide height, and whether or not Mercury is currently in retrograde.

Though judging by the smirk that’s visible from beneath Sevika’s helmet, Vi thinks it’s nearing the mortal enemies end of the spectrum today.

All the players line up for the face off.

Vi bites down on her mouth guard and smacks her stick against the ice. Sevika skates up to her, bending down so close their helmets clack.

And for a brief, interminable second, Vi thinks Sevika’s going to stay quiet. But the moment passes and Sevika chuckles, the sound low and hoarse and utterly derisive. It sets Vi’s teeth on edge even before the first word leaves her mouth.

“Heard America’s snowflake-sweetheart’s got you wrapped around her little finger.”

“Tch. What’s it to you?” Vi’s eyes flash up.

Sevika’s smirk has morphed into a full blown grin, sharp as freshly turned blades.

She shrugs, keeping her voice low as the official says something or other to both the teams.

“Well… just a lotta people buzzin’ online about her perfect skate at her competition this past weekend and I’m just thinkin’… man… you must not be fuckin’ her right —”

“You —” Vi nearly jerks up, but Sevika presses in just a bit tighter and Vi grounds her teeth down over the mouth guard.

“Cause if you lemme **take her for a spin, you can bet your scrawny ass that she won’t even be able to stand up straight, let alone skate clean.”

The puck hits the ice as if in slow motion; Vi feels a white-hot anger mixed with something very much like hurt surging up the length of her spine as she watches Sevika’s stick make contact with the puck first. But she doesn’t care — she slams her body forward and feels her shoulder check into Sevika’s chest as they both go sprawling across the ice and the puck goes wide.

They scramble up and take off after the puck, now in Zaunite possession, Sevika’s shoulder ramming reflectively into Vi’s as they jostle down the length of the rink.

Vi cracks her shoulder back into Sevika and the momentary gap is all she needs to break away, circling wide behind the goal. Someone shouts Reverse! and Vi feels more than sees the tiny black puck make contact with her stick. Her body moves on instinct, and she’s halfway down the rink before the others catch up to her.

She allows herself a single, tight-lipped grin before someone slams into her back with the force of a speeding firetruck. The world spins, but a second later, Vi hears the unmistakable sounds of Sevika’s heaving breaths.

“Ha. Aren’t you glad your little girlfriend isn’t here to see you eat shit?”

Vi flips around and before she knows it, she’s swinging her left arm into Sevika’s helmet, knocking it askew.

“Vi!”

Vi’s whole body seizes at the sound of your voice, and she looks up wildly, but she pays for it a moment later as Sevika’s fist connects with her jaw and her head snaps back. She brings her elbow down against Sevika’s extended arm, her free hand grappling to keep Sevika’s head shoved against the ice.

A whistle blows and they shove apart, shaking their heads and spitting blood. Vi tastes iron on her tongue and winces as she rotates her jaw. There’ll be a nasty bruise, but it’s not dislocated, and Vi’s suffered much worse at Sevika’s hands.

Half a foot from her, Sevika is shaking out her arm, looking murderous as the official comes up to point them towards the penalty box.

Vi looks around, and halfway across the rink, she sees you, your eyes wide, your hands pressed over your mouth, Mel and Jayce sitting next to you, both looking worried. But you’ve got dark streaks painted on your cheeks, and it takes her a second to recognize the large “VI” written there — her number, her name.

The world melts around her as she meets your eyes, and you look so worried that she almost laughs. This is nothing, she wants to say, you ain’t seen nothing yet, princess.

But the second is short lived as the official skates over and jerks his head towards the penalty box. She sighs, begrudgingly skating over and settling herself as far away from Sevika as humanly possible as the clock starts on their five minutes.

When all’s said and done, the game is a good one — with the final score of 3-2 in Piltover’ s favor. Sevika gets another penalty, but Vi manages to keep her cool. And by the end, everyone’s sweaty and tired, but riding high, and Vi can’t help the way she once more scans the cheering crowd for your face.

But, you’re not there. The seat next to Jayce and Mel is empty, and Vi can’t help the clawing, hollowing sensation that burrows up her chest from the base of her stomach.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Margot teases, bumping Vi as they all clamber off the ice.

Vi narrows her eyes, “What’dyou mean?”

Margot only grins, shooting Vi a wink before following the rest of the team towards the lockers.

Her phone buzzes and Vi glances down, only to see a single line of text from you:

come to the figure skating lockers. i’ve got a present for you.

Electricity zings up Vi’s limbs as she pivots hard left and makes her way down the heavily padded hallway towards the figure skating lockers, tugging off her gear as she goes. By the time she gets there, she’s managed to get most of her upper pads off, shucking them outside the door, leaving her in her loose jersey and pants.

She pushes through the thick metal door into the figure skating lockers. They’re smaller, brighter, and generally cleaner than the hockey team lockers. Vi’s never thought herself a stickler for things like nicer locker rooms but stepping in, she can’t help the way that her eyebrows shoot up.

“Whoa.”

“They’re not all this nice.”

Vi whips her head around so fast she almost gets a crick in her neck at the sound of your voice. And there — standing next to the far row of pure white lockers, with your hands behind your back and her number (her name still painted on your cheek), you.

“Yeah?” she asks, even as she drops her helmet on the thickly padded floor and shuffles forward in her skates. She takes her time looking you over — and objectively, she knows it’s only been a few days since she’d last seen you, but it feels like forever, the way time stretches endless when you’re a little kid on the playground and eternity is just another thing you can take for granted.

You purse your lips around a shy grin and Vi almost groans as she notices the bright pink ribbon tied around your neck like a choker. You’re wearing the little black dress that you’d worn to that sorority party, the one that’s been the subject of one too many of her dirty daydreams — her varsity jacket slung around your shoulders.

“Sweet god, princess… is this the present you have for me? Please tell me it is —”

You let out a soft puff of exasperated laughter.

“No! I mean —” your eyes cut away as you shift your weight from one foot to another, falling back half a step as Vi takes a few steps closer. “I-if you want it to be — this can be — uhm — an additional present —”

“Mm… I don’t think I want any other present if I’ve got this one —” Vi says, inwardly thanking the heavens that she’d kept her skates on as they give her a few more inches as she corners you against a row of snow-white lockers, so bright they’re almost blinding.

“I — well that’s —”

“Mm… cat got your tongue, princess?” Vi asks, reaching up to tug your chin back towards her as you try to glance away.

You suck in a short breath, your lashes fluttering as you meet her gaze with yours — dark to light, amber and ice.

There’s adrenaline coursing through her system, and Vi knows she’s still riding high off the win, off the knowledge that you’re here, and that you’re here for her. She looks you over with reverent eyes, her gaze lingering on the dark paint now slightly smeared across your cheeks in a large “VI”.

“I… I got this for you a while back…” you say, pressing something into her chest. Vi pauses, glancing down to see a small black box wrapped in a length of bright pink ribbon the exact same make and color as the one around your neck.

Vi falls back a step to take the box in her hands, turning it over.

“What is it?”

You shrug, a tiny, bird-like movement. Sweet and almost daring.

Vi grins as she traces a finger along a single ear of the perfectly tied bow.

“Can I?” she asks.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip.

Vi tugs on the ribbon and it comes loose with a whisper. She opens the box to reveal a simple, teardrop locket set on a golden chain. She picks it up, letting the locket dangle from her fingers.

“Go on, open it,” you prompt, looking both bashful and eager. Vi gives you one more glance before fumbling open the locket to reveal a single snowflake, carved into the thick glass set into the middle of the locket.

“Oh.” Vi breathes, her voice nothing but a whisper. She stare at the locket, at the simplicity and delicacy of it. And then, she looks back up at you.

“It’s — Mel and Jayce helped me pick it — I didn’t know if you even wore stuff like this but —”

“I’ll wear it,” Vi says, letting the pendant drop into the palm of her opened hand. She offers it to you with a lopsided grin. “Can you help me put it on?”

You nod, a bit breathless, even as you take the locket from her and undo the clasp with trembling fingers. Vi grins as she leans in to let you fasten the chain around her neck, reveling in the tiny kiss of cold metal against her sweaty skin as she pulls back.

“So? How’s it look?” she asks.

You stare at the locket, and then up at her, and she swears she can see your eyes go molten.

“It looks… good.”

“Good,” Vi whispers, reaching up to finger at the tiny pink bow still tied around your neck. You suck in a breath, going still against her as she ghosts her breath along the long column of your neck. And she thinks she can almost hear the sound of your heart pounding against your ribcage by the way your pulse flutters in your neck — she sure as hell can feel her own traitorous heart thundering away in her chest as she glances from the bow around your neck up to you and back down again.

“Can I?” she asks again, though this time, her voice is gentle, imploring, something like a plea as opposed to question.

She revels in the way your pulse flutters beneath the bright pink of the satin.

“Y-yeah —” you say, your own voice a harsh scrape of sound over a burgeoning need that Vi can almost taste on her tongue. But, she wants to take her time with you, she thinks, so she trails her fingers up to your neck and teases at the rabbit ears of the butterfly bow before tugging one end loose. And just like before, the ribbon gives way much too easily, and something gold shimmers as it drops from beneath the pink satin.

She stares.

It’s a gold chain identical to the one around her neck, with a teardrop pendant strung from it that mirrors her own.

This time, when she glances up, her eyes are wide, almost disbelieving.

Your throat bobs as you clench your fingers at your sides, resisting the urge to lift your hands and help her.

“What…” her voice trails off, disbelieving.

You lick your lips. “Go on — open it.”

Vi nearly fumbles the locket twice before she gets it open, and her short intake of breath is the only sign you get that she’s seen what’s inside. You hold your own breath, watching her face as it flickers through a film-frame series of emotions.

“Is that —” her voice is hoarse; she clears her throat, running a thumb over the glass.

“Yeah,” you say, reaching up to take the open pendant from her, glancing down at it yourself, heat pricking into your cheeks as your eyes settle on the pressed violet.

She’s kissing you before either of you can say another word, and the force of it nearly slams your head back into the lockers but Vi’s hand is somehow there to cushion you, her fingers digging into your hair as you gasp open for her wanting mouth. It’s not a sweet kiss and there’s nothing gentle in the sting of her nails raking against your scalp as she presses you close, and then closer.

It’s a clash of teeth and tongue, skin and sound — your tiny, surprised squeak eclipsed by the low moan that reverberates from her chest to yours as she licks into the hot cavern of your mouth and feels you soften against her — sweet as sun-warmed honey.

“F-fuck princess —” Vi hisses, pulling back with a panting breath as you let your head fall back, gasping for air even as she yanks you towards her till both of you are toppling onto one of the long benches, your legs falling open to straddle her thighs, her hands poised over the round of your hips.

You look down at her, running your thumbs along her cheeks eyes flickering over her face — and the admiration caught behind the fractured glass of your eyes is so obvious that Vi almost turns away, embarrassed. Instead, she leans up to nose into the triangle of your threading pulse, delighting in the shiver that chases down the shape of you, in the involuntary way your thighs squeeze on either side of hers.

She grins, inching her fingers beneath the hem of your little black dress, groaning as she finds the winged hollows of your hipbones and realizes, half a breath later, that you’re not wearing any panties.

“Holy shit — w-were you like this the whole game?” she asks, her eyes going wide with awe.

You bite your lips, cocking your head to one side as you reach up to brush away a strand of hair from her forehead.

“No…” you say, but your voice trails off and you glance towards the side. She follows your gaze to the left, only to find your bookbag sagging against one of the far lockers. A smirk twists her lips as her eyes slingshot back to you.

“Oh wow… so…” she drawls, trailing her fingers ever so slowly up the bare skin of your hips, hitching the hem of your tight black dress further and further up till it’s barely covering what she now knows is your bare cunt.

“You came in here and took them off… just for me?” she bats her lashes at you, her skylight eyes going dark and liquid as she watches you fidget above her. Your tongue swipes across your bottom lip and Vi has to physically bite back a moan.

“Maybe I did — what of it?”

Vi’s smirk stretches as she reaches up to tug your face down towards hers, so close you can taste her breath dissolving on your tongue like sugar into tea.

“Princess…” she says, and her voice is so thick with desire it might’ve been spread there with a butter knife, “I thought… you wanted to take things slow.” Her fingers have successfully rucked your dress up high enough for it to gather at your waist, though she keeps her eyes on yours and makes no move to take advantage of the fact that you’re now entirely naked from the waist down.

You shrug up a single shoulder.

“Right… but I also remember telling you that I’m not the best with impulsivity…”

Vi laughs, the sound bright and honest. You giggle, pursing your lips, your cheeks tinted such a darling shade of crimson that Vi doubts rosy-fingered dawn would’ve had the power to eclipse it.

“Good,” she says, reaching up to cup your face with both her hands, bringing you down to tease her lips over yours, her words soft and indulgent, “cause honestly, I’ve never been the best with that either.”

She’s about to kiss you again, content to lose herself in the intoxicating drag of your lips on hers, but a text message alarm blips from her pants pocket and it jars the both of you from your desire-induced trance.

You blink, a slight frown creasing your forehead as she reaches into her hockey pants and digs out her phone. You sit back slightly as Vi clicks on her screen to see a slew of notifications dating back till god knows when, but the latest is sent from a few seconds ago and only reads:

New iMessage from cupcake 🧁

“What the —” Vi frowns.

But a second later, you’re pushing off her lap, and Vi catches a glint of the hurt in your eyes before you’re tugging down your dress and wrapping your arms around yourself.

“That’s Caitlyn, right?” you ask, your voice tenuous.

And for a second, Vi seriously considers lying to you, telling you that it’s someone else — that it’s Powder or even one of the girls from the hockey team, but she sees the fractured look in your eyes and knows that she can’t.

“Y-yeah — it is but —”

You suck in a deep breath, your fingers twisting in front of you even as Vi pushes up from the bench to try and reach for you. You jerk away, your back hitting the lockers with a loud clang that set’s Vi’s teeth on edge, even as she clenches her fist and drops her arm.

“No, it’s — it’s fine,” you say, making your swift way to your bag and snatching it up, digging around for your phone before shouldering the straps and rounding the benches again. And maybe it’s the sheer desperation curling up her chest, or the fact that the name had just come up on her screen but when she opens her mouth again, Vi says the worst possible combination of words —

“Wait, cupcake —”

You physically flinch at the pet name and Vi squeezes her eyes shut with sigh. Fuck.

When she opens her eyes again, you’re by the locker room door, your hand poised on the handle. You shoot her a single, broken backwards glance before pulling it open and slipping away.

Vi stands there, held still by the oppressive silence and the bleached-white metal all around her. She’s frozen for a single second longer before she swings her fist into the row of lockers next to her and pain ricochets up her arm from her knuckles, and her fingers pull away, already bruised.

“Fuck!”

Your fingers are shaking so badly it takes you three tries before you manage to punch the call button on Mel’s speed dial. She picks up after a single ring.

“Hey there, darling — well that was quick — we’re all heading to the after party if you —”

“Mel — c-can you come and p-pick me up?”

Mel goes quiet, and then —

“Darling? What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“N-Nothing I just — can you come pick me up?” you hiccup halfway through your sentence, wiping at the fat, traitorous tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

Distantly, you can hear Mel saying something and Jayce’s voice answering back. A moment later, she’s back on the line.

“I’ll come get you, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Why’re you crying? Did Vi do something?”

“No — it’s — it’s nothing — I just d-don’t feel very good —”

Mel sighs, “Alright then, stay where you are and I’ll come get you. I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Yeah — t-thanks Mel.”

You hang up the phone and dart into the nearly abandoned parking lot, the crowds have long since dispersed, leaving you thankfully alone. You slump against the outer wall of the rink and suck in a deep, shuddering breath, reaching up to rub at your eyes with an angry palm. You cast your eyes up at the ruefully clear autumn night, the moon hanging fat and low, the stars twinkling with their cold, far-off light.

Approximately five minutes later, Mel pulls into the parking lot, mercifully alone, rolling down the windows as you rush forward and let yourself into the passenger’s side of the car, sinking into the seat with a bitten-off sob.

“Oh my darling… what happened?” Mel reaches over to give your hand a squeeze.

You bite your lips, blinking hard at the dark tarp roof of her convertible, clutching at your bag.

“Sh-she got a text from ‘cupcake’.”

Mel stares at you for a solid three seconds before slumping back into her seat and reaching up to pinch her nose bridge.

“I’m going to murder Jayce.”

“I fucked up — I fucked up —”

“Whoa, whoa — slow down — what the hell happened?”

Vi nearly chucks her skates into the already dented lockers just as Jayce makes an abortive move forward as if to stop her. She drops her skates and buries her face in her hands instead.

“Caitlyn texted me, and — and I never changed her contact from ‘cupcake’ —”

Jayce groans, running a hand through his hair.

“I thought I told you to block her?”

“I forgot, okay?” Vi says, tugging so hard on her own hair that Jayce has to reach out and smack her hands away.

Jayce sighs, leaning back against the lockers, looking over the shape of her. He can’t help the tiny grin that hitches his lips or the small puff of helpless laughter.

“Wow.”

Vi looks up, “What?”

Jayce just shrugs, “No, it’s just — been a while since I’ve seen you down this bad.”

Vi flips him off, “Fuck you, Talis. Yeah, laugh it up — look! It’s Vi! Piltover’s favorite train-crash lesbian, fumbling yet another —”

“Y’know, one of the things about being in a nice, committed, completely non-toxic long-term relationship —” Jayce says loudly, cutting her off despite the murderous look in Vi’s eyes, “is that you learn real quick that you’re always gonna be the one that’s wrong, and that your dear, darling, perfect girlfriend will always be the one that’s right.”

He grins, bitten-lipped and open-palmed. Like this, he looks almost like the politician that Vi knows Mel’s parents so desperately want him to be.

Vi frowns, “What’re you getting at, pretty boy? Spit it the fuck out — I don’t have the patience for your bullshit right —”

“And you know what people do when they’re wrong?” Jayce continues in that chipper, Sunday-morning commercial voice of his. He leans forward even as Vi leans back, the frown digging ever deeper between her brows.

“Uh… cry and punch things and shoot for a new PR at the gym?”

Jayce snorts, but at least Vi’s smiling.

“No, you fuckin’ fratbro son of a — you apologize.”

Vi’s gaze goes flat. “Ah. Right. Of course — why didn’t I think of —”

“And then — ” Jayce continues, raising his voice even higher, a finger pointed up in the air as if he were delivering the valedictorian speech at graduation, before he twists his hand and pokes it into Vi’s jersey-clad chest.

“You do better.”

Vi’s breath catches; she blinks up at Jayce before swallowing around the peach pit in her throat.

“R-right…”

Jayce hikes both of his eyebrows comically high. Vi glances up towards them before puffing out a breath.

“Think you can do that?” Jayce asks, his voice now finally back to normal.

Vi chews on the inside of her cheek before shrugging up a shoulder.

“Dunno, but… I really wanna try.”

Jayce thumps a fist into her chest.

“Good answer, Lanes. Now. Phone.” He opens his hand palm up.

She blinks at it for a second before sighing and digging her phone from her pocket and dropping it into his hand.

Jayce punches in the password without breaking eye contact, pulling up her text history and turning the phone around to face Vi as he clicks — Contact > Info > Block Caller — on Caitlyn’s number.

He hands it back just as the screen goes dark.

Vi stares at the long crack running through the center of her screen before the phone lights up again, this time, with a text from an unknown number.

Jayce barely glances at it before smiling.

“That’ll be Mel.”

Vi’s eyebrows knit as she flicks open the screen. There are two texts in quick succession:

i’ve gotten her to agree to come to the afterparty.

Do not. Fuck this up.

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[enwoso]

i have a request for awfc x teen reader

basically reader is quite a shy and anxious person who hates getting in trouble so they never speak up and always do as they’re told, even if it negatively impacts impacts them in some way e.g. helping clear up at the end of training even if it means they miss their bus home and have to walk. r also doesn’t talk much and therefore hasn’t made any friends on the team as they’re so shy. one of the older players (maybe kim or viv?) notice this and take reader under their wing to try and bring them out of their shell. basically just a very cute fluffy fic

YOUR NOT ALONE — arsenal wfc

i feel like this doesn’t really flow the way i wanted it to so soz if it’s choppy but enjoy!

masterlist

north london was were you lived, but it wasn’t home. home was in the north, nearly four hours away from london in manchester. that was home.

not london where you didn’t know anyone, where you were all alone at a new team.

and it wasn’t that you disliked north london, the people were actually quite nice and some days it was actually a lot warmer than living in the north. but nothing compared to being home in manchester. where your friends were, your family, your childhood club.

you in some way felt like you had been abandoned, you’d been let to go by man city your childhood club. a club you thought you’d be at until you retired but they didn’t even fight for you when arsenal put the deal in, they let you go as if you meant nothing to the club.

meaning when your first day at arsenal came around, you closed yourself off to everyone. you were already a pretty shy person to begin with but now trying to talk to you was like trying to draw blood out of a stone — impossible.

you kept yourself to yourself, and made sure you stayed out of trouble. helping the coaches tidy up after training even though it meant you missed the last bus that went past your apartment which would mean you would have to do the thirty minute walk back.

you would stay and watch were you could improve your game even though it meant you were pushing your self far too hard and then getting frustrated when you didn’t see the progress you wanted to see.

the team had began to notice your behaviour and had tried their best to involve you in everything possible but you were having none of it.

the most any of the girls had heard you talk was a light hum just acknowledge the person so it didn’t seem like you were being rude.

