#but I just keep getting automated responses

[blackmoldmp3]

on god i will send these emails today.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just What I Needed 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, control, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: In an effort to evade a creep, you walk head first into Bucky Barnes. (short!reader)

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: based on this

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You keep to yourself. You mind your business. It can be hard in the city where there's always a horn honking or a voice hollering. You know how to get by. How to get through.

Head down, feet moving, just don't stop. The rush of the city tunnels around you, you among the masses unnoticed, forgotten. The way you like it. It's better to be invisible.

The subway is crowded, as it always is. There's a busker playing their guitar out of tune at the other end, an argument across from you, and the ceaseless chatter of a man on his Bluetooth side-eyeing his neighbors. You keep your hands on your crossbody bag and stare at the floor. There's dirty and gum and something wet you don't want to wonder about.

Another stop comes, the rail squealing below, and another horde gets on as only a few bodies leave. The passenger next to you swaps for another. You make yourself smaller. One more stop.

The man smells like body odour and weed. You try not to make a face. You only tuck your chin down and take deliberate breaths.

His arm presses against yours. He leans in and you feel him looking you over. You clasp tightly to your bag and bite down. Is he eyeing you up to rob you? You lift your eyes a scan around quickly. Would anyone bother to stop him?

He startles you as he rubs his knuckle against your skirt. The plaid wool in shades of brown, tan, and a dusty pink. Your brown stockings perfect complement the piece. He continues to move his finger, slowly crawling to your hem. You shift and stand as your stop is called out by the automated voice. Thank god.

You rush over to join the rabble forming for escape. You don't dare look back. You're nearly crushed between the passengers and as good as carried out onto the platform. You get your footing and quickly spin in the right direction.

You pass through the turnstile and your bag catches on the bar. You turn back to untangle it. There's a man coming up. You recognise his tattered cuff. It's the same guy who say next to you. Is he following you?

You unhook the bag and twirl, hurrying away before you can get the answer. You try not to run, not wanting to antagonize him. Or draw any other unwanted attention. Your soles hit the pavement and slip on the first step. You grab onto the railing and take the stairs in a flurry of steps. You're breathless as you reach the top. A whistle comes behind you and a laugh.

"Hey, honey, why don't you wait up. That's a nice skirt," he calls after you in a grizzly voice.

Oh no! You can't stop, but you can't lead him to your work. That's a recipe for disaster. Never let them know where you live or where you frequent. That's what you read online. For all your efforts, it's never happened to you before. Maybe some wandering shadows in the dark steeped in paranoia, but never this.

Your throat burns dryly as your heart hammers. You pass by a couple, a man and woman in business attire. They're entirely blind to you. You give another woman a desperate look but she's tapping her Bluetooth and sighing. Please, someone help. The whistling continues.

"Kitty, kitty," the man taunts.

The smell of exhaust and street meat mingle in a sickening lure. You search around. You think of stopping at the new stand and signalling to the vendor for help. He's clutching a dollar bill and ranting at a customer. No help.

Why do you spend your time reading all those LetsNotMeet stories online? This is horrifying. No cops. The one day you need them and they're just not there.

A man steps up to the hot dog cart ahead of you and checks his watch. You notice the odd metallic glove he wears on only one hand. He might not be better than the one following you but you're out of options.

"Oh, hi," you as good as run into him. He grunts and looks down at you. "Sorry, I'm late," you stutter out the words and send him a wide-eyed pout. "You didn't order without me, did you?"

His brows furrow as you grasp onto his sleeve. You lower your voice as you stand on your toes, "please, pretend you know me."

The wobble in your throat nearly draws tears to the surface. His expression softens. He dips his chin subtly and brings his hand up behind you, ushering you closer to the hot dog cart.

"Two, Mikey," he holds up as many fingers. "Usual for me, and uh, what are you getting, doll?"

You glance over at the man as he stops by the news stand, squinting over at you as he fidgets endlessly. You turn your attention to the man behind the cart. "Um, just relish and... ketchup, thank you. Oh, and please."

The man beside you steps closer, "I see the guy, don't worry, doll. I got you."

You tremble, "I'm sorry. I didn't know what to do."

"All good," he presses his hand to your back as he keeps you close.

The vendor, Mikey, hands you your hot dog first. "You didn't say you were on the market, pal. My sister's looking." He kids.

"Ha, funny, Mikey." The man beside you says and takes his own order. "Come on, there's a bench."

He guides you further down the street to the bench near the pole. He sits first, then you do. He's calm as you're ready to combust.

"I'm so so sorry," you murmur. "I saw... I don't know."

"It's alright," he drawls and he pulls back the wrapper, "Bucky. You, doll?"

You look between him and the man who wanders closer to the hot dog cart. You swallow and look to your saviour. Well, so far. You give your name.

He nods and bites into his hot dog. You do the same if only to stave off the awkwardness. What were you thinking? You've gone and ruined his life too.

You wince as you sense the creep lurking nearer and nearer. Why won't he stop?

Bucky takes the napkin away from the bottom of the wrapper and wipes his mouth. He curls the wrapper over his hot dog and offers it to you. "Hold this for a sec, alright, doll?"

You take it in confusion. He stands and cracks his knuckles. That shiny glove isn't a glove. It's his hand.

As the creep get closer to the bin a few feet from the bench, Bucky grabs him by his jacket. He shakes him and snarls, lifting him to his toes. He growls but you can't make out his words. The man who followed you goes pale and wriggles. Bucky lets him go. The errant passenger staggers off, nearly stepping into the path of a taxi.

Bucky returns and sits down casually. He holds his hand out and you give him back his hot dog. You stare at your own.

"Thank you. You didn't... have to..."

"That guy was a really cretin." He shrugs. "Can't complain for buying a cute girl a dog."

"Oh, uh, yes, thanks. Again. That's... I have change."

You reach for your purse and he clucks, "don't go and do that. My mom didn't raise me like that."

"Uh, yes, sorry. I wasn't meaning to be... ungrateful."

"Don't gotta be sorry," he sits back.

You bite into your hot dog and silently chew. You were hungry before but it isn't bad. Especially for street meat. Your eyes fall to his hand. He wiggles his fingers.

"It's an upgrade, really," he extends his metal digits to show you.

"I... wasn't meaning to stare."

"It is what it is," he crumples up his wrapper. "Just gotta deal with people hounding me."

"Hounding you?" You tilt your head.

His cheek dimples, "you don't... don't know who I am?"

You think and shake your head. "Sorry, sir."

"Sir? Please," he waves you off. "It's fine."

"Bucky... that's your name." You remember what the vendor called him.

"Sure is," he replies.

"I never heard... no, I don't know," you push your lower lip out.

"Kinda refreshing," he drawls. "Well, doll, thanks for the lunch date," he stands and rolls his shoulders, "want me to walk you to wherever you're headed?"