“we need y/n to be fully apart of the team as i think she feels like she is still and outsider” kim said thinking out loud as they watched you help the coaches pack up for the evening. picking up the coloured cones as you hummed on to whatever the coach was saying. you weren’t much of a talker.

“does she always do that?” leah asked as she looked towards kim and beth who nodded.

“she always offers, just like she always offers to fill everyone’s waters and other little things around the facility’s it’s like she does it just so she can avoid us” beth raised her eyebrows as the three took another glance over to you.

“i’ve tried just talking to her but she not really full of words” kim sighs as leah nods she had tried too along with a few others but nobody could seem to get more than a hum or a small smile out of you.

“she’s just a kid, it’s gotta be hard for her getting let go by her childhood club like she meant nothing and then to be in a place miles from her family, it’s natural that she’s not gonna be comfortable around us” viv butted in after hearing the trio talk about you, a few sympathetic nods being done from the three.

viv had been amongst those who had tried to talk to you, she hadn’t gotten many words from you but instead of asking the usual questions of how you finding london which made you want to scream every single time someone asked you as you had run out of ways to lie and say you were loving it.

instead viv asked about you wanting to know you on a personal level not just on the outside and what would be the obvious to ask.

“like leah cmon imagine how heartbroken you’d be if arsenal let you go after being here for so many years-“ viv pointed out as leah hummed feeling her heart pang a little. her blood was arsenal and she doesn’t think her heart would be able to handle if she was playing for another team.

“okay first of don’t put that in the open, but i can’t even begin to imagine what she’s feeling” a sad smile rushed over leah’s features as viv nodded.

“exactly”

“why don’t you take her under your wing vivvy, she’s said in countless interviews that she looks up to you. so i’m sure if there’s anyone who would be able to crack her shell it would be you-“ beth put the idea into the open, now viv wasn’t opposed to the idea but she also didn’t want to overwhelm you cause that could push you further from the team.

“i’ll try”

the next day had came and gone, viv had been watching you throughout the day trying to pick the best time to chat to you but a good time never seem to come around. viv telling herself tomorrow she would do it

viv had stayed late to chat with the physio about her knee, the rest of the team long gone as training had finished already. well so she thought.

“hey kleintje what you doing here so late? training finished an hour ago?” viv asked as you looked up from your phone, you were watching your few minutes from the last match you played. analysing each pass, each touch, each movement to see what you could work on next.

“missed my bus” you mumbled very quietly viv almost missed what you said. viv nodded to herself as she took a seat next to you on the bench peering over slightly at what you were concentrating so hard on.

“that’s a stupid thing to do” viv blurted out, immediately regretting it when your head snapped up with a puzzled look on your face, a frown flashing across your lips.

“well cause all you doing is focusing on the negatives” viv shrugged as you still held the same look on your face, “like don’t get me wrong it’s helpful but i bet you, you have twice as many negatives in your head than positive things you did in the match” viv continued as you slowly nodded, she wasn’t exactly wrong.

“but how will i know how to get better if i don’t focus on what needs to be improved?” you asked quietly, your phone falling into your lap. viv was a little shocked, not by the question but by the fact that you hadn’t just hummed at her.

“cause you end up focusing on trying to get the bad better that the what was good starts to get bad and you enter a cycle that you can’t get out of” viv explains as you do your signature hum, you weren’t just thinking about football now.

you were thinking about how your life had changed in the past months and how much you had focused on the bad and never gave it a second thought about what was good.

“so your saying i should focus on the positives?” you trailed off staring into the distance in front of you as viv nodded, not that you saw it.

“yeah, your not alone y/n. we’re a team. we’re here to help you” viv pointed out, “and that’s not just with your football skills either” she lightly bumped your shoulder with hers a smile tugged at your lips nodding alone to what viv was telling you.

“thanks viv” you smiled sincerely, you felt as though your eyes had really been opened and you hadn’t have your self a chance at your new chapter, you hadn’t gave london a chance yet.

“no problem kleintje, now come on let’s get you home. it’s getting late”

it had been a few weeks since the conversation between kim, leah, beth and viv and progress had definitely been made. viv had managed to take you under her wing, showing you the ropes introducing you slowly to others so that it didn’t overwhelm you.

you had started to come out your shell more, you didn’t sit by yourself anymore at lunch or on the bus.

instead you’d found yourself sitting steph and kyra for lunch as you discussed your dream holiday of one day going to australia as they gave you recommendations as well as promising that when you do finally go they will happily be your tour guides.

and on the bus during away day you’d found yourself sitting with lotte quite a few times, the way she spoke was similar to viv it was wise words and someone you could listen to for a while as well as lotte being able to sit and listen to you and give you good advice if you truly needed it.

it was game day today, as you walked into the ground with viv. having gotten a ride from viv and beth to save you from having to get the bus. beth had spotted steph and leah in front, running off towards them.

“so do you think london could start to be home?” viv asked, her heart beating a little harder as she asked the question. the topic of london being your home still being very raw.

“it’s becoming home, it’s not quite there yet-“ you paused as some worry came over viv as she began to stutter.

“-but i think it will be home” you finished with a smile as you looked up at viv a sigh of relief coming over her as she swung her arm around your shoulder pulling you in a little tighter for a side hug.

“kleintje you had me worried for a minute but i’m glad your starting to feel more comfortable here, just remember your not alone. we’re a team for a reason” viv nudged you as you nodded taking in every word viv told you as you walked into the stadium.

“got it”

“anyways are you excited about your first start? imagine you score-“ viv said with a hopeful look as you slightly shook your head. you were happy about the start but scoring wasn’t the main focus of today. you were just happy to be getting minutes instead of the scrappy ten final minutes you were used to at the moment.

“excited, nervous? the goal won’t happen though so don’t get you hopes up” you dismissed as viv rolled her eyes playfully opening a door for you to go through.

“gotta have the belief kleintje!”

and maybe somewhere you had some belief cause that’s exactly what happened. you scored your first goal for arsenal, when the ball hit the net you froze. you were expecting for it to go over but when it didn’t you didn’t know what to do.

reality was brought back to you when you were surrounded by your teammates who were lifting you up in a circle as the crowd cheered. a big smile on your face as you looked around spotting vividly on the bench and sending her a knowing look as you tapped the your chest where the arsenal badge was. viv giving you a knowing nod that she understood.

your teammates lifted you down back onto the ground as they all patted you on the back or the head as you soaked up the moment a little longer walking back to your starting position.

“we’re so proud of you, our superstar!”

“get in y/n”

looking around and seeing the fans chanting and having a good time it felt for the first time since you made the big move you felt like you weren’t alone, these people that you were lucky enough to call your teammates and friends were your new family.

and maybe just maybe arsenal and north london was your new home and you weren’t mad at the idea.

in fact you loved the idea.

yourusername

liked by bethmead and 629,015 others

yourusername forever grateful for my found family❤️🤍

comments

viviannemiedema we love you kleintje!!

leahwilliamson our superstar ⭐️

kyracooneycross yeahhh for our very own 🌟

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Two four

A small note: if you would like to be added to the tagging list please ask in a reply to the post, I won't check elsewhere.

Eddie’s sitting on the couch. He’s staring into space, a couch cushion clutched tight to his chest.

Steve creeps in after Robin, hears her say, “Eddie?” softly, presumably so she doesn’t startle him.

He’s sitting in the dark, and they both just leave it that way. Probably an unspoken understanding that they don’t want to unsettle Eddie.

They sit down either side of him, Robin rubbing at his back. Steve keeps his hands to himself, not sure what will be welcome, and even less sure what the fuck he should say. Robin’s just better at this sort of stuff than Steve, maybe because she’s a girl or whatever, but she definitely has the emotional intelligence half of the brain.

Steve doesn’t know if there’s anything he even can say in a situation like this.

Eddie’s eyes are red and his face is wet, and he doesn’t move or look at either of them.

Eventually, Robin speaks gently, “Eddie, we can’t stay here.”

Steve figures whoever did live here probably cleared out when everything went to shit. He’s kind of glad; has no fucking idea how he’d explain away Eddie Munson, possible cult leader and serial killer, breaking into their house.

Steve doesn’t think Eddie’s going to say anything, but he does, after a minute, he nods, and says in a croaky voice, “I want to see Wayne.”

“Yeah, of course,” Robin agrees quickly, “we can do that, right Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, trying to sound sure and confident with that, when Eddie flinches. Visibly flinches. Turning away, shuffling closer to Robin’s end of the couch. And, okay.

Robin looks at him over Eddie’s head. Steve shrugs. Robin shrugs back. No idea.

Steve carefully, making no quick movements, moves his hand in front of his mouth, mimes using the walkie. Robin nods.

Steve jogs out to the car, walkie’s everyone real quick so they can stop looking. The others have already woken Wayne up, discovered that Eddie wasn’t there, and then gone looking for Eddie, so they’re going to head back there and wait for Steve and Robin to bring Eddie over. Explain to Wayne that Eddie’s safe so they don’t leave him worrying in the meantime.

Steve creeps back in, hoping Robs has made some progress getting Eddie moving. She hasn’t, and Steve peeks around the corner, listening. Robin is still rubbing at Eddie’s back, but he’s talking, “didn’t make any sense to come here. It’s all wrong. It all looks wrong it’s...not how we had it. Our stuffs not here,” Eddie sniffs, his voice breaking, “I thought I’d find them here.”

And then Eddie is sobbing, face buried into the cushion, sobbing so hard his whole body is hitching. He’s making noises that tear at Steve, it’s one of the worst things Steve has ever seen, such an outpouring of grief. Eddie’s so loud with it, almost wailing, barely able to breathe his chest is so wracked with it.

Steve feels absolutely useless, but Robin’s looking for him over the back of the couch, and as soon as he sees her his feet carry him over. Robin’s crying too. Steve’s pretty sure his own eyes are wet. It’s just so awful to watch. So painful, Eddie’s grief.

Steve realizes now, why Robin was so horrified. The truth of it finally sinking in now he sees the evidence of it. Eddie loved them, loved them so much that loosing them is breaking him.

Steve sits back on the couch, Eddie looking up for a second when he feels the couch dip, and suddenly he’s thrown himself at Steve, still shaking with those heaving sobs as Steve reflexively wraps his arms around him. It hurts like fuck on Steve’s broken ribs, but Steve bites it back, like fuck is reminding Eddie of that right now.

“I shouldn't have come here,” Eddie chokes out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie’s making Steve’s neck wet, and his great heaving sobs make Steve arms hitch along with them. Over the fluff of Eddie’s hair, Steve sees it as Rob starts crying fully, wiping at her nose with her sleeve, her face crumpling with it.

Steve swallows thickly, trying to hold it together but knowing he’s loosing it, and he rubs at Eddie's back, telling him, "it's okay, it'll be okay," even though Steve has no idea if it is or even if it ever will be.

It feels like a small eternity before Eddie sits up and finally moves. He doesn’t look at Steve, has his eyes squeezed shut as he scrubs at his face, and when Steve reaches for him, he flinches so hard he almost falls off the couch.

Rob is there for him then, telling him, “easy, easy,” and getting Eddie up and walking him to the car, Eddie half leaning on her.

Eddie’s opening the car door before Steve even fully stops, high tailing it away like his ass is on fire. Wayne is there in the doorway of the motel room.

Easy enough to find, it’s the only motel in Hawkins, and Jon’s car is parked outside the right room.

Wayne opens the door as Steve kills the engine, and Steve watches in the dim light as Eddie practically throws himself at Wayne. He’s sobbing again, Steve can hear it.

Steve’s only half out the car, but Nancy’s there, shaking her head, “we should leave them to it.”

They’re not going to go back to sleep, but they go through the motions anyway. Steve has a shower, really feels like he needs it. He takes a few minutes extra in there, scrubbing at his face and washing his hair, being very careful of his stitches. He gets changed into sleep pants after, and a loose tee shirt, lying in bed. Even if he just lies here, at least it’s rest of some kind. The sun will be up in an hour away, and the kids had said something about helping out at the sports hall, making sandwiches and putting together bundles of emergency supplies and stuff like that.

Steve said he’d drive them.

“Come on Dingus, I can hear you thinking about it.”

“He wouldn’t even look at me, and he flinched Rob, did you see that? And then…” it just doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I did but...out of all of us, you’re the one he hurt the worst. Like, way the worst. He nearly killed you, Steve. Like, literally, if Eddie had taken another ten seconds to wake up, you would have been lights out. Maybe he remembers.”

That does make sense, Steve hums in agreement, that’s got to be hard for him, “yeah.”

“Maybe it’s hard for him to see you because...well. That’s got to be a shitty memory. Plus, trauma does funny things, what if he remembers you fighting back, you know?”

And that’s true, Steve did land one good hit on Eddie with his bat, more reflexive than anything. Before Eddie had taken the thing right out of Steve’s hands and snapped it like it was nothing, that is.

So yeah, maybe, Steve figures, “he was saying sorry.”

Robin hums again.

Steve’s ribs are healed up, his stitches long gone, all his bruises and scrapes are gone. The town is, kind of, back on it’s feet. Sure, there’s probably an abnormally high number of for sale signs in Hawkins, but everyone who was going to come back has done. Enough that Steve’s got part time shifts at the video store, at least. Mostly to keep up appearances; now that it’s all over, Owen’s got them all a pay out. Essentially for damages and trauma or whatever, but also with a very clear ‘keep your mouths shut’ attached to it.

For that first month, Eddie pretty much only speaks to Dustin. He stays with Wayne, and once every couple of days he lets Dustin know that he’s okay. The message Dustin brings back is the same every time, “he’s okay, he just needs some time.”

@autumncrocusandladybug @duckyreads @neonfruitbowl @slv-333 @starlight-archer @skys-archive @justdreamersdream @moomkin77 @prazinos @dragonmama76 @lingeringmirth @darkwitchoferie @weirdandabsurd42 @zoeweee @thennic @xiaq @tinyplanet95 @steddieyourself @chrystal-lovee @futuristicunknown86 @grtwdsmwhr @mugloversonly @wonderland-girl143-blog

[essentiallyleaf]

day 09. belly bulge kink. with. wonyoung.

1438 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, dom reader, sub/bratty Wonyoung, belly bulge kink, or whatever the kink name is for seeing your own dick through her abs, deepthroating, squirting, pet names, relationships are hard, you won’t take my beloved parentheses off of me and there is no argument to be made about that, the punctuation is… interesting, i actually wanted to use the word thrussy, should i have?, you can actually pinpoint the second when writer gets tired.

notes.

would’ve dedicated this to @kaedespicelatte, but the kid hasn’t been behaving. cheatingly, leaf.

“You sure you won’t be cold?”

“Mm-hmm~”

She’s just such a tease. Because when she leaves the house with an outfit that exposes her belly button for the third straight day, it’s not a coincidence anymore. It’s an act of defiance. And it’s not like you need to tell her what you like about her, what you’d like to do to her. She knows. She sees you ogling at her when she goes out, and more importantly, she sees you looking sideways at her when she comes back home from fansigns with a flower bouquet in hand. She knows.

It’s just a fan. They see her once and fall in love, then forget about her in two months’ time and pick the next plastic girl to play pretend with. Kind of a cruel routine. You just can’t see her as that, ever. To you, she’s the girl that asks you to brush her hair and help her wear her sky blue princess dress and crown on her birthday. That’s not for show. That’s Wonyoung doing what she loves.

It wasn’t exactly clear-cut, between the two of you. The, lines of your relationship, that is, they weren’t exactly drawn. She was a friend, a close one, who one day in front of a cup of, some latte you don’t remember, went “Wouldn’t it be nice if we moved in together?" and then you did. She worked, you worked (at a high-end clothing shop, where you get to see the worst of spoiled people that have never seen struggle, but at least the work schedule was regular and the pay was decent), sometimes she came home tired and needed cuddles, almost every morning you made breakfast for her (she likes your blueberry waffles the best), once she joked “Isn’t this basically what couples do?” and with the unserious teasing tone you love about her, she started calling you baby. Then with the cuddles came little pecks, more daring hands; she was suddenly and inexplicably more scared of thunderstorms, and when she woke up next to you, she asked you to spoon her for a little while before going to work. One day of summer you slept in boxers and a tank top and she in her short pajama, one of you started rocking their hips while spooning, and the other followed. You both came on each other’s hands before 7.30. You’d have a lot to think about that day at work, but at least you’d be on time.

It turned out fine between the two of you. She was okay with it, you were okay with it; the thing is, both of you were kind of tap-dancing around the conversation.

Now her bed is always made, she takes her showers with you (and well, you know), and the pet names roll off the tongue much better. But your relationship is not exactly a straight railroad leading to town, more like some kind of meadow, an open space where to, go around and explore. No questions, just… no questions.

“Don’t come back too late tonight”

“Okay babyseeyoulaterbyeee!”

That’s the other thing about her. Wonyoung is your cuddle bear, but that teasing tone seems to always be there. It’s like she knows you need her in your arms (or around your dick, that also works), but she wants you to earn it. It’s a challenge, that much you’re certain about, so you take on it. A fair response to an unjustified provocation. You’re simply taking what’s already yours.

She comes back as the sun is still up, that night; baby knows how to behave. She says she’s not hungry yet - you thought she’d been hungry for three days straight. Well if she’s not, you’ll make her.

You start making out with her while she’s still in the hallway like almost every night by now.

“You want to just lay on the bed, then?”

“Only if you join~”

“Wanna take some of those clothes off? I turned the heater up”

You say some, you really mean all. Wonyoung knows, and won’t make you ask twice. Actually, that’s when the other side of her kicks in.

“I thought you were worried I’d be cold~”

She still doesn't make you ask twice.

You get down to your underwear with her, but you don’t lie down with her, you just tell her to lay face up and feet away from you, then guide her towards you so her head is dangling off the edge. She knows where this is going. She looks up at you with an upside-down smirk. Her fucking lips. You need them around you.

So, drop your boxers and place your half-limp cock on them, rubbing yourself on her face. She pulls her tongue out and uses it like it’s second nature, licking and spreading saliva all around your head, your shaft, and your balls as you hover them over her opening. As soon as you’re fully hard and lubricated, you put your tip (together with a good fourth of your length, to be fair) into her mouth. She can take you, she’s done this before, just never in this position. So you offer her all the time she needs.

As you slowly push further and further into her throat, you see it swell slightly and wrap a hand around the back of her head while throwing your own back in pleasure. No. You need to see. You’re almost fully in, and her neck is molding around your girth like never before.

“You’re doing a great job, baby. Just a little bit more”

She really is. She keeps breathing at a steady pace through her nose, unusually relaxed despite the situation. When you bottom out, she only notices because you stop moving. You stay in position for a few seconds, then almost as slowly (she always seems so fragile, like you’re on the verge of breaking her; so you always make sure to handle her with care) you pull out of her. You caress her cheeks dotingly.

“Are you okay, princess?”

That’s the pet name you used to call her on her birthday and on her birthday only. Now, it’s for any special day, and today, Wonyoung is behaving herself.

She nods really fast while smiling upside-down, she has a lot of saliva built up in her mouth and some on the corners of it.

“Can I go in again?”

“Mm-hmm~”

This time it’s all much faster. You push yourself into her in one go and immediately start pumping. Her throat inflates and deflates at each passage as you close your eyes, lost in pleasure. One of her hands reaches down to her gray panties (a little wet spot is already there) and starts rubbing, the other feeling her own abs. Your quick thrusts are now drawing high-pitched moans out of her.

You open your eyes again, and stop thrusting.

“Who said you could touch yourself, baby?”

Not a princess this time. She can’t answer, she still has your wood in her throat. But even if she could, she’d still be left speechless.

So you simply remove your shaft from her mouth, spin her body around 180 degrees and pull her hips towards you on the edge of the bed. You take her panties off, and see her glistening, gorgeous slit. You don’t give her that, though, not yet. Palm her abs, from top to bottom and back up. Live by the tum, die by the tum. She’s just whimpering, waiting, begging for you to touch her pussy. You won’t touch her, you’ll ravage her.

Guide your now monstrous looking dick with your hand to her tiny lips and split them apart. Your girth plunges into her extreme tightness as both of you watch, between surprise and arousal, her belly bulge in the shape of your cock. That simply encourages you to thrust quicker and more powerfully, making your girl whine loudly. Your right hand instinctively reaches for her still bra-clad cute titties and fondles them alternately. You wreck, shuffle, and re-shape her insides as your eyes stare at her tummy inflating and deflating hypnotized.

So hypnotized that it’s only her scream that, announcing her orgasm, takes you out of your trance. Wonyoung repeatedly contracts around you, squirting transparent liquid that pressures your dick out of her. It only takes two more strokes for you to hit your own peak and release seemingly endless spurts of white nectar onto her beautiful abdomen. A whole minute is filled only with pants for air.

“Baby, I’m cold”

“I told you you would be. Come here,” you invite her to be your little spoon. “Princess”

-

footnotes.

a bit of a return to form, i'd like to think. but no, probably just about average. classicly, leaf.

[vrisrezis]

Love triangle?? With atsv characters

Basically a love triangle between them, their spider alter ego and you … ?

Gwen has been longtime best friends with you and Peter for what feels like forever. Even after peters passing, you and Gwen remained close. Throughout the years, it was only natural for gwen to fall for you, her best friend. Peter had often encouraged her to try and go for it, but she never gave in to the temptation. Not when she has been lying to you for so long about who she really was. While her dad did often speak his mind on the mysterious spiderwoman and his doubts, you always seemed excited talking about her. It didn’t take long for her to find out you were not only a huge fan, but definitely had a bit of a crush.

This was amusing to her, obviously. But it also made her wonder if you felt nothing for the real her, and you just liked some alter ego of hers because she was cool and saved the day or whatever.

How you and spiderwoman met, was not under the best of circumstances. As you can imagine.

Growing up, you were always pretty tough. Fighting for and defending Peter against bullies, it was what drawn gwen to you right away. You always stood up for others, and perhaps in the real world it’d get you in more trouble, trying to help a defenses old man against some mugger, you nearly got real hurt in the process. Thankfully, your celebrity crush was there to web him up.

She remembers the look you gave her, you were so.. awestruck.

You never looked at her like that. Not the real her, anyway.

“Thank you spiderwoman!” you say with glee, a word she would almost never use to describe you.

She clears her throat, seeming off guard by the way you greeted her. Or perhaps she was caught off guard by how beautiful you looked in the moonlight. Is it hot outside or is it just her suit?

“Uh… uh…” she hesitates for a moment, before displaying faux confidence. She nods in understanding, “anytime, hopefully next time I’ll see you under better circumstances, cutie.” she says with a wink, before swinging away.

There’s practically hearts in your eyes, did spider woman… just flirt with you?!

Meanwhile, gwen is freaking the hell out over the fact she just said that. It’s certainly easier to flirt under the mask, she supposes.

You didn’t shut up about spiderwoman for the next week.

Miles was one of your best friends, had been for over a year now. Although this friendship, to many seemed newly found, to you both it felt like you knew eachother forever. You often ignored how Ganke never failed to mention that’s something people in love say about eachother.

Ganke was a close friend to the both of you. He was also very much aware of how miles was keeping this huge secret from you, and he often relayed to miles how he should just tell you already. Miles said no, everytime. So ganke had to resort to desperate measures, on one of your many hangouts with the two males.

“Hey, I’m curious.” Ganke starts, “what do you think of Spiderman?”

Miles nearly chokes, he looks wide eyed at ganke, as if ganke just killed a cat. Honestly, ganke is surprised miles hadn’t brought up Spiderman to you himself before, but honestly miles was terrified of what you actually thought, to the point he didn’t want it mentioned at all in front of you.

But your immediate grin makes miles almost audibly sigh.

“I think he’s awesome! Way cooler than the other one to be honest like wow have you seen that suit? Nice color.” Miles couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes lit up in excitement. How come he hasn’t heard you talk about spiderman before if you liked him so much?

“Hey, miles?”

“Huh?!” he yells, his voice becoming so high pitched it sounded like he was just hitting puberty, making you laugh.

“I- I mean.. yeah… what’s up?”

“Do you think he’s … cute?” you ask, rather curious what miles thinks of spiderman.

Ganke almost laughs at how wide miles eyes are, somehow even wider than before.

You would eventually have the chance to meet spiderman, which was not something miles would be happy about. A fight with a particularly … tough villain had caused much damage to the city. Miles swears, today he had to pull up at least 3 buses by his webs.

However, the bus you were in, as plain as day. He couldn’t see anyone but you, the other people in the bus being a blur to him.

He was scared, so so so scared. The moment you’re out and safe, he wants to hug you. He almost does, but he’s able to restrain himself once he feels gwen tug his arm, warning him of how weird that’d be.

He sighs, but he sees you smile at him, grateful. He’s blissfully unaware of how hot your cheeks are, seeing him in the flesh, in person.

You wonder if he’d be okay with signing an autograph.

Hobie was never the type for being subtle. He was blunt, but because of his casualness about it people do not take what he says seriously. He didn’t plan on making a strong effort to hide being spiderman from you. Because he trusts you, with his life in fact.

You two have fought together on many different occasions, way before he became spiderman. People didn’t like either of you, when you were young at least. Strong and unafraid, and like him, you often spoke your mind about things. Granted, you were a lot nicer about it but still. It’s something he definitely likes about you. To him, falling for you just felt natural. Like it was meant to happen. Like falling for you was second nature.

But over his time of becoming spiderman, he had … well… found out you had a major crush on his alter ego. You did not shut up about how “babygirl” he was. And while this was amusing at first, it annoyed him a little. Did that mean you weren’t interested in him, as hobie, romantically? And if you did find out who he really was, would you still like spiderman? Or would it ruin the imagination for you? And if you did, would it only be because he’s spiderman?

A lot of questions circle his mind, a lot of worry and it isn’t like him. He really hates it. Only you can manage to do that to him.

Eventually, the two of you do end up meeting.

You were known for being a fighter, laws or not, you didn’t care, maybe a bit headstrong in your beliefs. Maybe you got too caught up in things, as you often did. Difference was, hobie was not there to back you up. As he often was.

Not this time though, as apparently Hobie had some unfinished business to deal with. You had no idea what that meant, but you trusted hobie enough that he wouldn’t go off doing something stupid without you.

You were not hobie however, and did something stupid without him.

While yes, the guy had harassed you first and you had every right to be angry with him, you probably shouldn’t have provoked such a big and muscular looking guy. There’s no way you could take him in a fight, but you could always try.

Before you even had the gall to fight this guy, before he can even pull the first punch, webs are shot his way. You gasp in surprise, turning behind you to see the one and only.

His movements are quick, and honestly, spiderman struggles for a little.

If even he struggled during that fight, you didn’t stand a chance. But you’re too busy absolutely fangirl/boy/theythem’ing to even care.

Once everything was said and done, Spiderman turned around to take a look at you. He was relieved you weren’t banged up or anything, though you couldn’t tell. “You aight?” he asked, and typically he was so cool and collected, but around you he had no idea how he should be acting. Thoughts from before still clouding his mind:

He lets them go for a moment upon your excited squeal and has to hold himself back from laughing.

Pavitr mentioned spiderman quite a bit, and very early on when he first became the masked vigilante. He was quick to gauge your opinions, because in his mind you’re thoughts and feelings matter the most to him.

He would quickly learn you loved the guy, so he proudly continued doing the whole superhero thing. However, as time went by he had seen your admiration for Spiderman develop into a crush. Only upon your first meeting with him, though. He couldn’t blame you, he supposed that in your eyes this guy saved your life from imminent peril. In his eyes, he was just doing something that was common sense. Saving you while you were trapped in that bus was not something he needed to think twice about.

And he certainly didn’t think twice about hugging you, either. Despite you two not really being acquainted with one another. He was quick to come to his senses, about to pull away, but you held on. And he realized you needed this hug as much as he did. He combs his fingers through your hair, as if second nature. Just like he normally did, and he was the only one that ever did that. You didn’t seem to catch on in that state, but little did he know how grateful you were towards him. He could only imagine, but it was a fraction to how you truly felt.

“Thank you, spiderman.” You say with such softness in your voice, he’s never heard it from you before.

And from that point on, he did not stop hearing you gush about the arachnid. While he often laughed this off, he wondered if that meant things would be weird between you two if he told you the truth.

[papipedroo]

Whiskey Tears (Joel Miller x Reader)

Rated: Angst | Violence | Fluff | Age Gap

Summary: You, Joel, and Ellie have been a trio from the start. You were a family, but you find your relationship with Joel withering when he starts to pull away. Now a new comer makes her way into Jackson and into Joel’s heart…

3 months living in Jackson

You were content to say the least. No run in with raiders or evil things that go bump in the night. No sleeping outside. No clickers. No hunger.

To say the least you were happy for being in an apocalyptic world.

That and your little make shift family Joel and Ellie.

Ellie was to say your everything. Your ray of sunshine and a daughter that you would fight the world to keep safe. You both took to each other when you first met her as a firefly designated to escort her along with Joel and Tess to meet the others. You don’t know what was going to happen apart from Ellie being a cute and you still don’t know what happened at the hospital that day… You were immediately being transferred, sent on the road when suddenly Joel was driving past you with Ellie in the back. You don’t know why he stopped for you that day, but the three of you have been through a lot together and you’d put up your title as a firefly to be with them.

But now he has been gone for a week since he went out for patrol. You hadn’t been sleeping well, taking every chance you could to go out and look for him. Everyone could see the restlessness in your stance and the dark circles under your eyes.

You remember crying your worries to Maria after the fifth day of no sight of him.

“He hasn’t been gone this long and I don’t know what to do. I can’t loose him Maria, he is everything to me. He is everything to Ellie. We can’t loose him. I don’t know how to keep Ellie from crumbling when I can’t even keep myself together” You sobbed into her shirt.

“You keep telling her the truth and do what you always do, love and care for her. Just know that whatever happens, Tommy and I will always be here for you both.” She gently pet your hair until you finally calmed down enough to go home.

It was clear that you and Ellie weren’t taking his disappearance very well. Until today…

“Hey!”

You didn’t even get a chance to turn around before Ellie was tackling you into the snow. You coughed the little bit of snow out of your mouth as you took in a breath of air.

“Guess what?” Ellie asking as she sat up.

“You got taller? Because that tackled just took the life out of me.” You sighed as your head fell back into the snow.

The snow felt nice against your skin after a long day of rebuilding fences.

“A woman was found during patrol. I figured they’d shoot her but they brought her here. She’s at the bar with Tommy, Maria, and Joel.” Ellie explained, “Thought you might want to know.”

“Joel?” You sat up excitedly, “He’s back? Why didn’t you start with that? Is he okay? Is he hurt? What happened to him?”

Ellie nodded, “As far as I could tell he looks completely fine.”

Your brows furrowed, “Why is he there and not with us?”

Ellie shrugged, “I don’t know. Apparently he was the one that found the lady and that’s why he was gone for a week. Saved her from raiders or something.”

“That sounds reasonable enough...” You got up, and helped Ellie stand before you were both dusting off your clothes.

You were still unsure of the whole ordeal. Usually if Joel was gone for too long he would immediately find you both to let you know he was okay… Why wouldn’t he this time? Is it because of the woman he found?

She could be young or an elderly woman… You were hoping for the latter if you were being honest with yourself. Joel doesn’t usually help anyone and that struck an anxious nerve in you.

You and him weren’t together. No he made that very clear that night you drank too much whiskey and accidentally confessed your feelings to him… And then you finally got enough courage to kiss him and he kissed you back. The two of you found comfort in each others arms for months until that fateful day when he was stabbed…

Everything changed after that. Those late nights and brief touches ended horribly of course. As he suddenly became more open and caring towards Ellie, he was cold and closed off towards you.

That continued as the months went by until the three of you finally made it to Jackson where you would stay, but you were nothing more than friends possibly family to him… If you could call yourself that.

“Come on.” Ellie grabbed your hand before you could protest and began dragging you to the bar, “I caught a glimpse of her when they rode in. Dark curly hair, dark skin and green eyes. Oh! And a small scar on her neck, I wonder what that’s from? I got a scar once. It was from a bitch back at the QZ…” She began to go off topic as you neared the bar and that’s when the four of them stepped out and oh…

You stopped walking as your lips parted, “Oh.”

You weren’t sure what to say. She was absolutely gorgeous in your mind. Your eyes drifted down to where her hand was wrapped around Joel’s arm.

“That’s weird.” Ellie whispered as she stared at the two.

“Ah! There you two are. Come meet our newcomer, Heather.” Tommy waved the two of you over.

You walked over cautiously as Ellie bounded over to the group. Tommy introduced you both to Heather who waved with her free hand.

Why was she even holding onto him in the first place? Why was he allowing it?

You weren’t exactly paying attention to anything Tommy was saying, your gaze flickering between her hand around his arm and the way he seemed so relaxed.

“I think you’ll get along.” You heard Tommy say, “How old are you again Heather?”

“I’m 46.” Heather smiled.

46…

She was closer to Joel’s age than you were and while you didn’t care about the age gap between you and Joel before… You suddenly felt insecure.

Was that why he stopped touching me? Because of my age?

“Come on Ellie, let’s go show Heather the rest of the town.” Maria said and you watched as the four of them left.

You heart dropped watching the way Heather leaned up and kissed his cheek before she left.

“She kissed you.” You could feel anger rising in your chest, “Why did she kiss you Joel?”

“She didn’t- It’s not like that. She just feels comfortable, that’s all.” Joel sighed as if what just happened was normal.

“You don’t like kissing. You made that very clear.” You snapped as you crossed your arms.

“I don’t want to get into this right now.” Joel pinched the bride of his nose, “Look. She’s going to be staying with us until she settles in.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, “What?” Your voice raised, “You’re joking. Tell me you’re fucking joking Joel. A stranger is staying with us? Are you serious right now? How do you think Ellie and I are supposed to feel about this suddenly being thrown at us? You didn’t even try to find us and tell us you’re okay. We’ve been worried sick for a week Joel! A goddamn week! And here you are parading a girl you found like you’re about to get married. Like you forgot about Ellie and I.” You said with a slight bitterness in your tone, “Glad to see you’re okay by the way—”

“Would you just shut up!” Joel yelled and it was a tone you’ve only ever heard him use on people he didn’t like, “You’re acting like a child.”

It made you flinch back as you waited for him to continue.

“She’s been through a lot and she’s staying with me. That’s final. So get yourself into check and be nice to her.” He stated gruffly before leaving.

You couldn’t believe how he was acting as if the two of you haven’t been through hell. It didn’t go past you that he said me and not us either… You were here first and here you were getting replaced by a damsel in distress. You released a short angry yell before marching off into a different direction.

You found yourself at your secret spot in the small orchard here at Jackson. The apple tree that you planted in spring was barely a foot tall as you sat beside it. Your mom used to tell you how talking to plants helped them grow and it stuck with you even after her death. So you talked to your little tree.

“I don’t know what happened between the two of us. Why did he suddenly pull away from me? We were so happy and now… Now he’s caring for another girl.” I sighed in defeat, “You don’t think he likes her do you?”

You spent the rest of the day there until the sun was about to set. Only then did you make your way home, knowing what you were going to find.

“You’re back! You wouldn’t believe the audacity of Joel.” Ellie crashed into you and wrapped you in a hug.

“What happened?”You asked as you wrapped her in my arms.

You found quickly that when Ellie was feeling overwhelmed she would wrap her arms are your waist and bury her face into your shoulder.

“For starters, that lady is staying with us. She’s already making herself at home here. Oh and Joel gave her your room.” She said and your brows furrowed.

“He what?” You asked.

Why the hell would he give up your room?

“Said something about making sure she has her own space or whatever. I still don’t see why she can’t just stay somewhere else.” Ellie grumbled before the woman in question made herself known.

“Oh! You’re back.” She spoke cherrily causing you to grimace.

“I made us all dinner. I hope you don’t mind, it’s just been a long time since I cooked a decent meal.” She continued and whether she noticed the sour expression on your face, she didn’t mention it.

“Don’t ask me what she made. I don’t know. I probably won’t like it anyways.” Ellie spoke honestly.

“Well… I suppose let’s try and give her a chance… If Joel’s putting this much effort in making her feel welcomed then…” You gulped, “She must be important.”

The two of you walked into the dining room to find the table set and Joel already seated. Heather carried in a pot, the lid covering what was hiding inside. She set it down in the center of the table and lifted the lid to reveal roasted chicken with potatoes, steamed vegetables and pesto...

“I remember Joel telling me this was his favorite, I hope you all enjoy.” She said, her voice a bit too cheerful.

“Is that pesto?” I asked with uncertainty.

“It is!” She smiled.

“I… It doesn’t happen to have pine nuts in it does it?” You asked.

“It does… Why?” Her head tilted in confusion.

“I can’t eat this. I’m sorry.” You looked at the meal, “I’m deathly allergic to pine nuts…”

“Oh… I didn’t know.” She frowned.

“Joel knew.” You barely said over your breath as you glanced over to him.

“I forgot when I told her.” Was his easy reply.

I forgot he said… He forgot about an allergy that could quite literally kill me?

I didn’t mention it when I continued, “I thought your favorite meal was the hamburgers you used to make for—”

“It’s not.” He glared.

He never glared at you before and it stopped you from continuing your sentance.

“I can make you a sandwich.” Ellie said and it warmed your heart.

“Don’t worry sweetie, I’m fine.” You smiled at her before moving to your usual seat in defeat, the one next to Joel’s right.

Only Heather sat down in your seat instead.

You felt the hairs in your arms stand up as anger slowly bubbled in you. The first day she is here and she’s already taking over everything that’s yours.

“That’s my seat.” You said firmly.

“Excuse me?” She looked up at you with wide eyes, acting as if what you said made no sense.

“I always sit there.” You explained again, hoping she would just get up and move, but you didn’t have luck on your side. She sat firmly in place and made no effort to leave.

As you went to speak again, Joel cut you off with a tired look.

“It’s just a fucking seat. Don’t be a child and choose another one.” Joel sighed motioning to the other empty chairs.

Those words left a sinking feeling in your chest the sheer embarrassment you felt had your cheeks flush. You quickly made your way to the far end of the table and took a seat.

Ellie glared at Joel and muttered, “Asshole.” Before taking her seat next to you instead of on Joel’s left.

Heather served Joel and Ellie with a smile on her face and a content Joel watching her every move. It made you want to claw your eyes out. The room was filled with clinking silverware and Heather and Joel discussing the work she will be doing here in Jackson.

Ellie picked at her food with a frown on her face. Usually she would be talking to Joel and you about her adventures of the day especially with his week long disappearance. You could tell she was beginning to feel jealous.

“How was your day sweet pea?” You asked her and immediately saw the way her eyes lit up.

“Well I found out something crazy about how to change a horseshoe.” She said excitedly and a smile broke onto your face.

“Really now? Tell me more about it.” You said and the rest of dinner was filled with Ellie’s story about horseshoes.

When the three were finished eating, Heather looked over to Ellie.

“How was dinner?” She asked and waited for an answer.

Ellie shrugged, “Eh, not as good as mom’s.” She stated as she got up and left to put her plates into the sink.

Those words lifted your spirits and brought a small smile to your face.

“I thought it was really good Heather.” Joel said and you watched as Heather leaned down to kiss his cheek for the second time today.

You got up and left, not wanting to see anything else. Instead you made your way to the kitchen where Ellie was washing her dish. You decided on swiping an apple from the fruit bowl to suffice as your dinner for the night.

Heather soon popped her head in the kitchen with the rest of the dishes. She set them by the sink before announcing to the both of you that she was heading to bed.

“You should head to bed as well El’s. You have a big day taking care of the horses by yourself tomorrow.” You said as you took nudged her away from the sink, “Dont worry, I’ll finish up here.”

“But what about you? Where will you sleep? You can stay with me if you’d like, I don’t mind.” She said and you gave her a smile.

“I think I’ll take the couch tonight. I’d like to get in some reading and I might be up a while.” You said.

“Are you sure?” Ellie asked you one more time.

“Positive. Now head up to bed sweet pea. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You gave her a warm hug before she left.

You turned your attention back to the dishes and began to wash them in silence as you thought about where any extra blankets might be.

“I’m sorry I gave up your room.” Joel’s deep voice filtered through the cold air.

“You didn’t even ask me if that was okay.” You stated without looking back, “That is my room.”

“I know.” Joel nodded, “She was panicking on where she was going to stay and I wasn’t thinking when she asked.”

At least he acknowledged what he did was stupid.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you since you’ve been back, but we don’t admire it Joel.” You said, referring to you and Ellie.

You finished putting away the dishes and finally faced him. Even after being a complete ass, he was still handsome.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find extra blankets for the couch.” You stated bitterly as you walked by him.

He grabbed your arm before you could leave, “You’re staying in my room tonight. I’ll stay on the couch.”

“I’m not going to make you sleep on the couch Joel. You’ve been missing all week. You need a comfortable bed.” You sighed and tried to pull your arm away from him, but he wouldn’t budge.