"Oh, no, I can't ask for that. It's just a block down."

"I don't mind," he says.

You stand and nibble on the last of the bun. You swallow. "Please, I... I'm okay." You look down and up again, "thanks to you."

His mouth curves, just a little, "if.... you really feel like you owe me, which I'm not saying you do, but... maybe I could get your number."

You flutter your lashes. He's asking for your number. Wow. You don't think anyone's ever done that.

"Yeah uh," you press your hand full of bun to your purse and pull open the zipper. You slip out your phone and unlock it. You hold it out to him, "sorry, I can't... type."

"No problem, doll," he accepts it and keys in his number. "Bit of advice, though," he reaches to slide the cell back into your bag, "don't be handing this out to just anyone." He zips up the bag. "I could've been down the block by now."

You make and O with your lips, "oh, I'm..."

"Don't be sorry," he insists. "I'll call you."

"Sure."

"And you'll answer?"

"Of course," you make a face.

"Just wanna make sure," he says. "You have a good day. Oh, and the next time you got some creep on your heels, call me."

You nod and try to smile. You're still a bit shaky but you feel better. You think you can trust him. He saved you after all.

💘

The water spits at you and you back away from the stove. You adjust the dial as you squeak. That burner is crooked and the flames lick ravenously at the small pot. As you try to keep the fire under control, your phone buzzes. Usually there's a short vibe but this is incessant.

You scramble to grab it before the call times out. You tap answer before you can check the ID. You huff breathlessly, "hello?"

"Doll? Everything okay?" The familiar voice greets with concern. It takes a moment to click. It's been a few days since your run-in.

"Yeah, I'm... cooking dinner," you put him on speaker as you go back to the stove.

"Ah, I'm interrupting," he intones.

"It's... okay," you place the phone carefully against the toaster and let it stand. You grab the bag of noodles and pour them into the water. It splashes you and you cheep again.

"Doll?" He rasps.

"I'm fine. Just... clumsy," you affirm. You don't know what to say.

"How are you doing?" He asks. You're happy for his guidance.

"Okay. Tired. How about you?"

"Better now I'm talking to you. Sorry, I couldn't call sooner. I was out of town. Work." He explains.

"Oh, it's... it's fine. Everyone's busy."

He snorts softly, "you are too much, doll. Just too... too much."

"I am?" You wonder. 

The line scuffs as he moves around, "you're not afraid of me, are ya?" He asks. "Did you look me up then?"

"Afraid? Uh, no. No, I didn't..." To be honest, you tried to forget running from that guy from the subway.

"No? Most girls... not that I know many, they do. Don't stick around long."

"Um, right, er, I didn't... look you up. I just... I've been working."

"Course, doll. I know. You're a good girl. It's why you found me. To keep the bad guys away," he cooes.

You stir the noodles with a wooden spoon. You stare at the phone, trying to unravel his words.

"So, I was thinking, tomorrow, Friday, you busy?"

"Not after five," you shrug.

"Perfect. I was thinking something fancy for the first date."

You're quiet as you scrunch up your brow. "Date?"

He laughs, "why'd you think I asked for your number?"

You sniff, "mm, I thought maybe you were being nice."

He thinks that's funny too as he chuckles once more.

"Oh, I can't wait to be nice to you, doll. And more," he purrs. "I'm sure you'll pick out something real special to wear too."

"I... I'll find something," you eke out as your heart flutters. 

A date? You're really not prepared for that; just like that guy on the train.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you, doll," he promises. "Just like I did before."

[yuikomorii]

AYAYUI IDOL AU: Chapter 7

// I can’t believe I forgot to post it, lol. I was genuinely shocked when I found it in my drafts, so… sorry, guys!!! June was super hectic for me, and I only just started my summer break, so my mind was totally in relaxation mode. Anyway, I hope you still remember what happened in the previous chapters. 🥲💕

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Yui: It’s raining…

— looks up —

( The subway entrance is still a bit of a walk away… and I don’t have an umbrella.)

( Uuh… I wonder when will it stop? It’s already late and I really don’t want to catch a cold. )

( Maybe I should just call a cab again… Yeah, I remember saving the number in my phone! )

— starts dialing —

Automated Voice: Due to widespread system failure, the number you are calling cannot be reached. Please wait for a while. Thank you.

Yui: Oh no…! Now what am I supposed to—KYA!!!

( W-What was that!? A thunder strike!? )

( I really need to get back to the hotel before it gets worse—)

— starts running —

( Why does everything have to go wrong today…!? )

Place: Hotel Room

Ayato: Haa... Of course they’re not picking up. This damn storm just had to happen tonight of all times.

Everyone else is probably back at the dorms, laughing it up and chatting like nothing’s wrong...

Meanwhile, I’m stuck here, in the dark, and without even any pajamas.

Fuck this shit for real.

— goes to window —

Ugh… even the view’s depressing in this weather.

— squints —

Wait… is that——

Place: Hotel Entrance

Yui: Haa… Haa…

( I finally made it… even if I’m wet. )

Receptionist: Good evening, miss. How can I help you tonight?

Yui: Ah, I’d like to rent a room for the night, please.

Receptionist: For one person?

— Yui nods —

Receptionist: Very well. Do you have any room or view preferences?

Yui: N-No, anything is fine… as long as I can rest.

Receptionist: Understood. That will be 83,000 yen. Will you be paying with cash or card, miss?

Yui: W-What—!?

( 83,000 yen for a single night!? That’s outrageous…! )

Uhm… actually, I’m part of a work exchange program here! I’ve been working at this hotel recently, so I was wondering… is there any way I could get a staff discount or something like that?

( This must be the evening receptionist… If it were the one I spoke to earlier today, I’m sure they would’ve recognized me and helped out… )

Receptionist: I see. In that case, I’ll need to see your employee ID or proof of employment.

Yui: Sure! I keep it in my wallet—

— pauses —

…!

( Wait a minute… My wallet…! )

( I don’t have it! )

( Don’t tell me… I must have left it behind in the onsen—— )

( And now that I think about it… wasn’t the lost onsen key probably inside too…? )

( Uhh… what do I do now…? )

Ayato: She’s with me.

Yui: Eh!?

— turns around —

( Ayato-san…!? )

Ayato: My company already paid for a room for two.

Receptionist: A-Ah, my apologies! Please enjoy your stay, sir… miss…

Ayato: Mhm.

— grabs Yui by the wrist and starts walking away —

Yui: ( What just happened…? )

( Am I imagining things or did he actually really help me? )

( I mean, he surely did, but… why would he even do that? )

Ayato: I bet you're wondering why I stepped in just now, huh?

Yui: W-Wha—!?

( H-He read my mind! )

Ayato: Heh. You're way too easy to read, you know that?

But for your information, I didn’t do it out of kindness.

I simply figured I might as well take responsibility… since I’m the one who kicked you out of the onsen earlier.