“No.” His gruff voice had chills run up your arm.

You squinted at him before an idea popped into your mind.

“Fine.” You stated shortly before tugging him behind you to his room.

“What are you doing?” He asked you, but didn’t pull away.

“We’re sharing the bed.” You stated simply as you tugged him into his room.

When it dawned on him he finally released the grip on your arm and took a step back.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He said.

“Why?” You crossed my arms, “It’s not like we haven’t slept together before, in both senses.” You huffed and motioned to the bed, “We can share a fucking bed or do you think I’m going to kiss your cheek and cuddle up to you? Is that what you and Heather did to keep warm?”

“Shut up.” He snapped, but he couldn’t seem to make eye contact with you, choosing to stare at the wall instead of your sullen face, “I don’t think we should be doing this.” He continued, his voice more gentle this time as if he was trying to calm down a rabid wolf.

“Why?” You stepped towards him, “What is so wrong with me that we can’t even share a bed anymore?” You tried not to let your voice crack.

“It’s not right. What we did. It was because we were lonely. I’m 56 years old and you’re just kid. It was wrong—” He began to say but you cut him off angrily.

“I’m 27 years old. I’m not a fucking kid and you know that.” You glared, finally able to look into his deep brown eyes, “It wasn’t wrong either. Don’t say that. Not to me.”

“I don’t want to argue about this.” He shook his head, “I’m sleeping on the couch.” He stated firmly as he turned to leave.

He was halfway out the door when you spoke up with tears in your eyes, “I love you.”

“I know.” He said before he shut the door behind him.

Leaving you alone once again to take care of your tears and Joel left to tend to his glass of whiskey.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [19] - Couples Therapy

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A therapy session can be enlightening.

Word Count: 2300

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

It wasn’t like you thought taking Bucky to couple’s therapy for your technically fake marriage was going to be easy, but you didn’t think it would be this difficult.

Bucky bounced his leg beside you on the sofa while you both sat in the waiting room, his eyes darting around the room as if he expected someone to attack him at any moment.

“What happens if she asks me questions?” he asked you gruffly and you pulled your brows together.

“You’ll be fine.”

Bucky huffed out and turned to you.

“How about instead of doing this, I just pay you money to walk out of here?”

“Not gonna happen, Bucky.”

“I’ll put the weekend house under your name, you like it there.”

“The weekend house will be mine once we get a divorce anyway,” you reminded him. “It’s on the prenup.”

Bucky licked his lips. “Do you want another house?”

“Stop trying to bribe me,” you told him as he eyed the door to the therapist’s office before fixing the gun in his waistband and you gasped.

“Why did you bring a gun to the therapy?!” you hissed and he narrowed his eyes.

“We don’t know what expects us in there!” he whispered back, making your jaw drop.

“Do you seriously think—Bucky, look me in the eye and tell me you think our therapist is going to try to shoot us in couple’s therapy—”

“Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?” the therapist’s voice reached you as the door opened and you both turned to her before you smiled at her sweetly.

“Hi!”

“You can come in,” she said, stepping aside and you let out a breath, then stood up, holding Bucky by the arm to signal him to stand as well. Bucky heaved a sigh as if he was being tortured but followed you into the room dutifully and you both sat down on the couch, the therapist taking her seat soon after.

“Dr. Raynor,” you said and she smiled back at you.

“Mrs. Barnes.”

“Y/N is fine,” you said and motioned at Bucky. “And this is Bucky.”

Bucky gave her a curt nod quietly and you cleared your throat, shifting your weight.

“My therapist Dr. Cooper recommended you,” you told her. “She speaks very highly of you.”

“Dr. Cooper is a very respected colleague of mine,” she told you. “The feeling is mutual. So what brings you here?”

“Well, we’ve just got married,” you said. “And I’ve been in therapy since I was a child, basically. Bucky on the other hand has a more distant stance towards it so I figured it could help us both if we did it together.”

Dr. Raynor nodded and turned to Bucky.

“And what about you Bucky?” she asked. “What brings you here?”

Bucky raised his brows before pointing at you with his thumb. “She did.”

You crossed your arms, leaning back in the couch and Dr. Raynor hummed.

“You don’t think you should be here?”

“Honestly doc, I have no idea why I’m here,” he said. “I’m fine, our marriage is fine, so...”

“It hasn’t been a month since we got married,” you added. “Just putting it out there. But I think it’ll help Bucky if we build this—habit.”

She turned to Bucky. “And how about you?” she asked. “How do you feel about therapy, Bucky?”

“My dad would always say whatever your problems are, they should stay between your two ears instead of anyone else’s,” Bucky replied, bouncing his leg again. “Hate to agree with the guy, but he has a point.”

“George isn’t exactly the epitome of good mental health, Buck.”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “Either way.”

“Fathers may have different viewpoints especially when it comes to mental health,” Dr. Raynor said. “Given their generation.”

Bucky clicked his tongue. “Well, he and my mother have never been to therapy and they’re fine.”

“Your father had like one thousand mistresses,” you pointed out, making Dr. Raynor raise her brows and Bucky made a face.

“Allegedly.”

“It’s not allegedly, Becca literally told me she once—”

“Bucky, how would you describe your parents’ marriage?” she asked and Bucky heaved a sigh.

“They’re fine.”

“Would you say you look up to their marriage?” she asked. “Or that you want to have a similar one?”

You scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

“You wouldn’t want to have that?” she asked and you shook your head.

“Bucky can’t disrespect me like that.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

You pulled your brows together, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Both,” you said without looking at him. “We have a deal, so I believe he will hold up his end of the deal.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the proud smile curling Bucky’s lips and Dr. Raynor nodded.

“Anything else you feel like you took after your father, besides your opinion on therapy?”

“Why are we talking about my father?” Bucky asked back while you tried to hold back the retort. “I thought this was couples therapy.”

“We can talk about anything you feel like we need to talk about,” Dr. Raynor said. “But most of the time, our parents’ relationship is the blueprint of our own relationships even if we don’t realize it.”

“That’s not what’s happening here,” Bucky said, motioning at you. “It’s different.”

“How?”

“What she said,” Bucky said curtly, nodding in your direction and you heaved a sigh. “He’s good with my mom, and he’s great with my sister, no need to talk about him.”

“But not with you?” Dr. Raynor asked and Bucky dragged his tongue over his teeth.

“He’s fine.”

“Bucky,” said and he shot you a look.

“What?”

“He’s fine with you? Really?”

“Y/N, not everyone needs a father, okay?” he insisted. “Some of us need a boss while growing up in this business.”

“I don’t think you needed a boss instead of a father when you were a kid, actually,” you insisted, making Dr. Raynor tilt her head.

“Would you mind explaining that?” she asked. “That boss comment?”

Bucky drummed his fingertips on his knee.

“It’s a part of…” he stopped himself and cleared his throat. “My father knew what I was capable of, so he pushed me until I saw it. Until I proved myself. That’s not a terrible thing, it worked out after all.”

You licked your lips.

“Really?” you asked. “So you’d be totally okay with following his footsteps?”

 That made him stop for a moment and he scoffed.

“Fine, I wouldn’t do the cage fight because that shit’s medieval but it was because he knew I could handle it,” he defended him. “He’s great with Becca, and I don’t need him to be good with me. We don’t have that kind of relationship.”

Your stomach did a painful flip. “I forgot about that.”

“Cage fight?” Dr. Raynor asked and you both turned to her, Bucky crossing his arms over his chest. You nibbled on your lip.

“Um,” you said. “Our fathers are... CEOs and we both have family companies. There’s this tradition that—the family company has a boss and an heir and when you’re the heir, you need to show that you can handle the job.”

She frowned slightly.

“And the job can get pretty physical,” you said as Bucky let out a bitter chuckle beside you. “And one of the requirements is…when an heir is picked after years of training and everything, once the boss decides it’s time for them to prove themselves, they put you in a cage with other um—” you thought for a moment. “Some professional fighters that happen to be in the business as well, working under the family. Bodyguards, if you will.”

Not bodyguards.

They would put the heir in a cage with the best fighters working for the boss.

“But usually the bosses ask the heir to prove themselves right before they pass the crown, so to speak,” you said and stole a look at him. “Not George though.”

“I was ready to prove myself.”

“At sixteen?” you asked him. “No one fucking asks that of the heir at sixteen, Buck. My father didn’t even put Ian through that yet.”

“I was already his heir, he wanted to make sure,” Bucky said. “I beat everyone up in that cage, didn’t I?”

“Your nose was broken,” you counted with your fingers. “Three of your ribs, you could barely see through one eye for like two weeks because of how swollen it was—”

“But I proved myself,” he pointed out, making you clench your jaw and Dr. Raynor sat up straighter, trying to shake off the shock. “I’m glad I did it, I’d do it again.”

“You see?” you asked. “And then he asks me why we need therapy.”

“I don’t need therapy,” Bucky shot back. “I don’t even know why I’m here, I'm perfectly fine.”

Dr. Raynor licked her lips, then grabbed the notebook by her side while Bucky pursed his lips, slipping a little on the couch.

“Great,” he said. “She has a notebook and everything. Charm, how soon can we leave?”

                                                   *

Well, no one had gotten shot during your first couples therapy session, so as far as you were concerned, it was a success. Bucky had to drop by his office for half an hour to check on something, and after that you figured you could go to lunch together to discuss the next step in your plan so you tagged along.

Becca was already there in his office when you two walked in and Bucky tilted his head.

“What are you doing here?”

“Mom sent me,” she told him before coming to kiss your cheek. “Hey!”

“Hi there,” you said, kissing her cheek back. “We’re going to grab lunch after this, do you want to come?”

“Sure, I could eat,” she said, flinging herself on the couch. “Steve is here too, by the way.”

Bucky frowned. “Did you two come together?”

“Nope, I ran into him by the entrance,” she said while you took your spot next to her and Bucky walked to his laptop to switch it on.

“Mom sent you?” Bucky asked and rolled his eyes. “Let me guess, dad asked her to?”

Becca raised her hands while you gritted your teeth at the mention of George.

“You can’t shoot the messenger, there’s truce now.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m going to get shot by the messenger?” Bucky asked back, making her grin.

“You know how mom is,” she reminded him. “She wants all of us to get along. I take it you’re not willing to have another dinner anytime soon?”

“Fuck no—”

“Hey,” Steve said, knocking on the door and waved at you before turning to Bucky. “You’re busy?”

“Not at all,” Bucky said. “Did we have a meeting today? Did I forget?”

“Nah, I was just around,” Steve said. “Figured I could give you the news myself. Clint is flying to Chicago.”

Bucky pulled his brows together. “What?”

Steve shot him a grin. “My reaction exactly,” he said and came to sit on the other sofa. “How was therapy?”

“Ask Y/N,” Bucky said, clicking on something on his laptop. “She was the one who dragged me there.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “He brought a gun to therapy.”

Becca’s eyes widened. “Did you shoot the therapist, Bucky?!”

“No!” Bucky exclaimed. “Jesus, you two have zero trust in me.”

“How was it, really?” Steve asked you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“He’ll find it easier in the following weeks.”

Bucky frowned at you.

“Following weeks?” he asked. “We’re going there again?”

“Bucky, therapy is not like getting vaccinated,” Becca pointed out. “You can’t just have one session and expect it to fix your shit.”

“I don’t have the time—”

“I already talked to your assistant for the next month, try me,” you said sweetly and Bucky let out a groan, then turned to Steve.

“What is it about Clint and Chicago?”

“Well, he seems to believe that he can convince Rhett.”

Becca’s head whipped up and she blinked a couple of times while you tried to keep a straight face, and subtly pressed your index finger on your lips, giving her a slight grin. She let out a breath, then turned to Steve while Bucky scoffed.

“Yeah, that’s impossible.”

“What’s that about Chicago?” Becca asked and Steve heaved a sigh.

“Chicago’s prince became the new king recently,” he explained. “I thought it was hard to talk to his father, I spoke way too soon.”

“Yeah, he’s a dickhead,” Bucky pointed out while you bit inside your cheek to keep your laughter in. Becca sat up straighter.

“Why?”

“He doesn’t trust anyone who’s not from Chicago,” Steve said. “Refuses to do business with anyone else.”

“But doesn’t he kind of have to do it?” Becca asked. “Even we do business with other cities.”

“Chicago is different, Bec,” Bucky said. “They have their own rules, and as of now, they don’t actually need other cities.”

“Word on the street they might have to do it soon though,” Steve said. “Every boss in New York is trying to convince him, but as Bucky said, he’s a dickhead so…”

“That’s pointless, I’m telling you,” Bucky said as he typed at his laptop, then slammed the lid shut. “Okay, I’m done. Lunch?”

“I have a meeting with Sam,” Steve said as he stood up from the couch and he and Bucky walked to the door while Becca clicked her tongue, turning to look at you with a huge grin on her face.

“So,” she said and you hummed.

“Yes?”

“I take it he doesn’t know?”

“Nope.”

“None of them do?”

You shook your head, still smiling and Becca let out a laugh, then threw her arm over your shoulder.

“Nice plan,” she said and you giggled.

“Thank you,” you said, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Let’s go, you know how hungry therapy makes me.”

Chapter 20

[tulip-room]

♡•◦Excuses◦•♡

Pairing: Suna x Chubby! Fem! Reader

Content: Suna’s little sister loves your sweet treats. That’s definitely why he’s in there so often

Words: 2k

a/n: This is part of my Sweet Treats writing series! So stayed tuned for the other parts. This is the second story in the series you can find the other one and the future ones in the post!! I hope you enjoy me adding to the Suna chubby chaser agenda <3

 “No, I’m serious Rin. It’s literally the best bakery I have ever been to. They don’t only have baked goods either, they have a deli with regular sandwiches and pretzel buns. It’s mouthwatering.” Suna’s sister exclaims trying to get her brother to agree to take her to the aforementioned bakery. He rolls his eyes with a sigh and starts putting his jacket on.

“Fine, but only if you’ll finally stop talking about it.” The two walk out the door, Suna following behind his sister. She seems excited and as much as he pretends to hate her ramblings it’s endearing and he enjoys making his sister happy. 

“Hello little Suna!” They’re greeted as soon as they walk in. “Who did you bring with you?” Suna looks up and has to take a moment to collect himself. Less than five feet away is the most beautiful woman he thinks he’s ever seen. She has flour on her apron and a bit of chocolate on her cheek, most people wouldn’t think she was his type. Most people were wrong, he lives for chubbier people. More of them to love, as people say. He hasn’t even realized that his sister was talking about him. 

“Yeah, this is my brother. Rinatarou?” She waves a hand in front of his face, she’s abit amused by the blush building on his cheeks and how quickly he froze when he caught a look at her favorite baker. Now she can’t say this wasn’t her plan, she knew her brother would love you. But she was pleasantly surprised to see she was right. 

Suna shakes his head and comes back to where the two of you are laughing slightly. Wow, even your laugh was pretty. “What can I help you with?” And suddenly his mouth is dry and he’s not sure what to say. He clears his thoat and looks at the menu. 

“Uhm…a…ham, cheese, lettuce, tomato sandwich on a pretzel bun. And whatever she wants,” he points at his sister who rattles off her order. He sighs and pulls his card out of his wallet. 

“Alright, I’ll have that right out for you two,” you say, handing his card back to him. Your fingers brush accidentally and Suna takes a quick breath in. His sister can’t help the laugh that escapes her mouth and tries to cover it with a cough. The two make their way over to a table still in view of the counter and the kitchen. Suna is pushed into a chair where he can see you as his sister sits opposite him.

“So,” she smiles at him teasingly. “Y/N huh?”

“Y/N? Is that her name?” He asks, a little distracted as he watches you work. His sister doesn’t need to turn around to see what has his attention. 

“Mhm, she’s single you know.”

“She is?” That got his attention. His head whips to his sister.

“Yup, complains that she needs someone to cook and bake for all the time. If only I knew someone who is hopeless at cooking?” She taps her chin as she looks at him. “Seriously Rin, if you don’t get her to be your girlfriend I will. I need her fresh baked bread.”

“Is that all this is?”

“No, I want both of you to be happy, she’s been very nice to me and you deserve someone as good as her. So man up and ask her out.” She says it a little louder than he likes and it catches the attention of the other patrons. He flicks her forehead with a frown.

“Don’t say it so loud.” He whisper-yells at her. Eventually their order gets called and Suna gets up to collect it. When you smile at him he thinks he died. He just gives you a small smile back. “Thank you.”

“You’re more than welcome, Suna.”

“Rintarou, you can call me Rintarou, it would get a little confusing with my sister anyway.”

“Okay, you’re more than welcome, Rintarou.” Did his name always sound that nice or was it just you who made it sound nice. Regardless he takes the food and sits back down.

“Oh my goodness, can you be anymore whipped?”

“You planned this.” He glares gently at his sister.

“You can’t prove that,” she shrugs with a smile and starts digging into her sandwich.

Day One

You weren’t expecting to see Suna again, at least without the company of his sister. “Hello Rintarou,” you greet him as he walks in and finish checking out a customer. They didn’t request a sandwich so you just had to measure out the cookies. He stood patiently behind the person. Once they leave it’s just you and Suna in the shop again. “What brings you in?”

He hadn’t thought that far. “Uhm..just.” He clears his throat and scracthes the back of his neck in a shy manner. “Just picking something up for my sister.”

“Oh, okay.” You start putting things in the computer. “Anything else? I already put her usual in.” You give him a kind smile and try not to think about how his cheeks turn slightly red at the action.

“Nope, that’s it.” You nod and head to the back to make the sandwich. When you come back you get his payment. “My sister really loves you- er your baked goods and sandwiches.”

“I’m aware, it makes my day to see her. She’s adorable, always going on and on about her brother. If I didn’t know any better I would think she was trying to set us up.” You tease gently and hand him the wrapped sandwich.

“Yeah, that would be silly.”

“Maybe, she did a good job selling you. See you later, Rintarou.” You wave as you turn to help the customer that had just walked in. He leaves the bakery with less money in his wallet and a blush on his cheeks.

Day Two

Once again the brown haired man came into the bakery without the presence of his little sister. “Hello Rintarou,” you greet him. This time he’s the only customer in the bakery so the two of you have time to chat before you make his order. “You know, if you come in everyday I may think you’re not just here for your sister.” You tease him as you ring up the order. Your fingers brush against his again as you take his card from him.

“That would be absurd Y/N. Obviously I’m here to treat my little sister while I’m in town.” He smiles and leans his arm on the counter as he rests his chin in the palm of his hand. 

“Mhm, of course.” You give him a smile of you own and hand him the carefully packaged sandwich. “Tell the little Suna I said hello.”

“What not going to say hello to me? Your favorite Suna?”

“I did say hello to you, when you walked in. And favorite? I don’t know about all that, the jury is still out on it.” You lean against the counter yourself. Suna takes the opportunity to wipe at the chocolate on your cheek that taunts him everyday he comes in. Your face grows warm and it’s your turn to stutter.

“Sure I’m not your favorite?”

You let out a small laugh and push his shoulder gently. “It takes more than some teasing to be my favorite. Goodbye Rintarou.” You wave at him as a group walks into the bakery. 

Day Three

Day three is when you call him out. He had to wait in line and there’s more of a crowd in the bakery than there usually is. Probably something to do with it being a Friday. You still wave at him when he comes in and he patiently waits at the end of the line. Thankfully by the time he gets up to the counter there’s only two more customers after him. He orders and stands to the side to talk to you when you become free again. 

“Sorry about that Rintarou,” you turn to him with a smile. He waves you off as you wipe your hands off on your apron. 

“You own a business, I would hope it’s not always empty.” He plays with the container of straws, spinning one around. Happy to see that everyone was sitting down enjoying their food. You allow yourself to lean on the counter as well. 

“Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays are my busiest.” 

“Makes sense.”

“You know the funniest thing happened yesterday.” He hums looking at you in confusion clearly wanting you to go on. “Your sister came into the shop wanting a sandwich. Consider me shocked when I told her you had already come in earlier to get her one. She looked just as shocked as I was.”

Shit. That was the first thing that came to his mind as he reached a hand up to rub the back of his neck. He looks away as his face grows red. “Did she?” He asks his voice, lifting up near the end of the question. 

“Mhm. Isn’t that funny?”

“Hilarious.” He was going to scream into his pillow when he got home and probably glare at his sister through dinner. “Would you look at the time, I have to get home.” He checks a fake watch on his wrist. 

“I think it’s cute that you’re using it as an excuse to see me. I enjoy seeing you too. Goodbye, Rintarou.” You wave at him as he races out the door covering his face with a hand. He still wasn’t used to how gently you would call his name in greetings or goodbyes.

Day Four

It was the last day of his visit, his sister had come in earlier to tease her brother over the situation from yesterday. You scolded her lightly and told her not to tease him too much or he might not come back.

“Like that would happen, he’s whipped your honor.” The two of you are still laughing when he enters the shop. What was she doing here? He remembers requesting his sister not show up today but he supposes he can’t always get what he wants.

“Hello, Rintarou.” Yeah, he’s done for if you keep saying his name like that. “Here to get something for your sister?” You tease and he shakes his head with a small smile. 

“Seems she got something for herself.” He looks at the drink and sandwich in his sister’s hands. Getting the hint she walks away after waving to you. 

“So, what actually brings you in today.”

“I’m here to order something for myself.”

“And what would that be?” You lean closer to him.

“Your number.” It was a surprise, not an unwelcome one though. 

“Okay, give me your phone. It’ll cost you though.” You hold your hand out for him to place his phone in your hand.

“What will it cost me?” He hands his phone over to you with a smile. 

“A date, a proper one.” You smile as you put your number in and hand the phone back to the dumbfounded man. You hear quiet clapping and see his sister smiling and giving you a thumbs up from behind him. He whips his head around and she pretends like she was eating her sandwich the whole time. 

“Deal. I’ll be back in a few weeks, you can cash your date in then.”

“Okay, see you then Rintarou.”

Bonus:

Suna smiles at his phone in between breaks. Now it wasn’t unusual for him to be on his phone during breaks in practice but it was a surprise that he all but ran to it. “Got a girlfriend, Sunarin?” Komori teases as he tries to look over Suna’s shoulder.

“Not yet, but hopefully.” He smiles as he answers. Komori can’t even tease him more because he’s not quite sure he’s ever seen the boy look so happy. Suna knew he would have to thank his sister some more when he visited again, many hours of listening to her gossip (and not pretending like he didn’t care) it would also result in getting his nails painted while they gossiped. They were chipping anyway.

rules masterlist

taglist: @sanaexus

[the-oblivious-writer]

Touch Tank

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-shot

Summary: Tensions are high when you go over to the Carpenters' apartment after telling Tara you would fix their sink; Sam isn't exactly what you would call your 'biggest fan'

Warning(s): Swearing, Tara & R aren't together, & no pronouns used

Notes: Another work based off of Gilmore Girls! Currently re-watching it and I'm slowly inching towards s3 ep 19... I'm avoiding it like the plague (I wanna stay in literali bliss just a lil longer 😔)

4/7 for Seven Days of Christmas

You made the mistake of agreeing to fix Tara’s sink.

Somehow Tara roped you into agreeing. Plumbers were expensive, and with paying rent in New York while also paying for college, they were already on a tight budget. You offered them a cheaper price, and you honestly didn’t mind giving Tara a favor.

That was before you remembered Sam would be there too.

You have known Tara all of five months, and in that time you haven’t exactly left the best impression on her older sister. Sam has already caught you sneaking in ten times—you got lucky every other time—and it didn’t help that you had an attitude. 

Tara wanted nothing more than for Sam to get to know you—to not just go off the you she made up in her head. So, when Sam found out you would be coming to fix their kitchen sink… she figured it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to give you another shot. Besides, she was doing this for Tara. She wasn’t sure as to why Tara was so persistent on it, but all she knows is that Tara wants you and her to get along. 

—

You walk up the stairs to the shared apartment after getting buzzed in by Tara. Once you get to the door you knock and the door opens.

“Hey,” Tara greets.

“Hey back,” you reply. Tara moves to the side, letting you in. Once you’re inside you look at Tara once again before smiling to yourself.

“You’re very punctual,” she remarked—watching as your eyes wandered.

“Yeah, well, it was either this or more apartment hunting with Danny.”

“You’re moving?”

You shrugged, “I don’t know. Don’t really get the point—the apartment’s fine. He says there’s ‘interior damage’ or whatever. Nothing I can’t fix.”

“Who knows; a new place could be nice.”

“I guess. He’s kinda eyeing the vacant apartment that’s not too far from yours.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… not saying it’s a sure thing but if we do move, can you promise you won’t get sick of me?”

“Sick of that face? Never…” She gently pinched your cheek teasingly; heat rushed to your face. 

“Did you change your hair?” You asked suddenly, changing the subject.

“What?”

“Your hair looks…different.”

“So segway’s not your thing, huh?” 

“Is it?” 

“Uh, no. I wear it like this a lot. Why?”

“Just…” You shrug, “Different.”

“Oh. Bad ‘different’?” She tugged on the hem of her shirt, suddenly feeling nervous for some reason. 

You smirk, about to answer her question, but turn your head when you hear a noise coming from down the hall. It sounded like Sam yelling a curse before Tara looked back at you with a light chuckle.

“The sink hasn’t been putting her in the best mood,” she elaborates. 

“She’s usually in a good mood?” You quip with raised eyebrows, tone laced in sarcasm. Tara scolds you with a look, causing you to back down. “Alright, alright.” 

“This fucking sink is driving me insane–” Sam cuts herself off, stopping in her tracks when she sees you. 

“Oh. Y/N. You’re here,” she says and you simply nod at her words. “Refreshing to see you use the front door for once…” She murmurs but you and Tara hear it. Tara scolds her with the same look she gave you just moments before. 

“If you want there’s Dr. Pepper in the kitchen,” Sam reluctantly offered. You looked at Tara then at Sam before briefly nodding. 

After a few seconds of silence, Sam clears her throat. “Okay, well, everything’s in the kitchen if you want to get started. The toolbox, and gloves are all there. If you need anything else just call one of us.” 

Tara looks between you and Sam before speaking up, “Come on, I’ll show you.” She extends her hand, gesturing to the direction of the kitchen. You begin to walk in that direction but before Tara follows behind, she gives Sam a look.

“I’m trying,” Sam huffed. 

“Well keep it up pleasee,” Tara requested as she walked away to the kitchen. 

By the time she was there, you were already setting up. “Question,” She states.

“Yes?” You put the pair of gloves in your back pocket, looking over at Tara.

“You come over. You seem to have a very firm grasp of the English language. You put together several full sentences—even using a couple of words that contain two or more syllables. And then my sister appears, and suddenly we need a thought bubble over your head to understand what you’re thinking. Can you tell me why that is?”

You looked down at the four-way silicone key in your hand before looking at Tara again with a  response. “The verbal thing comes and goes.” 

Tara sighed, lightly rolling her eyes. “I would really appreciate it if you would try to get along with my sister.”

“I took the Dr. Pepper,” you stated as a matter of factly. 

She furrowed her eyebrows, “I know.”

“Personally, I think it’s a little crazy to put lemon in Dr. Pepper—buuuut I took it anyhow.” You reached for the bucket and rag as you heard Tara huff.

“Stop it.”

“Ooo, stern face,” you say as you lift the tool and bucket to place by the sink. Tara continues, following you as you crouched down by the sink.

“Look. I went out on a limb for you, trying to get my sister to give you the benefit of the doubt. Okay? So, I don’t think it would hurt you to try to be nice.”

You put down the wrench you had just picked up, now fully turned and standing to look at Tara as you spoke. “Why?” You simply asked, taking off your jacket.

“Why?” Tara mirrored.

“Yeah. Why?” 

“Because she’s my sister—and she and Danny are dating.”

��So?” You tossed your jacket on top of a nearby chair.

“What do you mean ‘so’?” She asked incredulously; her eyebrows stayed furrowed.

“So, just because she’s your sister or Danny’s girlfriend doesn’t mean that I automatically have to get along with her,” you stated with pure conviction, rolling up your sleeves. 

“Y/N, my sister is a great person. She’s also my best friend—so if you care about me at all you will take that into consideration,” Tara was now crossing her arms as she stood her ground. “And you will be mildly polite to her.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, looking her up and down before responding. “What makes you think I care about you?” Tara didn’t need eyes to know you were smirking and enjoying this way too much.

She blushes, looking down at the ground and shaking her head as she grows flustered. “I–I don’t mean care-care. Like—care. I mean if you like me at all—not like-like! I just meant that–” Tara stumbles over her words, tucking in a loose strand of hair behind her ear. You watch her with amusement, a soft smile grazing your face as you let out a light snort.

“If you think of me remotely as the sort of person you could occasionally stand to talk to then you will try to get along with my sister. That’s all.” 

Your eyes never pulled from her once, only looking at her with fondness as you finally said something. “Okay,” you nod.

“Okay?”

“Can’t guarantee that it’ll work but I’ll try,” you confirm. 

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome…” You glance at the sink then back at Tara. “Should probably get to work.”

“Right. Sorry—go ahead.” She turns to walk away, looking at you one more time before leaving the kitchen. You crouch down by the sink again, not meeting her gaze but feeling it. She doesn’t see how you grin to yourself; your mind being plagued with thoughts of the younger Carpenter.

Guess it wouldn’t hurt to make an effort. 

—

Later that night, you decided to stop by Tara’s window for a surprise visit. You looked at her for a few seconds—admiring how peaceful she looked—before lightly tapping on her window. She turned to look at the window, a grin grazing her face when her eyes meets yours.

She lifted the window with a smile as you looked up at her fondly. “Hey,” you finally said after the window fully opened, expression never faltering as you leaned your head against the window frame.

“Hey back,” she replied. “Didn’t you say something to Sam about not coming through the window anymore.” Tara heard from Sam that you managed to hold somewhat of a conversation with the older Carpenter, actually making an effort to try with her. No matter how awkward it might have been on your end, at least you tried.

“You talk about me with Sam?” You asked smugly.

She rolled her eyes with an infectious smile. “Just get inside.”

“I didn’t hear a no~” You say in a sing-song voice. Tara pulled you in by your sleeve, roughly, might you add. “Watch the shirt,” you complain while you’re pulled inside her room.

“Quirk it.”

“How gentle,” you sarcastically complimented; you dusted your pants off with your free hand, not commenting on how Tara still held a grip on your other arm. 

“So,” Tara began as she sat on her bed—dragging you with her, “What are we watching tonight?”

“I can’t do Freaky Friday again.”

“Fine.”

“How about Cursed?” You inquired. Tara was leaning her back against your chest; she looked up at you with those beautiful brown eyes.

“That movie’s terrible.”

“One-hundred percent, but Milo Ventimiglia is in it.”

“Doesn’t he only have like six minutes of screen time?”

“But in it, nevertheless.”

“You drive a hard bargain… Get the laptop?”

You respond by reaching over to the night stand, grabbing her laptop. You hand it to her and she opens it on her lap. 

Tara would never comment on how she was the only one who got this side of you—the gentle, kind, and considerate side. Well, when she wants to see you squirm she comments on it. But for now, she’ll keep it to it herself.

-----------

A/N: the urge to write a paper on how jess mariano is a truly misunderstood character grows each & each day...

(I got beef with star hallows. we leave it at that.)

[queen-of-the-avengers]

Project Insight

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.9k

Warnings: on the run, angst

Summary: You’re on the run, never staying in one place for too long. If only you could get to the train, you’d be able to escape without the fear that they’d be after you. However, luck isn’t on your side and you’re caught before you can taste freedom. Now, you must face your past and deal with the consequences of your actions.

Square Filled: Pseudo-villain (2021) for @buckybarnesbingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

You lean down and splash water on your face for the third time. No amount will ever clean the dirt you’ve had on your skin for decades. The bathroom light is dim and flickering on and off and there are only two stalls, both of which are empty.

“All I have to do is get on the train and I’ll be free. I’ll be able to get off somewhere far away, and they won’t be able to find me.”

It’s easier said than done. You know they’re here. They’ve been tracking you ever since Hydra made it clear that you were their target. The train is on the other side of the station but you think you can do it. If you miss the train, you’re fucked. Since you are on the run, you don’t have time as a luxury. So, whatever you can grab on the go is what you usually wear. There was a swap meet a few months ago that you passed through, and you were able to grab a handful of clothes.

The gray baseball cap, the black yoga jacket, the short skirt, and the black pantyhose look suspicious, but you need to blend into the crowd. You look at your watch and realize in fifteen minutes, your train leaves. You pull the baseball cap down further and leave the bathroom, anxious about what might be waiting for you outside of it.

The station is crowded with people just trying to get on with their lives. German people don’t rush, but there is an overabundance of people here which makes it seem like they are. The train is on the other side of the platform and if you can just get there, you’ll have access to thirty-three countries in Europe. They won’t be able to find you.

You look around you but no one is paying you any attention. Maybe they aren’t here. You’re not going to stick around to find out. You start walking normally so as not to attract attention to yourself, but you keep looking around you for people who might be looking for you. You make it to the stairs when you see them.

Steve and Sam.

Steve scans the area but he hasn’t seen you yet, and Sam isn’t looking in your direction. You have to play this smart. You’ve dodged Steve before, you can do it again. You turn away from Steve and slowly make your way down the stone stairs. You notice a familiar head of red hair and pause.

Wanda is sitting by herself outside a small cafe sipping coffee. She’s much trickier to dodge because of her mind powers. If you panic, she’ll sense you. You take three deep breaths and continue walking down the stairs as if nothing is going on. Laughter comes from the right of the stairs, and you notice a group of girls together who will definitely walk past Wanda. If you can blend in with them, you might be able to sneak past Wanda.

You speed walk down the stairs and join the group before they reach Wanda. You join in on their laughter and walk past Wanda. You don’t have to look back to know she’s still sitting there sipping her coffee. If she noticed you, you’d be dead right now or at least captured. Ten minutes until the train leaves, and you’re a third of the way to the train.

From the sunglasses kiosk, Natasha watches you break off from the group of girls.

“I found her. Gray hat, black jacket, skirt, and black tights.”

Steve, Sam, and Wanda zero in on you. You haven’t noticed them yet. If you do, you might run which would make this more complicated.

“No sudden movements. Too many civilians,” Steve says. “We need to do this quickly and quietly. No magic, Wanda. Not until we get to her.”

“Got it,” she says.

You look up to check on Sam and Steve when you lock eyes with Steve. Shit, they found you. Eight minutes until the train takes off. You notice a bar on the strip with rowdy boys who are watching a game. To the right of them is a clothing store. You immediately shed your jacket and throw it in the nearest trash can. You rush into the store and remove your hat to reveal your dyed hair. They know you to have blonde hair but you’ve gone much darker.

You walk past a rack of skirts and grab a white one. You unzip it and wrap it around your waist before securing it tightly. You pause by a bench and rip your tights off to expose your legs. You remove your other skirt and toss both materials in the trash can. You leave the store through a different door, making sure to grab a green button-down. You put the shirt on and tie the ends around your mid-section to make it cropped.

You steal some sunglasses on your way out to hide your face as best as possible. You pass through the rowdy boys and cheer along with them. You notice Natasha and Wanda walking into the store together while Steve and Sam are still up top looking for you.

You’re back in the clear.

The train leaves in four minutes. Once you feel it’s safe to do so, you part ways from the boys and head down to the tracks. Two yards away now, and you smile thinking you’ve made it. All you have to do is get on and you’re free. You take one more step toward the train when you feel it on your back.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stand when you feel the cool metal of a gun at your back. A metal hand grips your shoulder, lips press against your ear, and you don’t have to look back to know who it is.

“You hurt my feelings when you ran.” Your bottom lip trembles at hearing Bucky’s voice after all these years. “You’re trapped. Come with me and this won’t get ugly. I’d hate to scare these innocent people with a gun.”

Shit.

You have no choice but to go with Bucky. He takes you to the local police station where they place you in an interrogation room without the cuffs. You’re a normal human without superpowers. What can you do to those with powers? The door opens ten minutes later and Steve walks in alone. You sigh and look away from him, and he takes a seat across from you.

“You’re a hard woman to track down.” You don’t respond. “Why did you run?” Again, you keep your mouth shut. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me, Y/N.” Nothing. “You were last seen escaping Hydra and going on the run. I hear you stole something. What was it?”

You look at him but don’t say a word. Steve sighs and leaves the room knowing he isn’t going to get anything out of you. You’re not alone for long because Fury joins you not long after Steve leaves with files in his hands.

“I’m not going to be as nice as Steve, so just tell me what I need to know.”

“I can’t,” you sigh.

“Why not?”

You look at him with pleading eyes. “I just can’t.”

He pulls out the first file in the stack and sets it next to the pile. “I know you stole something from them. The answer is in these files. Let’s go over them, shall we?”

“You’re wasting your time, Fury.”

He opens the first one. “Operation Paperclip. That can’t be it. Nazi scientists came to America looking for work, and the government pardoned them regardless of what they did to WWII. That was way before your time, though.” He opens the second one. “The Centipede Project. The super soldier program. Again, way before your time.” He opens the third file. “The Winter Soldier program. That’s where you met Bucky, right? You were one of his doctors.”

You look at the two-way mirror knowing there is someone on the other side watching. You’re just not sure if Bucky is watching or not.

“Is there a point to this?”

“Hey, I’m just trying to have a conversation.”

“I’m not telling you anything. Just throw me in a cell or whatever you had planned for me.”

“I touched a nerve with him, didn’t I? Let’s keep going.” He opens the next file. “Project Insight.” Your jaw ticks and your brow twitches, all of which Fury notices. “Do you know anything about that?” You bounce your leg nervously but you try to keep it hidden, and he opens another file. “Project Distant Star.”

“That was a failed project from the beginning.” You relax in your seat. “They never got far outside of Earth.”

“Give me something to work with, Y/N.” You look away and refuse to say anything. “Have fun in solitude.”

Fury leaves the room and looks at Steve who stands on the other side of the glass. The both of them walk into a conference room where Bucky, Natasha, Wanda, Tony, and Vision are.

“She won’t talk,” Bucky says.

“She doesn’t have to.” Fury puts a file down on the table. “Project Insight. Did you notice her body language when I mentioned it?”

“Yeah, she was nervous.”

“Project Insight was the only one that got her to react that way. I’m betting that she got her grubby hands on it, and now Hydra wants it back. All we have to do is find out what it is and why she took it.”

Not to your surprise, you’re taken back to Washington DC only to be locked up in solitude. They’re not treating you like a prisoner otherwise you’d have handcuffs on you, but they’re not letting you roam freely either. You pace the length of your cell because your mind is racing at the thought of what Fury is going to do when he realizes what you’re after. You look up and notice someone’s reflection in the glass wall of your cell.

“Bucky…”

It’s been so long since you’ve uttered his name. Your heart squeezes painfully but you try to ignore the pang.

“It’s been a long time,” he says.

“Yes, it has.”

He sighs and looks down. “I don’t like seeing you locked up in here. Not after…”

He doesn’t have to finish the sentence for you to know what he’s talking about. He was captured in the 1940s, but the real experimentation didn’t happen until the 90s when they took in multiple people for the Winter Soldier program. By then, Bucky was already established as Hydra’s property, and he was tasked to train the others.

That’s where you came in. You were hired on as a doctor because of your PhD in medicine with the intention to play doctor to the newcomers. However, you and Bucky immediately clicked and he became your primary patient. They hired another doctor to take your place with the other soldiers so that you can focus on Bucky the entire time.

The times when the real Bucky came out, you were there to take care of him and coax him back down from the many panic attacks he suffered. Your feelings for him grew so much that you’d intentionally keep him from the experiments just to keep him from being in pain.

“What do you want, Bucky?”

It hurts to speak to him with such a cold voice because even after all this time, you’re still so much in love with him. You fled to protect him, but the last thing you’re going to do is tell him about it and get him involved.

“I can’t help you if you don’t help yourself. What is Project Insight?”

You look at him with a hard look. “Stay out of it, Bucky.”

“Just tell me what it is, and they’ll let you go.” You start to pace the room. “You’re panicking, Y/N. I know you better than you know yourself.”

You walk over to the glass wall that separates you and Bucky, and you slam your hands against it angrily.

“I told you to stay out of it. Please. If you know me like you say you do, you’ll do this for me. Stay out of it.”

Bucky reaches up and puts his hand over the spot where yours is. “Why are you so afraid?” You shake your head and go back to pacing the room. “I used to think the world of you and now… I’m going to do whatever it takes to make you feel safe like you made me feel safe.”

The second he leaves, you collapse on your bed in tears. This isn’t how this is supposed to go. The only place they’re keeping information on Project Insight is on one of SHIELD’s ships in the middle of the ocean. Natasha and Steve are tasked with getting that information for Fury, and now that he has it in his hands, he’s floored at what he reads.

Project Insight is more than just a way for the government to keep tabs on threats. It’s Hydra. They’ve infiltrated SHIELD and have been since the attack on New York with Loki. Project Insight are three helicarriers that they will launch into the sky, which they will then use to wipe out any potential threats to Hydra. Anyone who opposes them will die, and they won’t even see it coming.

With them, they can wipe out millions of people with a push of a button. You stole their plans to build them, but that only set them back a few months. You’re one of the biggest threats to Hydra right now which is why they’re hunting you. Rumors about Project Insight were going around the compound you worked at a decade ago, but you didn’t think they would be stupid enough to build something like that. Only a few years ago were those rumors turned into truth.