Because of that, you probably didn’t get the chance to look for your wallet properly, right?

Yui: When you put it like that... I suppose you're right.

However, even if you did it because you felt responsible, the fact that you helped me still remains. So, whether you want credit for it or not, I am grateful.

Ayato: Heh. Obviously.

You should feel honored. I mean, you get to spend the night in the same room as me.

That’s basically the dream of millions of fans.

Yui: ( Well… now that he mentions it, it does feel kinda embarrassing… )

Ayato: What, you got a problem with that?

— grins and leans closer —

Don’t tell me you’re not excited about sharing a room with a top idol.

Yui: T-That’s not it! I mean, it’s not like that—!

Ayato: Haa… Relax.

You’re just gonna sleep in the bed next to mine, not in it.

— opens the door and nudges her in —

Yui: ( Thank goodness… for a second, I thought he was going to... no, no, stop thinking weird things!)

Ayato: …Unless, of course, you want to do something more.

— suddenly pushes her down onto the bed —

Yui: E-Eh!?

— eyes widen —

W-What are you doing!?

Ayato: Heh… You sure get flustered easily. You were the one crawling on all fours earlier, remember?

It looked very suggestive from where I was standing.

Yui: W-What!? T-That wasn't…!

You told me to act like a dog and obey my "master’s" orders, and I didn’t know what else to do!

I wasn’t trying to be suggestive! I-I just took it literally!

Ayato: Yeah, yeah. I figured that much. You’re too clueless to be that bold on purpose.

— chuckles, then pulls her up —

Yui: ( I don’t know if I should feel relieved or insulted by that… )

Ayato: But just so we’re clear, you’re still gonna sign an NDA.

Yui: A… NDA?

What’s that?

Ayato: I— You seriously don’t know!?

It’s a nondisclosure agreement.

Yui: Uhm… I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that before…

Ayato: Haa… Unbelievable.

You said you’re in some kind of work exchange program, right?

They didn’t teach you anything about contracts or confidentiality?

Yui: W-Well, not about this kind of thing…

Ayato: Hmph, of course not.

Anyway, an NDA is basically a legal promise that you’ll keep your mouth shut.

No telling anyone you were in my hotel room, no running off to gossip about the onsen incident, and definitely no posting dumb headlines like “Ayato spotted shirtless at Yume no Mori!”

Got it?

Yui: I’d never do that! I-I wouldn’t even think of it!

Don’t you remember? I already promised you back in the onsen that I wouldn’t say a word!

Ayato: Words are cheap.

People say one thing and do the complete opposite when it benefits them. Especially when they’ve got a juicy story involving a famous idol.

That’s why I don’t rely on promises. I rely on signatures~

— tosses NDA in front of her —

Yui: I...

( Wait a second… why would he already have an NDA ready if this wasn’t planned? )

( He didn’t bring me here out of responsibility… He had this in mind all along…! )

— frowns —

So that’s it, huh?

This wasn’t about guilt.

This wasn’t about making up for what happened in the onsen or trying to help me when I had nowhere else to go.

You brought me here just to trap me into signing this agreement. That was your plan all along… wasn't it?

Ayato: Plan?

You think I have time to sit around crafting some big master plan for a random girl who wandered into my bath by accident?

Pfft, please, you’re not that important.

Yui: Then… then why did you prepare an NDA for it?

Ayato: ‘Cause idols always carry those around? Do you think you’re the first person I gave one to? Don’t get ahead of yourself, you’re not even the first one this month.

Yui: ( So that’s how it is... )

( Just one person out of many... just another problem to be silenced. )

Then I won’t sign it.

Ayato: Hah!?

What the hell did you just say?

Yui: You heard me.

I said I won’t sign it.

Ayato: Are you seriously picking now to grow a spine?

— laughs mockingly—

You think you're in a position to refuse? After following me around, barging into the onsen while I was still there, sleeping in my room, and then throwing accusations like you're some righteous saint?

Yui: I never asked to be in your room! I never wanted any of this!

And you’re right, despite the coincidences, I did mess up too.

But that doesn’t give you the right to treat me like some disposable liability you can trick and shut up with paperwork!

Ayato: Ugh... Don’t get it twisted. This isn’t about "tricking" anyone. It’s about protecting my life and my career.

Yui: Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before mocking me, humiliating me, and dragging me around like I’m some kind of pest!

I tried to understand you, I really did. But now you’re showing me exactly what kind of person you are!

Ayato: What kind of person I am, huh?

Heh… you know nothing about me, so you better shut up before it’s too late.

Yui: I do know enough based on this situation to form an opinion about you.

— sets unsigned NDA on table —

If you don’t trust me, that’s your choice. But I won’t sign something that treats me like I’m a threat just for existing.

— heads towards door —

Ayato: Oi! You… you can’t just leave now! It’s still raining, isn’t it?

Yui: I’d rather get drenched from head to toe than spend the night stuck with a selfish and arrogant guy like you!

— opens the door and bolts out —

Ayato: …!

( This bi— )

*Rign Ring*

( Huh, it’s working again? )

Yo, what’s up?

Manager: Ayato-san! Thanks goodness you’re alright! You’re still at the hotel?

Ayato: Well yeah, where else could I be?

Manager: Ah, that’s good. We’re heading your way now to pick you up. Please get yourself ready so we can leave as soon as possible.

Ayato: Got it. I’ll be waiting here.

*Mini timeskip*

— gets inside limo —

Laito: Hello~! Missed me, Ayato-kun?

Ayato: Hah? Laito, why the heck are you here?

Laito: Well, I thought you'd like your most charming and beloved group mate to personally escort you home. Am I wrong~?

Ayato: I would’ve managed just fine on my own. It’s not like I’d drop dead riding solo in a limo, you know?

Laito: Oh? But it’s much more fun this way, isn’t it? You looked like you had quite the eventful day, judging by your gloomy face.

Ayato: G-Gloomy!? Hmph, you wish! I’m just tired, that’s all. It’s not like anything happened that could actually bother me.

Laito: Mmm~? That defensive tone says otherwise. Come on, Ayato-kun, you know you can tell your bestie anything~

Ayato: Shut up already. The last thing I need is you running your mouth and making a big deal out of nothing!

Laito: Fufu~ I see, I see... So it is something after all.

Ayato: I swear, Laito, one more word and I’ll kick you out of the car myself!

Laito: Uwah! So scary~~! I’m shaking!

— Ayato rolls his eyes —

Laito: But for real now, why are you such a moody kitten today?

Ayato: ‘Cause a certain someone pisses me off.

Laito: And that certain someone is…

Ayato: You!

Laito: Fufu… liar, liar, pants on fire!

Ayato: ( The tension between my fist and his face is seriously high right now… )

Laito: You’re really selfish, Ayato-kun.

Ayato: …!

Wha— What do you mean by that?

Laito: You have juicy gossip but refuse to share it with me.