Hydra has always wanted this planet to become totalitarian, and Project Insight was their way to do that. You couldn’t sit by and watch it happen so you planned on taking their plans and fleeing. However, you were caught and they threatened everyone you love and care about starting with your friends and ending with Bucky. He was still under their control, and they promised they’d make it hurt if you continued with what you were planning.

The next time you stole, you made sure not to get caught. You were going to flee Germany when you were caught by the Avengers. If they don’t know it was you, they will soon, and Bucky will suffer for it.

Days turn to weeks which then turn to months with you stuck in confinement. They provide you with three meals a day and a bathroom inside your cell, but you’re alone otherwise. Bucky hasn’t come to see you since that first day, and you wonder if he hates you for what you did. You pass the time either sleeping, pacing the cell, or reading whatever book they put with your lunch.

You’re lying on the bed with your arm over your eyes when your cell door opens. You sit up and lock eyes with Bucky. He walks in but doesn’t close the cell door behind him.

“You’re free to go.”

You stand in surprise. “What?”

“We don’t need you anymore.”

“What did you do?” you whisper in fear. “I told you to stay out of it.”

“It doesn’t matter what I did or didn’t do. There is nothing left for you to fear. Project Insight is no more. You’re done here.” You could leave and start a new life somewhere else but you don’t move a muscle. Bucky grabs your shoulders and shakes you gently. “Are you listening to me? Go. Flee. Run. It’s what you’re good at.”

You look into his eyes which have a pool of tears in them. “Bucky…”

“I have survived without you then, and I’ll survive without you now so just go.”

“No, I don’t want to.”

“Why? Why did you run in the first place? I… They hurt me after you left.”

The dam breaks and tears roll down your cheeks. “I ran to protect you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“They caught me once and they threatened to kill you. I couldn’t let them go through with Project Insight, so I took their information and ran. They wanted to make you suffer at my expense, and they wanted me to see you hurt. I knew if I ran, they’d be focused on me instead of you. I knew you’d get out and I knew Steve would keep you safe. I’m sorry for hurting you, but I’m not sorry for running.” You cup his cheeks and wipe his tears with your thumb. “You were and are the most important person in my life.”

Bucky moves his hands down to your waist and kisses you. It’s been decades since you’ve felt his lips on yours. They still feel as safe as they did when you first shared a kiss.

“Don’t run now,” Bucky whispers when he pulls away.

“Hydra isn’t over. You might have ruined their plans but they have hundreds more. They’ll come for me… They’ll come for you.”

“They can try. We’re stronger now.” He leans in and kisses you again, this time softer. “Let it be my turn to protect you.”

“Okay,” you whisper.

You trust Bucky with your life, and it’s time you start fighting for what you love.

x

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[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt.5

This is just a small, little filler to bring the relationship between the twins into/ y/n and Monica's friendship despite how John has treated them.

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader (although he's not in this part) WC: 498

Previous part - Next part

---

A couple of weeks after the spring gather, y/n was sat on the porch of her brother’s house on the reservation watching Kayce teaching Tate how to ride.  She was chatting idly to Monica as they shared popcorn.  After a while they headed indoors to prepare dinner.

As she peeled potatoes Monica struck the conversation up again, “so Kayce said you’ve finally moved out of that trailer?”

“Dad hasn’t given up on getting me to move in since I came back so I figured I could give him something,” she explained, “although I made it clear that he doesn’t get any say in what I do and where I go.”

Her sister-in-law nodded, “you know that we’ll both support you in whatever you decide with your father.  At least with you Tate knows he has a family there.”

“I love that kid so much Mon,” y/n looked out the window to where they were walking towards the house, “in all our years I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you and Tate.”

The door to the house was opened and y/n turned around to be greeted by her nephew.  Tate’s face lit up when he saw her in the kitchen and runs towards his aunt.  y/n crouches down in anticipation, taking the full force of the small body barreling into her.  She spun him around and put him down on the counter in front of her.

“Happy birthday auntie y/n,” Tate sang to her, “what presents did you get?”

Y/n laughed at her nephew’s priorities, “my friends at the ranch put together and got Comanche a new headstall which he likes.  Your uncle Lee and uncle Jamie are gonna take me to the rodeo in Billings next week.  Oh and Gator made me pancakes this morning.”

“Why did they get ‘Manche something for your birthday?” He asked curiously.

She smiled at his question, “well buddy he’s my horse and I love him very much so when people look after him they’re looking after me too.”

“Okay.  Can I go play now?” His aunt nodded and put him back on the floor, watching as he ran off to his room.

Kayce put a box in front of her on the counter, “happy birthday y/n.”

“Happy birthday Kayce,” y/n responded, handing him a small parcel from the pocket from her jacket.

He unwrapped her present to see a small framed photo of Kayce with Monica and Tate that had been taken at Christmas, smiling widely at the camera.  Y/n opened the box he had given her which contained an olive green cap with the words ‘long live cowboys’ embroidered onto it which made her laugh.

“Seriously?” She questioned, pulling the cap onto her head, adjusting her hair underneath it, “I’m never gonna be able to wear this around the hands.”

Kayce smiled at her. “We both know there’s only one hand you want to wear it around.”

“If Tate wasn’t within earshot right now,” she threatened.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Chapter 8 - The Fallout | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: You wait for whatever secrets Larys might have, but they say things get worse before they get better. Right? | Word Count: 8k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: angst 💀, smut straight out the gate, semi-public(?) sex, degradation, praise, aemond being a sexual menace, dirty talk, p in v unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), creampie, mentions of emotionally abusive relationships (both platonic and romantic), mentions of injury resulting in loss of sight, lots of swearing, feelings of inadequacy

A/N: oh lord here we go

It had been a week since you’d last heard from Larys, and the anticipation of what he would return with had your palms sweating as you double tapped your phone screen, seeing if any notifications were there to greet you.

Nothing.

Your heart raced with worry, and it was difficult to not show it around Aemond, now that the both of you were attached at the hip. Every quiet moment, Aemond would try and squeeze in some kind of gesture before inevitably his family would walk in. But as the days went on, instead of biting his lip, putting distance between you and his cheeks blossoming being seen romantically with you, he lingered, making it clear to whoever chose to disturb either of you that he didn’t care if they saw.

He was slowly beginning to care less about that, focussing said care on something else.

As proven by your time together on the tour, Aemond was insatiable.

You honestly don’t know how his dick hasn’t fallen off yet, or that he’s not on some kind of blood pressure medication, by the way he enjoys fucking you into oblivion any spare, quiet moment he gets. Not that it’s something to necessarily complain about. But the more time passed, the more your nerves began to spike, wanting to desperately have him define what was going on here.

Helaena seemed to give the impression this was strange behaviour for him. With the exception of the person Hel so lovingly called ‘that fucking dinosaur’, Aemond’s conquests had been just that. Casual. No strings attached. Sometimes not even necessarily because it had to be, but because he’d shut it down before it went any further.

You didn’t ask Aemond about that.

Even Alicent had mentioned as such, that she’d never seen her son so happy and content.

So why was there this sicky feeling in your stomach?

It was still so early in the morning that it was dark, the faintest of dark blue in the sky to remind you that the sun was just about to come up. And here you were, not in bed, not snuggled in bed sheets. But skates on, all limbered up and ready to practise.

In lieu of Aemond, you shoved your headphones in and leant against the ledge on your forearms, idly hovering on the ice, scrolling through the various news articles.

Martells: Trouble in Paradise? Qoren in trouble after leaving Sunspear Strip Club with blonde stranger Aemond Targaryen and his muse. He fell first but she fell harder, our source says. Otto Hightower seen giving flowers to Floris Baratheon as she is discharged from hospital

The last one made your nose crinkle.

Course he was seen doing it.

You almost jumped out of your skin and dropped your phone in your hands as a firm, tall body bumped into you from behind, genuinely winding you as your form became sandwiched between it and the ledge.

"Fucking-" you pull out your earphones and throw a look over your shoulder. Knowing exactly who it is.

Aemond smiles apologetically, but not really that sorry, and snakes his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder, looking all innocent. But what isn’t so innocent is the way he’s so unabashedly pressed up against you.

You raise an eyebrow, "You done sneaking about?"

He huffs a laugh, the air blowing on your neck as you pretend to scroll on your phone to ignore him, “Was hardly ‘sneaking about’, you’re just going deaf”

He reaches over and scrolls back up, back at the news article you’d ignored a second earlier.

Aemond grins, “Pfft, Aemond Targaryen seen bringing his lover home to meet his family” he recites from the article's title, “do you think they have any idea what actually goes on, hm?”

You roll your eyes partly as his hands drop to your hips, squeezing gently, managing at the same time to grind his hips against your backside. You can’t really ignore the heat that’s beginning to gather in your belly when he does that.

You smirk at him over your shoulder, “Shouldn’t we be practising?”

His hands still make their way over every curve he can find. His mind miles away from said practice.

“Hm. I thought we could practise something else”

You catch his wrist, cheeks bright red as he tries to slip his fingers past the waistband of your leggings, “Aemond!” you whisper-shout, “there’s security cameras!”

“They don’t work” he muses, pressing a few open-mouthed kisses to your neck as he turns his head into you, wilfully ignorant of how embarrassed this is making you, “lucky for us”

His hand slips completely beneath the leggings, expertly sliding between your legs to swipe two digits along your folds. A quiet breathy mewl slips past your lips, your backside pressing softly into his obvious hardness, knowing full well he’ll likely punish you in his own way for teasing him.

“See, now you’re all wet for me” he whispers in your ear, teasing his fingers past your folds just barely, prodding at your slick entrance, “I’ve got myself a needy little slut, haven’t I?”

“Aemond, please -”

You’re not entirely sure how he manages to do it. How you instantly turn to mush when he touches you. When he speaks to you.

You can scarcely believe you ever really hated him.

Sometimes, you wonder if it ever was truly hate.

For either of you, it couldn’t have been.

You feel the way Aemond hums deep in his chest, “But I’m having so much fun teasing you, baby” he coos quietly, pressing the pads of his fingers in tight, soft circles on your clit, spreading what slick had gathered over it. The motion has a stuttered breath slipping past your lips, your hips sinking on him, searching for more contact.

You’re more annoyed than anything that he’s having such a good time watching you squirm, and embarrassment blooms hot at your cheeks.

“Turn around”

Your eyes snap open. His voice is so different, and how easily he’s able to flit from soft, teasing to harsh and domineering always manages to make your knees feel weak.

He pulls his hand free, not even waiting for you to do as he says before he spins you around, shoving your lower back hard against the ledge and kicking your legs apart with one of his. His eye is focussed entirely on the task at hand, jaw tight and his expression completely flat. He looks almost angry, but you know he’s just impatient.

You swallow thickly as he rolls the leggings over your hips, taking the underwear with it so it hangs around your upper thighs. He’s so rough with you that even now, before he’s done anything, that his fingers leave little red imprints where he’s been.

“I’ve been wanting to taste your pussy for days, princess” he muses, slipping to his knees, heedless of the ice leaking freezing water onto his sweatpants, “we’ve not had a spare moment, have we?”

You almost outright sob in want when he presses his face to your core, inhaling your scent deeply like he’s not been between them every day since you arrived back at his home.

“ - fuck - princess -”

You press your lips together to stifle a moan when you feel his tongue part your folds, licking a long stripe over your entrance, a low moan vibrating through your core. Your grip, white-knuckled on the ledge, tightens. As does his on the fleshy skin of your thighs, keeping them wide apart for him to feast on your cunt.

You’re not sure who is really enjoying this more, but based on the sounds Aemond is making while he drags his tongue from your entrance to your clit, lighting sucking on the sensitive bud and moaning while he does it, it would seem he is.

Airiness floods your head and that same pressure is beginning to tighten up in your gut when he grazes his teeth softly against your clit, redoubling his efforts and diving down to fuck you with his tongue, caressing the top of your slick walls with it. He groans as you reach one hand down and tighten it in his hair, ruining the bun he’d had it in. Aemond takes it in his stride, shuffling closer to you and nuzzling his nose against your core, providing pleasure in both ways with the way his sharp nose keeps butting against your bundle of nerves.

Tugging slightly on his follicles, the coil in your belly winds tighter, and you feel your body sinking repeatedly onto him, moving your hips in micro-movements to increase the contact.

“Fuck - Aemond -”

He smirks against you, giving one fat stripe over your folds before breaking away briefly, “You gonna cum for me, princess?” he asks quietly, before moving back in to pleasuring you.

You’re only able to get out hard pants before finding the energy to reply, “Yes, yes…” you chant, your hips finding him over and over, chasing that high.

Aemond pulls away, moving to stand quickly and crashing his lips to yours, his tongue moving against yours and allowing you to share in the heady, exciting taste of your arousal. You moan softly into his mouth, fisting his shirt to pull him closer, putting all of your disappointment at being denied your peak into kissing him back, nipping at his bottom lip harshly as he pulls away.

Instead of looking annoyed at how clearly annoyed you are, he simply smirks, his tongue darting out to clear his lips of any arousal or saliva, soothing where you’d bit him.

“Patience, princess”

He spins you around again before you have a chance to bark back, pushing you over the ledge with a hand flat on your back. Your skates bang against the side and you nearly lose your balance, before Aemond presses his legs against you to keep you stable.

“What the fu-ow!”

Heat blooms on your ass when Aemond slaps it, soothing it with his palm afterwards. It aches there but also between your legs, where more arousal has gathered, desperately needing friction. Or just something.

Aemond huffs a laugh, managing to pull down his sweatpants just enough to sheath himself deep inside you in one smooth motion. The sudden intrusion has your walls stretching to accommodate his size, the slight prickle of pain stoking the fire that had been neglected in your belly. You gasp, grappling forward as he bottoms out and begins immediately pistoning into you, spearing you apart on his cock like it’s the last thing he’ll do.

“ - fffuck, baby - so fucking tight-”  he breathes between thrusts, his hips smacking harshly against yours, “ - so fucking wet for me, always so wet for me, aren’t you-”

You can only manage staggered moans in reply, your body constantly hurtled forward by the brutal rhythm of his cock driving into your heat over and over. You hope to any god out there that he doesn't actually want a proper reply. You’re not sure if you’re even capable of that right now.

“I like fucking you in your skates, with all your clothes on -” he breathes hot against your ear, leaning over and changing the angle, so he hits impossibly deeper, “-just my dirty, little cockslut, aren’t you-”

“-Aemond, please-”

“What” he replies harshly, increasing the intensity of his thrusts. He almost seems frustrated with how erratically his hips push against your backside, with the sounds to match, “gods, you’re so fucking needy for me - just like to be properly fucked, don’t you, princess -”

Your skates drift across the ice with every movement, breasts pressing near-painfully into the ledge. Being fully clothed like this, while you’re meant to be working, feels so dirty, so erotic, that it fans the flames inside you, pushing an all-consuming orgasm through your core, numbing into your limbs, with a wild cry of his name.

“That’s it, good girl - love it when you cum for me, fuck, love being inside you - lov-” he babbles incoherently, before his own voice strains, your core squeezing him so tightly that he spills deep inside you, filling you with his warmth.

You feel his heaved breaths at your back, trying desperately to suck the air back into his lungs.

He stays nestled inside you for some time, only moving away and pulling out after a long moment. You whine softly at the loss of him, hearing the fumbling of him pulling his sweatpants back up. You do the same, covering yourself on shaky legs, feeling the thrum of your own heartbeat through your core.

He’s quiet.

“Aemond?-”

Before you can really ask him what’s wrong, his arms wrap around you from behind. It’s a far cry from the way he was holding/fucking you earlier. It’s soft and tender, like one wrong move and he thinks you’ll break in half. He holds you close, your back pressed against his chest, where you can feel the steady beat of his heart, calming down.

His hands clasp at your front, his chin resting at the crown of your head.

“You okay?” you ask, covering his hands with yours, soothing his hand with your thumb. The action makes your stomach roll, an unfamiliar feeling being stoked within.

You feel him nod.

“Yeah, yeah…fine” he says, barely above a whisper.

Even though he’s not convincing anyone, you don’t prod or pry for more information. You know him well enough that he’d appreciate just your understanding and silence. So that’s exactly what you do.

You just stand, in a comfortable silence, pressed tightly against each other.

Eventually, he begrudgingly did start practising the finals routine with you. And though both of you were pumping hot in your blood with lust after the quickie, there was always, always something unsaid. You could tell there was something Aemond wanted to say, but didn’t have the courage to form the words.

The last time either of you were at the ice rink at his home, the shared touches were electric, almost painful, and there was then an underlying hostility.

But now.

It felt completely different.

And you didn’t know what to do.

The press were onto you. Both of you, like hounds. Like they could smell something was going on. They’d even started constantly hanging around outside the security gates, waiting for someone to come out, or to catch a glimpse of the supposed couple.

Sat on the bench, unlacing your skates, you look up at Aemond as he pulls on his shoes.

“Just gonna freshen up before lunch, see you inside?” he asks, pulling on his jacket in preparation of being rained on.

You can hear the rattling of the incessant raindrops on the metal roof of the ice rink.

You spare him a smile and nod, “Course”

You don’t know why it surprises you, but he bends down, one hand tugging your face up to his to press a tender, almost loving kiss, as quick as it is, to your lips. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

It has you frozen in your own body as you watch him walk away, slipping out the door, the rain pelting on the ground outside becoming briefly louder as it swings shut, dropping you into silence.

Your lips are warm from him, a deep point in your belly is also.

Just as you slip your shoes on, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Before any other feeling, a lingering sense of unease rolls through you.

Larys Strong has shared a link with you.

Swallowing thickly, you stare at the screen for what feels like hours. And then a follow up email, just with text.

Here is all I have.

With a shaky breath, you swipe his email away and click on the link, which takes you to a Google Drive. Anxiety twists in your chest, feeling very much like you are doing something you shouldn’t. But the not-knowing is driving you crazy, so the loading bar at the top of the screen somewhat aggravates you, impatience humming in your blood.

Two folders.

_Floris Baratheon Incident

And one with your name.

With shaky thumbs, you decide to click on Floris’ first.

Several screenshots of conversations, email exchanges, text messages, even a voice message.

Do something to her skates.

O.H

You immediately recognise the phone number as his.

Otto Hightower sabotaged Floris Baratheon.

Your breath is stuck in your throat, dread rising with the anxiety.

Fuckfuckfuck.

He had not only wanted Floris out. He was willing to physically harm her, pay someone else to do it, so that her contract would be broken.

The voice recording is largely muffled, making you press the speaker side of your phone right to your ear. But from the sounds of it, it’s Otto.

“I know it’s good to have a Baratheon on our side of the competition, but Floris is nowhere near good enough to launch Aemond into the Olympics. While she likes him, he doesn’t like her. We need some kind of…integrated relationship if we’re going to convince the judges. There’s nobody there on our side anymore, since Viserys died”

He goes on, the recorder muffled. Perhaps in someone’s pocket.

“I can’t break her contract without paying her. She needs to be gone, as soon as possible”

The tone of his voice. Talking about Floris like she’s not a person, makes your blood run cold.

And that’s all there is in that folder. Such a short conversation, like they were just talking about the weather, but really they were planning on how best to ruin a young girl’s life, career and hobby. All for the sake of not paying her because they didn’t like her chemistry with Aemond…

Which begs the question.

Why you?

You don’t really want to admit how sick it makes you feel to see how many things there are in the folder titled with your name. It feels…intrusive. Like people know secrets about you that you, or even Rhaenys, doesn't even know.

After all figure skating isn’t just a career, it’s what you love.

You don’t want them to ruin that for you.

You can feel your breath pick up, hot tears sitting behind your eyes, and the beginnings of a migraine slipping into your head. Low background.

Bad circumstances.

Is that really all you were? A fucking pity choice?

Not because you were just good at what you did?

Not just because they wanted your skills.

But because they wanted to raise someone they deemed lesser to their level, for sympathy votes.

Bile rises in your throat at that.

Everything had been meticulously planned. Every movement. Every placement.

Everything.

The magic of that first night with Aemond feels ruined.

You feel preyed upon. By Otto and whoever he was collaborating with to make this happen, as if they were right there listening against the door and taking turns looking through the keyhole.

And then Otto’s words almost a week prior…

 ‘It is just business. Aemond knows this’

Surely…he couldn’t have been in on this the whole time.

Right?

You grip your phone tightly, hearing the case crack in your grip.

There is…humiliation. Betrayal.

But also anger.

You don’t even register the hammering of rain against your face as you stride past the garden, clad only in the exercise clothes you had been in all morning. By the time you’ve slid the doors forcefully aside, your hair is half-soaked, your leggings as well, blood feeling like fire with the anger that courses through you.

You know he's here tonight.

He's always lurking about somewhere.

You push the doors to the library open, the oak banging against the doorframe with a rattle. Otto looks up from his desk with surprise, with an expression that immediately reminds you of the subtle, yet annoying way Aemond used to look at you, before his eyebrows lower and his lips curl upwards, as if amused.