— pouts —

Ayato: ( Ah, for a moment I thought— )

Geez, you’re such a weirdo sometimes!

But if it’ll finally get you to stop pestering me, fine…there’s really nothing big. I just had a… rough encounter with a fan, that’s all.

Laito: ( Such a baby~ )

You’re acting like it’s the end of the world because of that.

You can’t let something like that get to you. As long as it doesn’t mess with your career or your image, who really cares what one person out of millions thinks?

People are always going to have opinions, some good, some bad. You just have to learn to ignore the noise.

Ayato: Heh… yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s not worth getting all worked up over.

( But still… she didn’t sign the NDA, and she seemed pretty upset when she left. I don’t know what she might do next. )

( Not like I can tell anyone, though. I’d just worry them… and I’d get scolded too. )

( Ugh…! Fuck this! How did the situation go from bad to worse!? )

— limo arrives —

Manager: Laito-san, why didn’t you tell me you went to pick up Ayato-san!?

Laito: Guess I forgot to text you~ Teehee.

Manager: Haa… you’re impossible sometimes. Just get inside, both of you. We’ve got rehearsals to prep for tomorrow, and I don’t want any more surprises tonight.

— they step into the building —

Ayato: Where’s Subaru?

Manager: He’s in his room, as usual. Don’t worry, he’s completely back to normal. He even asked about you earlier, so you might want to check in with him tomorrow.

Laito: Phaa~ Today was exhausting for me too.

— stretches —

I just want to soak in a nice hot bath and relax every inch of me.

But now that you’re back, Ayato-kun, let’s go to the on——

Huh? Where did he go!?

Place: Dorms

Ayato: ( There’s no way I’m stepping foot in an onsen again! )

( Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl… What a mess. )

— enters room —

Ayato: ( As expected… Shu is sleeping like a corpse.)

( Well, fine. Not like I was hoping to talk or anything.)

— tosses jacket on chair —

( That damn NDA...)

( Seriously, I hand her a paper asking her to keep her mouth shut, and suddenly I’m the villain of the story!? )

"I tried to understand you, I really did."

( Woman, what is this… some sort of k-drama? You met me less than 24 hours ago. Let’s not pretend we had some epic romance that ended in betrayal and rain. )

— throws arm over his eyes —

( And then she had the audacity to call me selfish. ME. As if I'm the only one who wanted to keep things private. )

( This bitch… )

( She smelled like church incense and then acted like I was the one who needed salvation?? Where’s the logic? )

— groans into pillow —

( She didn’t sign. Great. So now she can legally say whatever crazy crap she wants. )

( And you know people online would believe anything, since a lot of them are stupid as fuck. “I always knew he had dark energy.” “Omg he gives red flag vibes.” “Cancel him!” )

— sits up in bed —

“SAKAMAKI’s Ayato: Vampire Concept or Genuinely Evil? My Night in Hell" by Random Friendless Church Girl

( Then… career over. I’ll be doing rice in the countryside by next week, ‘cause my parents will definitely disown me. )

— falls back again with a sigh —

( Anyway, maybe she’ll forget. Yeah… maybe she hit her head on the way out and thinks I’m a barista now. Who knows? )

( Haa... just sleep. If I’m lucky, the world will explode overnight and I won’t have to deal with this. )

— closes eyes —

*Timeskip*

Ayato: Zzz...

*Ring Ring*

Zzz... nn...

*Ring Ring*

Ngh... what now, the apocalypse?

— answers —

Manager: Ayato-san, we need to talk!

Ayato: ...!

( Fuck! This is the "get ready to cry in a press conference" call! )

[lowkeyerror]

Late Night Calls

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 1k

Notes: Reuqested, fluff

Summary: Agatha wants you to stop working and come to bed.

Masterlist

Agatha was practicing her patience. That’s what she told herself as she paced back and forth in your bedroom. It had been hours of her waiting, hoping to get some of your company. The one thing in her way was your stupid job. Agatha was not a fan of the long hours you spent on your computer or talking to idiots on the phone.

It was torture, knowing that you were just a few rooms away, but not being able to bother you. Well, she could and often, she did. Which is why tonight she was trying to be patient.

However, she knew that you should’ve been done by now. Your 8-hr shift should’ve been completed nearly an hour ago. So it shouldn’t be a big deal if she were to pop into your study, and wait for you to finish in there.

Agatha walked over to your study, cracking the door ever so slightly. The screen of your desktop dimly lights the room. You’re sat at the desk with your phone to your ear, mumbling about things that Agatha didn’t care to comprehend.

She slipped into the room closing the door behind her softly. Though she was careful, you’re aware of her presence. She smiles brightly when you flash her a quick grin.

With one of your free hands you motion her closer to you. She has to hold back a yelp as you pull her into your lap while you continue your conversation.

Your arm wraps around her midsection keeping her in place. Agatha is sat with her back to you. You figured she’d keep herself busy, playing on the computer, while you talked.

For a while that worked. She did a few online quizzes, played a few word searches, she even put on some headphones to watch a YouTube video.

You knew her patience was wearing thin when she started squirming in your lap. You lightly squeezed her hip to signal for her to stop. You heard the huff of annoyance she let out, but decided to ignore it.

The older woman turns in your lap, so that now she’s straddling you. The words that you were saying into the phone get stuck in your throat for a moment.

Agatha smirks at that reaction. She takes your free hand and slides it under her pajama shirt. You try to keep your eyes stern as you glare at her, but you fail miserably. The softness of her skin never ceases to amaze you.

You pull your hand from under shirt to mute the phone call for a moment.

“Ags, I’m almost done sweetheart. Just let me finish up real quick and I’ll come to bed.”

She steals a kiss from you, “It’s been nearly 2 hours since you were supposed to be done with work.”

“I know, I know, but this is a really important call, baby.”

Agatha pouts and it almost compels you to end the call right then. The voice on the other line saying hello, snaps you out of it. You give Agatha an apologetic look before unmuting, and resuming the call.

The older woman sighs. She grabs your hand and starts playing with your fingertips. She begins to trace patterns, trying to stop her disinterest. Her tiredness starts to get to her.

She tries to stand up, but you keep her in place. Your tired eyes meet hers as you mouth the word ‘stay’. She rolls her eyes, but leans in so her head is buried in your shoulder.

Agatha can’t help herself as she places feather light kisses on the side of your neck. You don’t seem to mind it. That is until she nibbles on your earlobe, “Come to bed.”

She feels your body shiver underneath her, which pulls a smile from her. She pulls back to look at you fully. Her hands slide innocently under your shirt, just resting on your stomach. She sees you exhale deeply, her warm hands against your cold abdomen.

As the person on the other line talks, she can see your eyes getting heavy. Agatha begins to wonder if you’re even awake as small lines leave your mouth ever so often, like an automated message response.

Her hand cups your face, and you sleepily lean into her touch.

Agatha takes the phone out of your hand and mutes the call. Your eyes shoot open fully as you reach to take the phone back from her.

“Enough phone time for tonight. It’s late, you’re falling asleep, and I want to cuddle in bed.”

You don’t argue with her. She places the phone back in your hand, “Mr. Stark, I’m going to have let you go, now. It’s pretty late, do you think we can resume this conversation tomorrow?”

The phone call ends and you close your eyes, leaning into Agatha. You inhale her scent, which helps your entire body relax. After a moment you stand, the woman still in your hold.

She scrambles to get a better hold on you, but you'd never drop her.

“Let’s go to bed,” you kiss the top of her head as you walk to the bedroom.

Agatha mumbles something incoherently into your neck as you reach the bedroom. You’re careful as you lay her down. She makes a gesture grabbing towards you, and you chuckle.

“I’ll be in, in a second, I'm just changing into something comfy.”

When you climb into the bed, her arms are around you in an instant. She pulls you into her, tired eyes opening just to get a peek at you.

You kiss her softly. It’s a delicate thing as your lips move together. It’s the kind of kiss you share, when the night is over. No fiery hunger or neediness, just the overwhelming calm of love.

“No more late-night calls from Stark, you call him first thing in the morning,” Agatha snuggles into you.

“Yes ma'am,” you say playfully.

You feel her pull back a little, just enough to meet your eyes, “I love you.”

You’d never grow tired of kissing her, so you do it once more. It’s brief, when your lips touch her’s.

“I love you too.”

The rest of the night is spent in each other’s arms. The last thought that trails through your mind is that you won’t be doing any work tomorrow. All you want to do is stay in this position as long as you can with the love of your life.

[hotheadedhero]

Reach, Retry, and Requital

AN: Almost a year after its initial publishing date, we finally have a part two omg. Better late than never, ay? XD Now the boys can finally make up for their mistakes

Part 1

Bay Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

Not much time had been wasted after talking to Splinter, springing into forthright action, the weight of those shared words settling into his chest. His father always had a way of cutting through the noise, of seeing the core of the matter with unsettling clarity. Leo knew what he had to do. He had to talk to you, truly talk, not just attempt to ambush you in the kitchen while you grabbed a quick snack, not just exchange polite pleasantries while you pass each other in short, fleeting beats. He needed to carve out a moment, a real moment, where he could lay bare his disarray and, of course, his regret.

Finding you was the first challenge. You were a ghost in the lair these days, flitting from room to room, always busy, always surrounded by others. It was like you were actively avoiding him, which, let's be honest, you were. He had figured that out long ago.

Finally, he finds you in the dojo, assisting Donnie with calibrating some new training equipment. The sight of you, focused and determined, sends a fresh wave of longing crashing over him. Despite the initial urge that had him barrelling in search of your person, he lingers in the doorway, watching you for a moment. The way the low light catches in your hair, how you laugh at something Donnie said. Small things - insignificant things - but they were yours, and he suddenly realised more just how much he missed them.

Donnie notices him first, offering a small, knowing smile before excusing himself with a mumbled, "Gotta check on Mikey's pizza-making experiment.” A lame, half-thought-out excuse, but the deliberateness of it isn’t missed by his brother. “Good luck, you two."

As he migrates from the dojo, Leo moves in just a couple paces. "Hey," he begins, trying to keep his voice casual, but the nervousness is palpable. "Can we talk?"

You stiffen slightly, your hands stilling on the control panel of the automated training dummy you had been working on. In all honesty, you’d like to go back to working on it and keep your mind away from the turtle who is awkwardly approaching you. Being dismissive of what he has to say, of him entirely, may be seen as calloused but the mere sight of him gets your system all up in a tizzy. All it does is remind you of the conversation that put this wedge between you in the first place.

You turn back to the project, a carefully neutral expression on your face. "About what, Leo?" The bluntness stings, and it’s a stark reminder of the distance that has grown between you two.

"About... us. About what happened..." He trails off, unsure how to articulate the jumbled mess of emotions swirling inside him.

You sigh, a sound that holds a strange mixture of weariness and resignation. "I thought we made our positions clear. You're a ninja, you have responsibilities. I understand that, and you made it abundantly clear how you feel about relationships. The last thing I want is to be a distraction."

A poor choice of words on his part. A remark by the very same brother who left, from a much prior altercation, rings in his head. Does he really know so little about feelings? The insensitivity of what comes out of his mouth before he can think about the ramifications? A hand smooths over his face as if trying to wipe away the idiocy and rid himself of his past discretion. This must have been how you felt, your side of the street. He thinks he knows why you’ve been so distant - understands why it had to come to such drastic measures in the first place.

"You already distract me." The words just kind of blurt out, quiet and raw.

And your expression softens, just a fraction, and he clings onto that flicker like some sacred wish. You try to battle the urge, but ultimately, you fall prey to it and crane your head back over to look at him. He’s still some distance away, not daring move until you give him some sign or reason to, and his stance tells you all you need to know. Yet, you can’t ignore the hurt. Your hurt. The hurt you’ve been feeling all this time.

"Leo," you say softly, "I care about you - I do - but I need to protect myself as well. I can't…” You take a heavy breath, reserving the tremble that tries to knock you down. “I can't be someone's second choice, someone's maybe-someday."

He finds that opportunity he had been looking for, steps closer, his gaze locked on yours. "You wouldn't be. Not anymore. I was wrong.” Another foot forward, still tentative in case it’s too close for your comfort. “Give me a chance to prove that I can be more than just a man of responsibility, that I can be the kind of person you deserve."

Silence hangs in the air, thick and heavy, and Leonardo reckons that he could probably wave his katana around and feel some resistance were he to try. He can see the unrest in your eyes, a battle between caution and hope. Each tick of the clock is a deafening reminder of what’s at stake: his atypically loud mind, both of your feelings, a relationship altogether, even just trying to reclaim the old one.

Eventually, you speak, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I don't know. I just don't know."

It’s not a no, but it isn’t a yes either: a small glimmer of hope for the glass-half-full positioned individual, but he can’t say whether he’s on grounds for that junction or not. For now, perhaps he could take it. The middle of the seesaw, going in neither direction, having to wait for an affirmative. Either that or you’re just keeping him suspended in uncertainty before you deliver the final blow. He would probably deserve it.

Just when he thinks it might well and truly be too late to rectify his unjust, you speak again, “I’m not gonna regret this, am I?”

If it wasn’t for the soft curve of your lips pointed up in his direction, he’d be solely focused on the sombre tone of your question. A glimmer of hope. It was there after all. He isn’t completely out of the dog house but it’s a start, as good a start as any.

Matching your smile, he finally closes the gap between the two of you and kneels. “Not as much as I’ve regretted turning you down in the first place.”