"Caught out in the rain?" He asks, chuckling, completely ignoring the frown your face is set into.

Phone gripped tightly, you take your time walking in before you're at his desk, chucking the device haphazardly in front of him. The list of screenshots litter the screen.

"What the fuck do you call this?"

Otto takes one sweeping look at your phone, not really even reading any of them.

But somehow knowing full well what they are.

"Is there a problem?"

"Is there a prob-" you scoff, laughing incredulously.

If you don't laugh you'll cry.

"First of all, fucking sabotaging Floris' skates?" You throw the words at him, "she could be permanently injured! Her career could be-"

"She had no career" he interrupts, which is slowly driving you mad, "she could not take criticism. Thinks she's better than she actually is"

"Oh, and that's an excuse, is it? She broke her fucking ankle. She might never skate the same and you treat her like…well you treat her like a fucking commodity, like you do the rest of your family!"

"How I conduct business with my family is of no matter to you"

Your hands brace the desk, not backing down one bit.

"I am not your fucking family" you warn, "which brings me to that. Low birth? Common? Bad circumstances? Who the fuck do you think you are exactly!"

"I scouted you for your skills"

"And hoping that me and Aemond would fuck into the bargain. Improve his image, did it?"

"That was merely a bonus"

"Is this what you do to all the women in your life? Force them into the arms of someone else so you don't have to deal with them? So that you can climb higher without having any talents of your own?"

Otto's eyes narrow.

"You don't know a thin-"

"I know you forced your own daughter into the arms of a fucking judge, and she faced the repercussions.

I know you forced Helaena to skate with Aegon, even though she'd be happier doing Singles. But she's too nice for her own good to really hate you for it.

And I know, you forced me to work with Aemond, just hoping, just praying, I'd be stupid enough to throw myself at him. You must have been shaking in your fucking boots when he didn't like me at first"

Otto seems more than anything to be annoyed that you've interrupted him.

"And what do your grandsons get? Aegon fucking hates skating and Aemond-" you scoff, "-he was emotionally abused by a woman decades his senior and you forced him to talk to her"

Otto is quiet.

"Gods forbid Daeron ever chooses to compete professionally. He's the only one who doesn't hate you yet"

Otto stands quickly, brushing your phone back towards you.

"If you release those screenshots my lawyers will destroy you" he warns, "you'll never be signed again, and you'll certainly never make the championships again, I'll make sure of that"

Your mouth opens to bark back.

"And you'll never see Aemond again"

But that makes you freeze and go cold all over. And it might not be the rain sticking to your clothes.

"No contact. Nothing"

You swallow thickly, clenching your fists. Anxiety and fear rolling through you. Your heart drops into your stomach. And Otto wears a victorious grin, which only serves to make you want to vomit.

"You used me for fucking pity" you say, voice strained, trying desperately not to cry.

"And I made you a champion," he responds coolly.

Is that all he ever fucking thinks about?

Winning?

Even at the cost of his family hating him?

"I'm not entertaining this"

Otto chuckles, "You are bound by the terms of our contract. And I'm sure there's plenty of…other reasons why you'd want to stay anyway"

How could he weaponise Aemond at you like this…

You take several steady breaths.

"Fuck you. And fuck your contract"

"What the hell's going on?"

You swing around quickly, heart dropping at the sound of Aemond's voice. He stands against the doors, looking worriedly between the two of you, his eye wide and concerned. The ends of his hair are wet from the shower you suppose he's just taken, looking much better than you, as the rain drying on you makes your hair frizz up.

Wound tightly with both anger and betrayal, laughing is the only thing you find the effort to do, confusing both the men in the room.

"Yes, why don't you tell Aemond what you've just told me?" You smile, eyes filled with tears in Otto's direction, snatching your phone from the table just as he's about to do the same.

"It is no concern of yours, Aemond" Otto replies distantly.

"If it concerns her then it does concern me"

When Aemond says that, any warmth associated with the affection you have for him turns to dust. Just the sheer weight of the situation makes your body feel like lead, incapable of letting any light in.

"I can't fucking stay here, not with him" you shake your head, the situation entirely overwhelming, trying to just get as far away from Otto Hightower as possible.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Baby - please -" Aemond crowds you, intending to help, his hands on your arms to try and make you just talk to him. His features are set in worry. It's somehow endearing.

But with everything that's happened it just feels like too much, like the walls are closing in on you. Like one touch and you'll explode.

"Please, Aemond, I can't stay here after all he's -"

You don't even have the strength to finish the sentence before floods of tears pour down your cheeks, your throat tightening up.

How you even find the energy to swing the front door open is beyond you.

The last thing you see before walking away from the Targaryen House, is Aemond in the doorway, looking out at you walking through the rain. He wears a look of sadness and panic.

You only briefly hear the echo of Alicent berating someone deep within the house, her malicious, emotional screams bouncing off the walls. You see Helaena, joining Aemond's side, her face sullen. And Aegon, sat in an armchair, looking not at all surprised at the situation, with his hands clasped in his lap.

You can't pretend it doesn't hurt your heart to leave. But you simply cannot be in the same vicinity as Otto right now before doing something you regret.

Without Arryk or Criston's car, you're resigned to walk in the pouring rain to the security gate. Almost not minding the rain compared to what's going to happen.

The press, waiting outside with their raincoats on, all scramble to their feet. Camera flashes clicking loudly against your ears, crowding your space even further, uncaring of personal space. Microphones and voice recorders join them a moment later, accompanied by a waterfall of questions.

With Aemond, he could work the press easily, paving a path wherever he went by virtue of his position in the industry. But now, by yourself, it pains your chest like a stab straight to the heart, the notion that now, as you fight off the press to pave your own escape, tears rolling down your face, that you are very much alone.

"The number you have called is currently unavailable. Please try again later"

You choke on your own tears and breath. Four times you've called El, to ask if it's okay to come back to the flat you used to share.

Your mind was so blurry, and messy, you'd forgotten she was on holiday with her family. The annual Baratheon get-together. And perfect weather for it too.

For a brief moment, you're almost mad she's not here.

But know that it's just because how utterly lonely you feel, and she'd always been there before to offer a shoulder to cry on. An instant ramen to make. A shitty movie to put on. All to make you feel better.

In the rain, everything looks different, but especially through the misty gaze of the tears that glaze your eyes.

You bend down to slip the spare key from under the doormat, relieved it's still there. She'd probably forgotten about it anyway. It takes a few genuine tries with your rain-slick hands to get the key into the door, but you manage.

Only to be hit immediately with the nostalgic smell of your apartment.

It'd been so long.

It makes you want to cry even harder. It feels warm. Not at all the cavernous, marble, almost clinical feel of the Targaryen House. But cosy, comforting, like a big warm hug, despite nobody being in.

It smells like those Fresh Cotton candles she loves, the basic bitch.

You laugh sadly at that.

You miss her.

The normality. Her late night voice memos. You miss all of it, before everything became so complicated.

Even though you have the whole flat at your disposal, you can't find the energy to do anything useful like cook or shower.

So with rain soaked clothes, sticking uncomfortably to your skin, you just curl up on the sofa, the TV turned down low, just as a means of filling the silence. You almost don't want to go into your room. Seeing it all empty will just upset you even more.

You ignore the frequent buzz of your phone on the sofa, pulling the blanket up to your chin, just entirely numb.

The rain taps incessantly on the window, the way it hits the concrete with such velocity has a faint mist rising from the streets. It's all so grey outside, with only the hum of passing cars and their warm headlights to fill the colourless space as the sun, hidden behind endless clouds, gives way for darkness.

You sigh, feeling your throat tickle with the onset of a cold, probably from walking home in the torrential downpour.

It's so quiet you barely hear it. And the third time it happens you furrow your brows and look over at the door.

Perhaps El wasn't able to go after all?

You wipe your face, striding over the fallen blanket piled on the floor, with no energy to pick it up, and shuffle to the door, undoing all three locks that you and El had installed after an attempted break-in.

The uncomfortable humid waft of the outside is the first thing that hits you, as well as a spray of hot rain.

The second is cold.

Cold all over.

Aemond stands, or rather slumps against the doorframe, one hand rested flat against it and completely out of breath, as if he’d been rushing.

Aemond Targaryen, who hates going out in the rain, hates getting his hair wet, hates walking anywhere that isn’t necessary, prefers to take Arryk’s care even a few minutes down the road and absolutely hates not looking his best, stands there completely drenched, just entirely quiet. Rain has soaked through his clothes, sticking to every square inch of his body.

Like him, the air is taken out of your lungs as well. Frozen in place, and unable to utter a single thing as your throat closes up once again.

Aemond can’t seem to say anything either, he just looks down at you, his expression not unreadable, but so unlike him that you’re not sure if you’ve ever seen it.

Except you absolutely have.

That night Otto forced him to speak to Alys Rivers, he wore an expression of panic.

Shoulders rolled forward to appear smaller.

Eyebrows furrowed in worry, his good eye downcast and sullen.

The expression of being entirely lost.

He’s still being pelted with rain when you step forward, dissolving entirely into silent tears, your arms holding his torso so tightly, you’re surprised he reciprocates.

Everything else fizzles out. And you hate how cringy it sounds in your head, but all there is is just you two, and this moment, his arms, wrapped snugly around you, almost entirely encompassing your form. Such tenderness from him he has only afforded you a handful of times.

But this. This is something else. Not just tenderness.

But neither of you dare to approach that.

It just feels too good to be around him, to have him like this. You don’t want to think about anything else.

Aemond feels how you tremble, trying to hold in the sobs, so much that it hurts in your chest.

“Oh, Princess…” he soothes, one hand moving up to stroke the back of your head, your face firmly planted against his neck.

You wonder, in the hours since you stormed out, what he now knows.

So you don’t open the floodgates just yet.

Giving one last squeeze, you pull away, wiping the rain and tears off your face with the back of your hand and gesture inside.

“You want to come in?..”

He almost looks shocked you’ve asked, but understanding that both of you need to talk.

As if by habit, Aemond toes off his shoes before he shuts the front door behind him, following you into the warm, cosiness of your shared apartment with El.

Instinctively, you load the kettle with water and click it on, a few silent seconds passing before it begins to hiss with life.

“Where is she?” he asks, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around at all the little nick-nacks on various shelves. Not cluttered, but busy enough to feel like a home.

Your turn, having been staring at the kettle, “What?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, the wet fabric dragging across his skin, “Your flatmate. El, right?”

How did he remember that?

“O-oh, um…she’s away with her dad” you reply, swallowing thickly with nerves and turning back to pour a mug of tea for yourself and a coffee for Aemond.

You don’t see it, but there’s a subtle smile on his face as he watches you, for not having to ask him how he likes it.

“Thanks” he says softly, as you slide a mug over the counter in his direction.

Seeing Aemond in this kind of environment is nothing short of weird.

Having seen him in environments professionally, such as ice rinks and competitions, as well as being inside his home, surrounded by space and expensive items, gives you an impression of him akin to a celebrity, someone out of reach.

But here, in the tiny apartment, lit with brown and amber hues, where the living room and the kitchen are quite literally the same room, he looks so comically tall and broad, he almost swallows every bit of the room he’s in.

But it’s nice, seeing him in a different light.

He seems different.

He leans on the arm of the sofa, facing you in the kitchen, taking a scalding sip of his coffee, which is nowhere near drinkable, and then leaning over to pop it on a coaster on the coffee table.

It’s hard to contain the smile that drifts onto your face. At least he’s kept his manners.

And then, Aemond clasps his hands, sighs and does that thing where he tries to look small again.

“Just after you left, Alys came to the house”

Just like that, your heart is frozen again. But instead of dread, there’s anger.

But not at him.

“Why?” you ask, warming your hands with the mug.

Aemond shrugs, not meeting your gaze, “Probably to cash in on whatever petty shit she can get her grubby hands on”

You’re glad he speaks about her with some level of aggression. She deserves more than that.

"She probably saw the articles. Pictures of you leaving. Thought she might be able to worm her way back in somehow now that Otto is on his ass" he adds.

Fuck. They work fast.

Maybe it's for the best you didn't check your phone. It's probably Rhaenys, wondering what the fuck is going on.

Brief embarrassment runs sharply through you.

He takes a breath, “Otto told us everything”

You raise an eyebrow, “us?”

He nods, “All of us. Mum. Aeg, Hel”

You blink, your throat feeling sore from not letting the emotion out, keeping it bottled inside until you have the answers you want.

The answers you need.

“Did you know?” you ask, voice wavering. Feeling awful for even suggesting it.

Aemond looks up at that, his mismatched blue eyes reflecting the warm amber light of the room.

“I knew…that he was scouting, and had his eye on you to replace Floris��� he answers slowly, watching your face, careful about his words, “but, honestly, that’s it, baby, I promise”

The term of endearment has your tummy doing a tiny backflip.

You let that absorb for a moment. Grateful that Aemond is affording you the silence for it.

Clearing your throat, “But you didn’t know why?”

He shakes his head once.

“I hate to ask it, it’s just becau-”

“Because I said all that shit about, class and…who you were, I know” he interrupts, but with a voice that softens, “and I understand why you’d assume that I knew”

He stands, taking short, careful steps towards you, his fingers playing with each other, “But I promise, I didn’t know…any of that shit. I admit, I could have done more, and I could have been better to you from the beginning, and protected you from all this.

And I’m sorry for that”

You look up at him, breath hitching for a moment having not realised how close he is.

“And I will always be sorry for it” he adds, discreetly reaching for your hands.

His gaze is downcast, looking at your hands in his.

“There’s so much I need to tell you”

You realise that this isn’t just going to naturally occur.

That he is asking for you to listen to him. That for so long, nobody bothered to ask how he was, or how he was dealing with everything. The abuse from Alys. The chronic pain.

Nobody had ever really asked him.

And after everything, how could you not?

He at least deserved to get it all off his chest.

“Let’s sit down, okay?”

You sit on the sofa, nibbling on your thumbnail as Aemond speaks, surprisingly animated, and without hardly taking a breath. Only doing so every now and then to sip the rapidly cooling coffee.

He starts essentially from the beginning. The situation with this father. The absentee. Who couldn’t give a shit about the four children he had with Alicent if he tried. Often he forgot their names and pretended sometimes, as if they didn’t exist. Eventually, Alicent was not exempt from this behaviour.

You learn that this ‘friend’ Alicent was referring to so lovingly when you returned from the semi-finals, was in fact Aemond’s older half-sister, Rhaenyra. He explains as much as he can from his own perspective, tagging it all off with ‘well, how would you feel if your best mate started getting it off with your dad?’.

Point taken.

Rhaenyra never went professional. She moved abroad, remarried, had more children.

But not before kicking the wasp’s nest, as Aemond put it.

You, of course, know of Jace, being friendly with him and seeing him every now and then, practically in the same line of work. But even less about his younger brother, Luke, since he was several years younger and still unsure about the industry.

After all, once you're in, you're in.

But you didn’t realise that Aemond was related to them in some capacity.

And that when they were all children, having grown up together, after a largely innocent duel using fake, wooden swords, Luke, no more than a child who didn’t know any better, bought an actual knife. A steak knife, no less. One that Aemond vividly remembers, as the serrated blade tore through his skin after a scuffle.

Of course, Aemond knew it was accidental, but that wasn’t exactly the first thought running through his mind at the age of 10.

Rhaenyra paid the medical bills and swiftly left the country on the first flight out, but not before some choice words were had between her and Alicent first.

It sounds spectacularly messy.

And Aemond had been stuck in the middle of all of it. Having lost sight in his left eye, a scar lining his face, spent weeks in hospital without his own father there and a new chronic condition as a result.

No wonder he’d felt so alone.

Like any of the siblings, figure skating was impressed on them from an early age. And Otto, as per Aemond’s explanation, had jumped at the opportunity when Aemond was doing well despite not having sight in one eye. So much so, that he’d spent a large part of his formative years just competing. Not doing things that a normal teenager would do.

Having to grow up far too quickly.

He’d started wringing his hands at this point in the story. The tell-tale rolling of his shoulders forward and his leg bouncing with nerves.

“I regret the day I arrived in Harrenhal. Shit ice rink anyway”

Enter. Alys Rivers.

By his description, she’d clocked him the moment she saw him. Even now, he says, he does a double take whenever he sees a woman with long black hair, his heart going fast.

He doesn’t go too in-depth. Only that she made him feel validated at first, said all the right things.

Did all the right things as well.

But he wasn’t ashamed to admit that. He was more ashamed at how much he had bought into it all those years ago. How she’d attempted to make herself like a barrier between him and his family, especially Alicent, and for a long while, it had worked. He hadn’t stepped into the Targaryen house for months, spending every waking moment with Alys and only Alys any moment he could get.

What shocked you the most, was how it managed to last even six months.

He had said that she’d been his first sexual partner, and that she used that against him multiple times but he never really saw it until afterwards. Said that ‘she was the only one who was going to love him. Because she loved him unconditionally, despite his deformity’.

That made you feel ill.

How could she say something like that?

It had all ended quite forcefully. Otto had discovered that Alys had managed to get a hold of Aemond’s bank details, taking little bits and pieces from the shared company account, before getting too ahead of herself, and withdrawing large chunks at a time. Eventually exposing her long-standing behaviour.

For a while, Aemond tried to justify it. Saying they were gifts.

It was only when he returned home and Alicent broke down crying, that he said he’d finally sobered up, after months of being forcefully drunk on Alys Rivers.

Otto was less sympathetic. Urging him that ‘as a man, it is your responsibility to deal with this on your own’.

“He knew the pregnancy thing was bullshit…” Aemond carried on, the blanket somehow ending up on his lap, shared between you, “...but she was trying anything and everything to shake the allegations that she was ever stealing from us, from me, rather”

He sighs.

“She just wanted to get anything she could out of me” he adds, his voice wavering, “and she would’ve done…’til there wasn’t any of me left”

You shake your head, “Otto was cruel making you talk to her”

Aemond swallows visibly, moving his shoulders at the memory.

“I said I’d cut off ties with Otto as soon as I can”

Your eyebrows raise, the empty mug almost falling out of your lap.

“What?” you half-shout, “Aemond, I-I don’t want you to just do this because of-”

“It’s not just that, it’s fucking - it’s everything he’s done to us” he adds, his gaze meeting yours, as if to emphasise, to make real everything he is saying, “-everything he’s done to me. Aeg. Even Mum…”

You can tell by the way he trails off, that it’s a sore subject. Perhaps one broached many times, but never resolved.

He fucking loves his mother so much. Empathises with her pain like he shares in it. Sometimes his long, sad expression, reminds you of how she often looks.

“I’ve wanted to for a long time” he mutters, “I fucking hated you for it then, but you were right, I never liked it. I just did it because I thought it would…achieve something, I don’t know”

You know what he means but daren’t not say it.

He thought that pursuing it professionally would buy his love. Both his father, then Otto.

One he’s not had from any male figure in his life.

You swallow over the lump in your throat. It must be so much weight on him. And it shows, in how light he looks even now, telling you the very bare minimum.

“What he did to you was the last straw…”

Your eyes flit up, to meet him. That same rolling feeling spreads over your tummy, like opening the curtains on a sunny, summer morning and bathing yourself in light.

His look right now is both intense and soft at the same time. Willing you to believe him in case there’s any indication that you don’t.

“...Mum was in floods of tears when she found out. Said you were good and kind. That you never judged us. Never judged her” he adds, words breaking with emotion in between.

You huff, playing with your fingers "high praise then" you joke.

But he smiles despite it, “...she loves you, you know”

That cracks a smile from you. The first one in hours. Your cheeks burn from the tears and rain on it, and yet it feels nice. You watch with barely-concealed, softened joy as Aemond cracks his own smile, one side of his lips turned up just ever so slightly, in his classic Aemond-esque sort of way.

You wouldn’t trade that smile for the world.

“I do too”

Air is sucked from your chest, mouth entirely dry, as the sheer heft of what he’s said begins to sink in.

Did he really just say that?

Am I in a fever dream?

He nods, "I think I have for a while"

You want to speak, to hug, to kiss him, but nothing will come out. Your body won’t move in accordance with your brain, and your hands get pins and needles all of a sudden. Without you realising, warmth seems to have made its way down your face, dripping off your jaw.

All the while, Aemond just sits there, watching your reaction.

Fuck.

You love him too.

And before you even know it, in place of words, your lips are pressed desperately against each other, hands clamouring for any bit of clothing or skin you can find. Aemond groans as you tilt your head, deepening the kiss and allowing tongues and teeth to wrestle against each other. His hands cup your ass as he tugs you over his lap, breathing heavily into your mouth with each break for air.

Instinctually, your hips grind on him, feeling him harden instantly beneath the damp sweatpants, your hand reaching down to stroke his length to full mast with your palm.