Leo will be the first to admit it’s corny but sounding a little cheesy is worth it to hear the light snort it gets out of you. Playfully, you roll your eyes and lazily push him away. If not anything else, he’s just missed being this close to you without you feeling the need to bolt from his presence. It would take time, but he’ll prove to you, and himself, that he’s worthy of another chance. He has a lot of work to do, and he’ll do it. For you.

Raphael

Raph pushes past Casey, not saying another word, just twisting and launching himself into the night, the anger directed squarely at himself. The adrenaline is pumping now as he bulldozes his way towards your apartment, fuelled by a potent cocktail of guilt, self-loathing, and a fierce need to atone. If not for the chance to make something of these feelings, at the very least he needs to apologise for the way he acted.

The trek through the city feels longer than usual. Every shadow seems to mock him, every stray sound amplifies his dread. He vaults over rooftops, his movements driven by a desperate urgency until, finally, he reaches your place. He hesitates atop the building just opposite yours, his hands pressing into the ledge. He suddenly feels unsure of himself. What is he going to say? How can he possibly undo the damage he’s caused? He needs to think about this carefully if he wants to avoid blabbering like an incomprehensible idiot.

Whilst mulling it over, he spots your silhouette inside, cleaning up from dinner, if he has to guess. You’re busy with your idle tasks but he can see the tension radiating off of you in waves. Raph's heart clenches. Tense because of him, no doubt, and if Casey knows that he made you cry, it’s likely his brothers know too. That would explain their assistance in keeping you out of reach. If he can commemorate his family for anything, it’s for protecting you, even if it’s from him as much as that fact burns. You’re a beautiful spirit who gets along with most of anyone, and he had treated you like the very joke he thought you were playing on him. Thick-headed irony. He could berate himself with all the names under the sun, but that isn’t going to get him anywhere. He just needs to take that first step forward. Do something about it.

But despite being no stranger to making amends for his behaviour, this feels different. If he gets in a fight with one of his brothers, they always forgive each other eventually. That’s what families do, it’s part of the description, but this is you. Even if he lays out everything, will you forgive him so easily? Can he forgive himself?

The pacing comes to a halt, and he huffs quietly. It’s just like a bandaid - he needs to rip it off. He doesn’t want it to seem as though he’s ensnaring you in the comfort of your own home, somewhere you can’t escape from, but he also doesn’t know when or where he’ll get an opportunity alone without his brothers forming a protective barrier around you.

Raph jogs on the spot, smacks his face a couple times, does the few things he can think to do to psyche himself up before easing himself onto the fire escape and tapping on your window. The sound almost makes you jump, but you’re quick to open it up for him. He barely has a chance to lousily mumble your name when you hurriedly pull him in. Wrecked nerves and distancing aside, the last thing either of you needs is a neighbouring wanderer spotting a man-sized turtle hanging from your window.

The moment he’s inside, you shoot the blinds down and whip your attention towards him. “Raph, what are you doing here?”

Maybe it’s because you were so quick to pull him in, or the concern where he thought he’d be met with fear, but the breath in his lungs suddenly abandons him. The floor groans beneath his restless feet as he fidgets back and forth, although barely surpassing an inch with each movement. For a cold-blooded creature, he’s almost certain he’s working up a cold sweat, but he’s here now. There’s no point in drawing this out any longer than it has to.

“I came to apologise for what I said. How I acted.” The tense fingers at his sides clench further. “I didn’t know I made you cry, and I’m sorry. You didn’t- don’t deserve that. Not ever.”

This isn’t enough. It’ll likely never be enough at this rate. Each word out of his mouth doesn’t feel sincere, doesn’t make up for or even come close to truly demonstrating how sorry he is. Everything is solely meant but he knows he needs to knock down some more walls before you can see, genuinely see just how much he regrets himself. Your stare hones in on him expectantly, and his head rolls over his shoulders, trying to alleviate the knots in his neck.

"Truth is, I was scared. I thought there was no way you could actually feel that way about me. A freak." He winces at the words, hating how they sound out loud, but he misses the way your brows hood over your eyes, keeping his on the floor.

He takes a deep breath, the sensation barely lukewarm against his chest. Somehow, he feels smaller than you at this moment despite his hulking figure. All you can do is watch him, studying his posture, the lines etched into his face, the way his hands are balled into fists at his sides. Remorse warring with his stubborn pride; unequivocally contrite and vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen.

He hates how he dismissed your feelings, how he rejected your attempt at admitting yourself to him, how he ignored the pull of his own heart towards you for the sake of stupid self-preservation. If he had even given himself a glimmer of belief that you could feel some kind of way about him, neither of you would be in this mess. But he’s getting too caught up in the ‘whys’ when he should be focusing on the simple matter that what he did, what he said to you was completely unjustified.

"Look, you don't gotta forgive me. I ain't even expecting you to say nothing. Just know that I'm sorry I yelled and that if I could go back and do it again..."

His lips press shut to save himself from adding to this already sappy display, and it’s no wonder he hasn’t had anything back yet. You’re weighing something up - probably something big. He's just waiting for you to lash out, to fling back the fire he had so unceremoniously bestowed onto you. Befittingly, give him a taste of his own medicine. Instead, he hears your feet shift away from him, the sound strangely loud in the small space, followed by a quiet creak and some shuffling. When he risks a glance in your direction, you’re on your couch, a hand laid out on the neighbouring cushion.

"Here, let me tell you something.” You gesture for him and, warily, he sits beside you, the unsuspecting pillows gasping beneath his weight. “Don’t get me wrong, the yelling was a touch excessive,” you lightly laugh, downcast, “but I wasn't necessarily upset about that. I was upset because you didn't believe me. Raph, why in the world would I ever lie or joke about something like that?"

"You ain't bein' serious," he breathes out, marginally humoured, predominantly pained. "Look at me."

"I'm looking,” you retort quickly. “What's the problem, hm?"

He had a whole set ready, he swears, but the way you look at him instantly shuts him up. Never in all his years did he think that someone so beautiful could gaze upon him with such endearment, such adoration, though you’re mostly creased up with this stern glower. He doesn’t have an answer for you. All he can think to do is latch onto this thread and run with it.

"Does that mean… we can give this a shot then?" he asks quietly.

"On one condition," you barter, and the soft hand to his cheek almost makes him crumble.  "I know that head of yours works in funny ways, but I would never lie to you. Okay? Have faith in my word." 

Raph searches your face for any doubt, any sign that the dumb parts of his brain can possibly pick up to beat himself down again, and when he sees none, he slowly smiles. "I think I can do that."

You grin back only to get all pinched. “And one more thing.” You flick the space between his eyes and he blinks frantically from the sheer audacity alone. “Call yourself a freak again and I’ll have your head.”

He points a glare down at you, but it’s threatless. He can’t fight the tug on his lips with your scrunched face beaming up at him, nor does he want to with this fresh breath, this sense of a new start. There may be some rocky terrain to overcome, but just knowing that you see him for more than what he is on the outside is enough for him.