His hands are everywhere. Thighs, waist, breasts, tangled in your hair. While his lips map out your entire body where he can from this angle, leaving marks with his teeth over the column of your neck, still rippled to attention from goosebumps. You squeeze around him with your thighs, directing all your want into just that movement, to tell him how much you need him.

“Bedroom” he breathes, “where?”

You answer as your hands dip beneath his shirt, smoothing over his tacky skin, feeling his muscles contract.

“Down the hall, first right, but there’s no bed sheet-” you gasp as he lifts you, pressing needy, open kisses to your swollen lips.

“I don’t need fucking bed sheets for what I’m about to do to you”

Aside from when he deposited you on the bed, the mattress squeaking comically, making you look at each other and giggle like two little love-sick teenagers, Aemond is entirely soft, tender, taking his time like this is the last moment he’ll ever get to properly be with you.

Even the act of undressing is painfully slow and sensual, despite the clear hunger in both of your gazes. Everything he does now, has your stomach fluttering pleasantly. Irreversibly.

And it’s something you’ll never get sick of.

He was never one for making too much noise in bed. But here, as his cock pistons into your desperate heat over and over, your former bedroom alight and hot with sex, Aemond whimpers, whines and groans, depending on what’s going on, right against the crook of your neck. One hand on your throat, his fingers encircling it and tightening the closer he gets to the height of his bliss, pleasantly robbing your brain of just the right amount of air to feel like you’re floating.

Your orgasm builds embarrassingly fast, from everything, the heat of the moment, him.

And doing this knowing he really wants to.

Nearing the peak of your pleasure, his thumb snakes between you and rubs your clit in tight, careful circles, hurtling you towards the precipice. All while his pelvis smacks with the sound of your arousal against yours, with your legs pulled tightly around him, and his grip not letting go.

With each thrust of his cock into you, he kisses your neck, and utters.

“I love you”

Then your jaw.

“I love you”

And finally your lips, just as your pussy tightens around him.

“ - fuck - I love you -”

He pulls his head up to look down at you just in time to watch as you fall apart, white-hot pleasure running like fire in your veins as your pussy flutters around his cock, taking him over the edge with you. His hooded, lusty gaze focussed entirely on you, until his brows furrow himself, lips hanging apart only slightly, as he finishes deep inside you.

The only sound is hurried breaths, and every now and then the mattress squeaking as a result of only the tiniest of movements.

Aemond huffs, leaning up on his elbows, the chain slipping out beneath his shirt and dangling in your face, the chill of the metal against your chest making you shudder. His hair, already having been ruined by the rain, hangs in lazy wavy strands around his face.

An exhausted breathy laugh falls out his mouth, his warm hand making its way back up to your face, sighing as he sees you lean your cheek into it.

He looks so perfect like this, is the first thing that comes to mind.

But the words that come pouring out your mouth are completely and entirely natural.

Really, the point of no return.

The only moment Aemond Targaryen remembers of his life before loving you, is when you say so clearly, with such devotion, adoration and care.

“I love you too”

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics | @watercolorskyy

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[apocalypse-shuffle]

ERIK | THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (multi interaction)

—

“The Roll and Revolve” (Erik | The Phantom of the Opera x Fem!Reader)

| While attending the masquerade ball the Red Death asks for your hand to dance.

| SFW, at most canon typical violence is mentioned, dancing -dancer!reader & african!reader

| Reader’s 18+ and one of the older girls in the dance line along with Sorelli. (Pic source: left•Juan Navarro/Saulo Vasconcelos’s Phantom from the POTO Mexican production [1999-2000], middle•Emilie Kouatchou’s run as Christine from the POTO Broadway production, right•John Owen-Jones’s Phantom from the POTO West End production [2011].)

| 3k+ words

Fluttering from group to group at a masquerade ball was apparently not all everyone cracked it up to be.

You stop, standing off to the side of the entirely too unappealing table of food assortments. Some of the food even appeared to have gone bad to you, speckled in powdered sugar only for show; to mask the rotten truths underneath.

You’ve steered clear of dining at all throughout the night for that very reason. The truths they hid were clearly of the stomach pain and extended time on the loo type, and looks always had the chance of stowing deceit.

The opera house was full tonight, the date a prelude to the new year, with its high ceilings and garnished walls host to all manner of primed woman and man dressed in a bid to garner the most envy in their best furs and feathers, masks and fedoras. The only thing consistent amongst you all being your efforts to hide your identities from one another; crowd after crowd of people decked out in masks of all kinds that hid their faces from the world.

Where you stand a voice rises to greet you, managing to be heard even over the echoing sounds of the opera’s orchestra.

“Y/n, y/n! Did you hear the news?”

The bottom of your crisp white gown, a gift from your mother, kisses the floor as you shift your feet to intercept the few girls from the dance line coming to speak with you. To your surprise Christine is amongst them.

“Clearly not,” you respond to Jammes.

The brunette bounces, near manic smile on her face and Sorelli beside her rolls her eyes.

“It’s not nearly as entertaining as she’s making it.”

“More like terrifying,” Meg pipes up.

Your eyebrows raise, “Was there another death?”

It’s Christine who answers your weary inquiry, bright hair bouncing as she shakes her head.

“It’s not nearly as serious,” she shrugs. “More like a ghost story than anything-”

Jammes cuts her off with an excited squeal.

“The Opera Ghost is rumored to show up tonight!”

Oh.

There was a good second there where your eyes were starting to widen but they drop back to half mast behind the white swan-like pantalone mask you’re wearing, the feathers of which tickle your face as you sigh. You wave the girl's excitement away.

“You’re so overdramatic, Jammes, everyone knows the OG is just a rumor the stagehands made up to scare us.”

“And that the police is sustaining so they can get out of properly catching a murderer,” Sorelli scoffs.

You nod at her and your other friend just pouts.

“You all have such little whimsy.”

From where she’s got her arms wrapped around herself Meg laughs, a nearly startled noise of contempt.

“Maybe we just don’t want to make a myth out of an actual killer,” she says.

Now it’s Jammes’s turn to roll her eyes.

“I say it’s just you guys being boring,” she flips her hair over her shoulder. “But whatever, I've got a violinist to dance with so I’ll see you all later.”

She’s gone just like that. Meg frowns after her and you and Sorelli make kissy noises that cause Jammes to giggle as she walks off.

“Which one of them do you think it is?”

“Come on Sorelli, you know it’s Eugène. She misses all her steps during his solos,” you say.

“Actually I think it’s Ahsan, we are getting more Persians lately. He might like to have a change of pace since no one ever really talks to him.”

Your lips purse. You're pretty sure Jammes hasn’t even noticed the Populaire’s newest members.

“Just because you’re interested in Ahsan doesn’t mean she is, Sorelli. What do you think Christine?”

From where she’s just about completely checked out from the conversation making heart eyes at the Vicomte from across the room, Christine startles. You’d joke but the navel man is staring back at her just as intently. Her eyes flutter up to meet yours eventually though.

“Um- I don’t know? I think maybe you’re right about Eugène, Y/n, but would you all mind if I excused myself?”

You all give some manner of affirmation but Christine is already moving anyway so it wouldn’t have mattered much if you hadn’t.

“I wonder what it’s like to hold a man’s attention like that,” Meg sighs.

You shrug, “Well, it’s not always as nice as it seems.”

Her head bobbles as she nods before she’s curtsying and leaving as well, head bowed. Not long after that Sorelli bids you goodbye and goes in search of someone to dance with in front of Madame Giry. She wants lead in the next production since Christine seems set on being Primadonna. You don’t have the heart to tell her that showboating won’t get her any points with the Madame.

All danced and socialized out, but knowing you can’t leave your appearance obligations for the opera house lacking, you content yourself with staying in your tucked away haven by the most unappealing refreshment table at the party.

Your feet tap and you hum along to the orchestra playing as people pass you by. Young couples rushing to someplace private and friends, old and young alike, moving about as they make gossip. Body swaying in place to the music you bask in the fact that you’ve made it, even partially, and soon enough you’d be dancing front on this opera’s stage and stages even beyond it. You’ve seen plenty of other black artists make it, there’s no reason to think that outside of the Americas you couldn’t fight your way to the top too.

You’ve gotten as far as a dance line already.

A poised shadow appears to your left but you do not bother giving anything short of the person’s silhouette a glance. You were in borrowed time at the Palais Garnier. It was best if you didn’t attract any attention and ruin your chances.

Instinctively your hands clasp in front of your body and you rock back onto your heels, humming and tapping ceasing. Stay unheard and you’ll be fine; your dreams of artistry and fame were yet to be dashed.

“Why so solemn?”

You feel your eyes widen, your attention quickly shifting to the shadow. You glance around, but seeing no one else close enough for him to have been talking to instead your gaze fully settles on more than just the man’s silhouette.

The masked man in front of you is completely shadowed in shades of red and fine jewels. The mask masquerading his face, the grimmest sign of the end: an ivory skull. And atop his head bloomed a crown of feathers on a wide brimmed fedora; all the colors of death and decay.

Your heart quickens at his procured visage.

“Me?”

A deep timber falls past lips you can’t see when he chuckles.

“Who else, Mademoiselle?”

“There is no shortage of beautiful women on the dance floor.”

“By why would Erik bother with them when the most beautiful is over here? Tucked in darkness’s warm embrace?”

Your head ducks and your face warms.

“You’re too kind.”

The wide shouldered shadow seems to shake his head, hard to tell with such an elaborate headpiece.

“Oh no! I fantom I have failed to be kind enough.” He sweeps forward, a cape previously bathed in his shadows trailing out behind him, everything lined with jewels shimmering like blood in moonlight. You find yourself ensnared as you look into the great eyes of death.

“When one such as yourself makes a swan’s grace look lacking with her prowess she should expect nothing less than to be bathed in gifts.” Death holds out his gloved hand, and still looking into those dark depths, still looking for the sign of the man underneath, you take it. “Precious flowers: lilacs and lilies…”

A mimicry of a kiss is pressed into your knuckles and you shiver. The hardness of something you’re becoming convinced may have once been an alive man’s touching ever so softly to your ebony skin.

“…roses.” he murmurs finally. “Painstakingly, devotedly, clipped of their thorns so as to not tarnish perfection.”

Your breath comes short as you finally find it. Only a flash, blink and you miss it, but you couldn’t blink. Citrine eyes; ill colored. It makes something in you want to flee, cause a scene in an effort to not be dragged out of the light by this man’s wrongness. Then his words finally reach you.

Words said in that burning liqueur tone that carry your mind away with their unique melody. You find yourself smiling, mouth stretching wide, alabaster teeth gleaming against the contrast of your dark skin.

“I’m not perfect,” you find the urge to argue.

If only to hear his praise some more.

“My Dear, you are my everything. How could you not be perfect?”

“I’m only a chorus dancer.”

“Which is a shame,” he admits.

His tone is solemn like he feels your own disappointment at never being given the chances of the other girls despite dancing with twice their merit.

“It is a shame,” you nod, spine straightening as you grip his hand tighter. The man before you seems to gasp at your assured touch. “To whom do I owe my thanks for such lovely compliments?”

The shadow appears to shrink in on himself for a moment before his grip in turn strengthens and guides you closer together. As he comes more into the light his onsemble sparkles mesmerizingly.

“The Red Death,” he bows, “at your service.”

You laugh. “I admire your dedication to the ball’s theme.”

He makes a humored sound of his own at your acknowledgment of his dramatics.

“It’s for the best I assure you, my dear. Now,” he runs the soft fabric over his thumbs along your bare knuckles, “would you do me the honor of a dance?”

You incline your head, smiling in appraisal as you nod.

“It would be my pleasure, Monsieur Death.”

He leads you from your not-so-hidden corner with a swish of his cape.

You seem to nearly teleport down the stairs with the way he whisks you away so soundly to the ballroom floor. Marble meets the bottoms of your heels as he finds you a good starting position towards the center of the room and, as is in your nature by now, you stand tall in a dancer's carry. He does not let the conversation end as you begin moving.

“Do other things outside of dancing capture your attention?”

“Should there be anything else?”

He laughs as he spins you around, “I suppose not. Dancing is your craft after all.”

“Yes,” you settle into his lead. “Yes it is, but um, I don’t just do ballroom and ballet dancing.”

“No?”

“No. I also dance things far older than my knowledge of ballet, from my people.”

“Amazing,” he says. “You’ll have to show me some day.”

“I’d be happy to,” you give him a small smile.

So near to him as you elegantly weave in between other couples on the floor you can see his eyes very clearly. They are sick looking but they do not lack awareness. The man takes in your every move so intently it makes you breathless. You notice though that he does not meet anyone else’s eyes and uses the wide brim of his hat to block others from seeing him. But not you.

“Penny for your thoughts, Mademoiselle L/n?”

You glance away from his eyes, instead looking at the way whatever mechanism he created allows the mouth of the skull to move with his speech. He must be very rich and worldly if he can acquire or make something like it.

You tilt your head in interest.

“How do you know so much about me and yet I can’t recall ever having seen you before?”

“Technically you are not seeing me now,” he responds easily.

A quiet scoff escapes you as you nod.

“Well then how come I’ve never heard you? A voice as poignant as yours I’m sure I’d remember.”

He does not answer your question.

“Is that what I sound like to you?”

And you do not notice.

“Yes,” you look back into his eyes as your right foot steps back, his left pushing forward. “You have a strong tone but behind it you sound…weary.”

His eyes narrow. Then your dress and his cape are flowing to a still as he stops moving. You look down at your hand on his shoulder, swallowing.

“I do not mean to offend you Monsieur, I apologize.”

You step away, hands sliding from him as embarrassment buzzes up your spine. He probably thinks you called him weak or something, men hated-

“No, please!”

He moves faster than you’re expecting, barely making a noise despite his extravagant costume, and grasps your right hand with his left. You gasp as he settles his other hand on your waist and tugs you closer with strength that didn’t fit him.

“Don’t leave,” he whispers. Your left hand he still has in his he shifts to settle back onto his right arm, and you try to relax.

There is no bone in your body fit to argue with him, nor a ligament that desires to do so.

“Alright, I won’t.” A soft smile pulls at your lips. “I enjoy dancing with you.”

“Thank you. Just know you did not upset me.” For the first time during the whole time you’ve danced he looks past you, gaze far away. “No, you could never upset Erik.”

You marvel at his soft tone and the glossy shine to his eyes as he urges you in motion. He begins swaying to the new song playing and you do the same.

“So your name is Erik then? I wasn’t sure before.”

You take on an affable tone when you speak this time around, glancing away for reprieve from the emotion in his eyes. How you’ve had that effect on him with one dance is beyond you, but you’re remiss to say it doesn’t feel kind of…nice.

Erik nods and those deceptive hands hold your waist just a little tighter. He looks at you again.

“May I ask you a question?”

You nod and he pulls you even closer, his swaying finally turning into steps, and you intuitively follow his lead. The song playing is one you’ve never heard before but it’s haunting. Erik takes to it even better than the last piece; the way he leads you feels like you’re dancing on clouds.

“Have you ever felt lost?”

“I imagine not in the ways you might’ve. “

His eyes crinkle briefly at your words.

“You said earlier that I sound weary, and never doubt I have reason to be so, but it has long begun to get tiring—”

Horns blare, cutting him off. A gasp falls past your lips and, as if on instinct, Erik pulls you closer. Heart pounding and near threatening to clog your throat, you don’t think before you’re splaying your hands over his chest either.

The way you both glance around mirrors each other, but his voice grumbles illegibly once the most likely reason for the cacophony captures the entire crowd’s attention.

The boisterous new leaders of the opera house stand tall behind the railing nearest the staircase that curls down to the ballroom floor, their paper masks in their hands and dressed in their finest costumes.

“Oh,” you laugh, “It’s just Monsieur Moncharmin and Monsieur Richard. They can be so dramatic sometimes, no?”

Your dance partner glances at you narrowly, his irritation for the opera’s new owners heavy in his tone, “‘Dramatic’ is certainly one way to summarize Armand and Firmin alike. Personally, I’d say they both more resemble wallowing buffoons with clothes on.”

Silently, you blink up at him, mouth dropping open in surprise.

Very quickly Erik’s tune changes and his strong hold on you loosens.

“I apologize. The Opera’s new owners have become a point of…vexation for me recently. I did not mean to take it out on you.”

“It’s alright,” you say softly, “I can see how I’ve touched a nerve.”

“I must say you are wrong there, my Dear, you have done no such thing, ” he croons, reaching up to hover a gloved hand over the subtle plump of your cheek. “You have managed to truly make my night, do not discount that.”

He keeps his hand near your face, outlines the side of it with hardly a whisper of a touch while his gaze roves over you as if he’s starved for your very image.

Looking him over you feel much the same, the absence of his touch molding to your dark skin hitting like an unfitting taunt.

“Won’t you touch me?” you whisper, watching the way Erik’s eyes drop to your two-toned lips and take on a sheen of agony all their own.

Fingers ghost feather-light over the plush of them, more of that unfitting mockery. It is a pale substitute for a kiss.

“No,” he answers, voice just as unsteady as his gaze would have you assume. “I fear what might happen if I indulge myself anymore of this…illusion.”

“If you are so tortured as you claim, why not allow yourself a seconds reprieve when it is being offered?” you rush out. Your voice is far firmer than it ought to be around anyone above your stature, but no hint of a reminder to not forget yourself leaves Erik’s mouth. Nor any scoff or harsh glance.

You bring your hand up, desperate to urge him into action. Press your fingers lightly into the back of his hand in a barren plea, and wish for his palm cradling your cheek and for his arm around you to tighten once more.

Wish for his skin against yours. This stranger who has been kinder to you than any Frenchmen before him.

Though you do not push, Erik’s hand freezes beneath your touch and a harsh noise climbs up the back of his throat.

“Erik—”

He jerks his hand from you. Knocks yours aside with a low, pained sound.

In quick succession he steps back too, releasing you from his grip near entirely, the hand you kept on his arm dropping to your side as he continues only to hold the hand he’d grasped. After a moment’s consideration you make a point to squeeze at his hold before stepping back yourself and finally breaking your contact as a whole, struggling to keep the set of your shoulders high.

Erik startles more surely than a horse and you are not sure you’re equipped to handle it.

“I- I must be leaving now,” he rushes out, his pupils are smaller now. His back straighter in compensation.

“Of course,” you reassure him, no small amount of disappointment lingering in your voice despite your best efforts. “Thank you for such a wonderful dance, Erik.”

He nods his agreement, lowering his head as his hand comes up to tamper to some unseen degree at the jaw of his skull. “And I you, Y/n,” he says softly. Your name curling so delicately on his tongue your mind immediately starts running his delivery on repeat.

“In the meantime you will stay on my mind, my dear, and I hope that you will keep me on yours,” he begins once more, swooping into a bow after swinging his cape behind him.

This time when he raises your hand to press a kiss to your knuckles it’s lips that meet your skin. You shiver, gaze snapping upward. He pulls away and when you glance up he’s just slipping the skull mask back over his mouth. Your wide inquiring eyes only catch the barest glimmer of pale skin with just the hint of gaunt features and thin lips.

“Until we meet again, my dear Y/n. Just know that I will be enjoying your dazzling performances from afar as I lay in wait,” Death says, sickly eyes glowing with satisfaction.

In turn you take the time to send him off with a curtsey; legs crossed, crisp white of your dress bloomed, but when you bow your head you take care not to lose eye contact with him. His swallow after that is audible, and your answering smile might as well be with how clearly it sings of your appraisal. Then there goes your morose Death disappearing into the shadows; a specter bathed in mystique.

He makes a grande spectacle later that night. Reappears in a plume of smoke making an impassioned demand for an opera. His Opera. And you live everyday more convinced than the other that Death personified had truly visited the Populare that night.

Gaunt pale skin and sickly eyes drawn to the murders in your corner of France in a flash of winsome words and red and feathers.

Death had showered you with praise, looked you in the eyes and taken you hand in glorious hand across the ballroom floor, had decried the gall of the upper caste’s frivolous celebrating over the graves of those lost, and Death’s name was Erik.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!! I don’t…apologize for the melodrama, but I do understand if it wasn’t for you.

The reader-insert is ambiguously African here since it seemed fitting, but I didn’t want to overemphasize anything and shoot myself in the foot. Just imagine the reader-insert is from one of the countries France still takes exuberant colonial taxes from in order for those countries to stay independent from them.

Now, as far as canon influences go for this story: there’s some og book canon, some ALW musical canon, and a not insignificant amount of MazM canon for good measure. Also, by all means the last name ‘Destler’ is only canon to Poto 1989, but I’m really in love with that specific Erik so I tend to add the last name to my more generalized depictions of The Phantom; at least beside the fic title.

I had a wonderful time writing this and cannot wait for what the new year has to offer for my writing endeavors in the future. Happy New Year (except kind of not really, but we’ll deal)! 🥳🎉

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!