Donatello

Donatello spent the next several hours poring over Vern's advice, scribbling frantic notes on his datapad. Vern’s "field experience," as Donnie had so generously put it, seemed to revolve largely around retaining a smarmy bravado, casually nonchalant, half-attentive one-liners, pretending to be more confident than he is, and questionable fashion choices. He had suspected that this advice would be a mixed bag of dubious strategies, but there were still some surprisingly insightful points. He sifted through the static, disregarding about 90% of it, isolating the core principles: communication, understanding, and most importantly, acknowledging the other person's feelings. Easier said than done when he wasn't even sure what your feelings were.

The next few days were a blur of nervous energy and thorough planning. He felt like he was deciphering a complex algorithm, one where the variables were emotions and the output was… a date? He still wasn't entirely sure. He needed something subtle. Something that would resonate with you. Something him. He considered presenting you with a meticulously coded program designed to optimise your favourite hobby, but dismissed it as too nerdy, even for him. He then thought about building a miniature robot that would follow you around, showering you with compliments, but that bordered on creepy. None of these ideas seemed to feel right.

He was a disaster. A romantically inept, highly intelligent disaster. The truth is, he’s paralysed with fear of messing this up. He’s a genius when it comes to technology but the book of love is a series of intricate formulas he can’t seem to crack.

Days turned into a week, filled with agonising internal debates and discarded plans. He noticed you even less now, afraid that you'd see the turmoil in his eyes. He'd catch glimpses of you laughing with Mikey, strategising with Leo, or even helping Raph with his sai sharpening; each encounter a painful reminder of his own inaction.

Finally, he decided that the best course of action was to go with his gut. He was a scientist, after all. He'd treat this like an experiment: observe, analyse, and adjust his approach as needed. He started by paying closer attention to your interactions with the others: the way you'd patiently explain things to Mikey, the strategic insights you'd offer Leo, and the way you'd subtly tease Raph to ease his tension. He realised that you valued connection, humour, and intelligence. Armed with this admittedly very basic data, he devised a plan. A low-key, Donnie-esque plan.

One afternoon, you’re sitting at the main table of the kitchen, sketching something in your notebook alone, and he sees his chance. Taking a deep breath, he walks over, clutching a small, metallic object in his hand. His feet shuffle, suddenly forgetting all the carefully crafted lines he'd memorised.

"Hey," he greets, his voice a little higher than usual.

You look up, eyes clumsily shifting around before landing on him again. "Uh, hey, Donnie. Something I can help you with?"

He swallows, watchful of your uneasiness, but presses on nonetheless. "Actually, I wanted to show you something."

He holds out his hand, revealing a small, beautifully crafted origami crane, made entirely from thin wafers of aluminium, circuits and wires. A lot of his craftsmanship typically focuses on practicality and efficiency rather than aesthetic appeal but he knew he had to work on that for this particular occasion. If he were to say so himself, he’s rather proud of the outcome.

"Oh." Not exactly the reaction he was hoping for, and the perturbed cross of your brows only racks his nerves that much more. “You made this?”

He nods, cheeks flushing slightly. Whether it be from bashfulness or embarrassment, he can’t tell. “I was experimenting with conductive materials and, well, I thought you might appreciate it."

Considering how the last couple of months have been, you’re not entirely sure what you should say. A gift? Something that he made for you? He appears to be evasive of the true nature but you’re suspecting that he specifically made this with you in mind. It doesn’t do much to subside your confusion, but you can tell he’s hanging by a thin string for your reaction. Gradually, you take the crane, turning it over in your hands. It is rather pretty. You still can’t quite figure out why he’d do this but he may just threaten to split at the seams if you don’t say something more.

“It’s… beautiful.”

Donnie feels as though he can breathe again, encompassed by this wave of relief. "Thanks," he mumbles, looking down at his feet. "I also wanted to say, it's been weird without you around my corner lately." He rushes the words, tripping over his tongue. "I mean, I miss your visits."

You chuckle softly, sadly. "I miss them too. I just thought you were busy, and maybe... I was making you uncomfortable."

His head shoots up, baffled. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, you know-” You gulp, your positions suddenly shifting. “That time I... I was just rambling, wasn't I? It's fine. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"Bothered me? What are you talking about?" he asks, brows furrowing behind his glasses.

He replays the last conversation in his head, cupping the base of his skull like he’s trying to physically reach for it, stop it from escaping him. The last time you were in his lab, what had happened? It goes over a couple more times until suddenly dropping on him like a ton of bricks; the awkwardness, the slight stutter in your tone, the inelegance in how you held yourself.

He had been completely oblivious.

"Wait, are you saying...? I didn't..." he stammers, face burning with mortification. "I had no idea."

He wants to disappear, to crawl into a hole and never emerge. How could he have been so dense? He completely misinterpreted the situation and, in doing so, has probably ruined everything.

"Donnie," you utter softly, placing a hand on his arm. "It's okay. Really. It was probably my fault for being so vague. Besides," you continue with an upturned lip, "maybe it's good that you didn't get it. Now you have a chance to do this properly."

"Do... do what properly?"

You laugh, a light, airy sound that makes his stomach flip. "Ask me out, silly. If you want to, that is." You bite your lip, the apprehension evident in your eyes.

Donnie's mind races. Vern's advice, the meticulous notes, the carefully calculated plans - it all flies out the window. He had to of accounted for all the outcomes of this conversation he could possibly conceive but he hadn’t anticipated this. That being said, your encouraging smile gives him new strength and he knows that all he needs to do is be himself.

"Yes," he affirms, his voice finally steady. "I would really like that. To... to ask you out. Properly." He pauses, then adds with a shy smile, "Maybe we could analyse the properties of bioluminescent algae? Or just get pizza. Whatever you want."

With a scrunched grin, you giggle. “Both sound good.”

Rest assured, the algae and pizza had soon become forgotten prospects when you find yourself in Donnie’s little corner after so much time, and he may or may not have admitted to seeking advice from the last person you’d suspect to get this ball rolling. It gets a good set of laughs out of you. As far as dates go, it’s a nice way to get back on track and ultimately the first of many more to come.

Michelangelo

With April's blessing - if you could call it that - Mikey felt a lightness he hadn't realised he was missing. It wasn't just the weight of unrequited affection, but the weight of stifled curiosity, of ignoring a pull that had been steadily growing stronger. He still cared deeply for April, but it was a different kind of caring, a comfortable devotion that he now understood as friendship. However, there’s still a surge of tension meddled in with the determined certainty. He bounces on the balls of his feet, his orange mask tails flapping as he bounds to seek you out. He knows that waiting any longer will only amplify his anxiety. He needs to talk to you, explain himself, and, hopefully, salvage what he had so carelessly thrown away.

He starts by looking for you in your usual spots: not in the kitchen, no sign of you in the dojo, and you were definitely not by the TV. He even checks the garage on a whim, thinking you might be tinkering with one of Donatello's inventions. Nope. The only place he could assume you’d be is back home, but that’s a problem for two reasons: it’s daytime, and there’s no guarantee you’d even open the window for him were he to turn up. All he can do is wait until you next bless the lair with your presence, but Mikey hasn’t always been known for his patience. He tries to fill the time with various activities, whether that be fiddling with his drums, attempting to break the pinball machine’s high score again, flicking through various channels on the TV, and so on.

This barely kills an hour.

Suddenly, a thought strikes him and he jumps up from the couch, making a grab for his skateboard. Maybe he could roll between the main entrances in a subtle attempt to “accidentally” bump into you. That way he can guarantee having the space to talk alone. Perfect. He throws his board down and bursts out of the lair, the grimy air surprisingly refreshing. Even if he still has to wait for your arrival, he can at least practise some new moves in the process, though he wouldn’t be practising for long. He’s halfway down the primary sewer line when he spots you, and all of the planned one-liners just disappear.

Even in the dinge of underground New York, you look beautiful, the dust motes dancing in the air and catching the glint of the flashlight in your hand. He takes the leap upon seeing you, quite literally hopping off his board and jogging into the last traces of momentum. In your surprise, you tread a couple of steps back, and he consciously keeps a respectable distance. He remembers how close he used to sit, how easily he’d tease and nudge, and diffuses under the shot of guilt - the hurt in your eyes when he'd previously bumbled around April like a lovesick puppy. How could he have been so blind? So oblivious? He'd been so caught up in a childish crush that he'd completely disregarded the person who truly understood him, who always had his back, who would make him laugh until his sides ached. The person in front of him, now tentatively avoiding his gaze like a stranger. Crap, he was meant to say something. How long has he just been standing here staring at you? Too long, it would seem. Your head tilts with another uncomfortable glance at the floor, and you pivot to walk around him.

"Wait.” He spins on his heel, watches you stop, and it dawns on him just how incredibly awkward this is. "Uh, look, I messed up. Big time. I thought we could just go back to being friends, but I was wrong. I didn't realise how much what I said would hurt you. I was so caught up in- well… never mind. The point is, I hurt you and I'm really, really sorry."

You still make no effort to face him, but you speak, cool and even. "Apology accepted."

It wasn't the response he'd hoped for or even the response he envisioned. He'd expected anger, maybe a lecture, but this detached acceptance feels worse. It highlights the chasm he's created between you both.

"I know an apology isn't enough,” he pushes on. “I get it if you don't want to hang out with me anymore, or play games, or anything, but I miss you. I miss laughing with you and just... being around you." He pauses, gathering his courage. "And I realised something else too: I was so busy looking in one direction, I didn't see what was right in front of me. I didn't see… how amazing you are."

Shoulders hunching, you scoff. "Please, Mikey. Spare me the flattery. It's not going to change anything."

"It's not flattery!" he insists, his voice rising defensively. "I mean it. I really do. This is how I feel.” Mikey’s hand takes a helm on his board and he holds it to his plastron. "Seriously, I was an idiot and I'm hoping, maybe, just maybe, you can find it in your heart to give me another chance. Not as a friend-friend, unless that’s what you want, but as something more."

He holds his tongue from everything else that wants to sputter out, reduced to watching the back of your head and praying for a sign. Aside from the occasional drip or muted whir of cars above, there’s a low, rhythmic thrumming in his ears, growing louder, beating against the inside of his skull mercilessly. He swears his heart must have jumped into his throat. It sits on pause for a short moment when you finally look at him, your eyes searching, and he sees a flicker of something other than indifference: a spark of hope veiled by uncertainty.

"Mikey, this is... a lot to take in."

"I know," he replies sincerely. "I just need you to know how I feel. I'm not expecting you to say yes, or even forgive me right away. But please, can we at least try?" He reaches out, his hand hovering tentatively near yours, waiting for your permission to touch. "I know I don't deserve it, but I'm asking for a second chance. Please, just tell me what I can do to make things right."

His bright blue eyes plead for an understanding. He’s not sure he’s ever wanted something so badly in his life. Not like this, and the wait on your behalf only punctuates that for him. Your gaze wanders up, expression unreadable. The sparkle in your eyes is still there, but it’s flitting like a dying ember.

"It's not that easy, Mikey," you say softly. "You broke my heart, you know? And even if I wanted to go back to the way things were, I don't think I could. Not completely."

Mikey’s heart sinks. He's already ruined everything, hasn’t he? The thought is a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless and deflated.

"But," you continue, a hint of a smile playing on your lips, "I also miss you, and I'm a sucker for a sincere apology, so I'm willing to try. But you have to understand, this won't be the same. Not for a while, anyway."

A lifting deliverance, so intense it almost brings him to his knees. "Anything. Anything you want. Just tell me."

You smile a genuine, beautiful smile that lights up the dim sewer tunnel. "Okay, I get automatic dibs on the last slice of pizza for the next month."

"Deal!” He grins, answering without hesitation. “Anything for you."

Mikey knows it will likely take a whole lot of scrubbing to rebuild what he had broken, but he’s ready. More than ready. He finally sees what he’s been missing, and he isn’t going to let it slip away a second time. The possibility of something more than friendship still flickers in the back of his mind, but for now, he’s content to start with the pizza.

[magicaldestinyharmony]

In Life and In Death Pt. 3

Summary: over the course of their repeated lives, Lucas Puhlavan becomes obsessed with Count Balcom’s fifth daughter. You.

male!knight x female!count's daughter!reader part 3

CW: mentions of death, whipping, drugs, human trafficking, gambling, human hunting and murder.

WC: around 2k words

A/N: I have finally finished potion number 3 in this series!

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 4]

Your eyes flutter open. Once you glimpse the sight of your all-too-familiar ceiling, you deadpan.

What do you have to do to stop this? You sigh and cover your eyes from the onslaught of the sunlight. 

You're so sick and tired of it at this point. Waking up, working and spending so much effort to survive, only to fail and end up dead in the end.

You groan and turn on your side once you remember the date. You're starting to hate this number. No matter what you do, you pick up the calendar to see it there, in its black, bold glory.

Aida should be coming in anytime soon. You sigh when you hear the well-timed knock on your door.

“My lady?” Aida opens the door carefully, scared of waking you up. “Are you up? It's time for breakfast.”

A puff of air escapes you again. “I'm up, Aida.” You invite the maid inside your room.

“Oh, good. Let's get you ready for breakfast.”

“Do I have to, Aida? Can't I just have it in bed?” you plead.

Aida’s brows furrow in confusion. “ Well, I guess you could, miss. However, may I ask, is there a particular reason?”

“I'm just tired.” of life, of death. Of everything really.

Aida nods in understanding and leaves to fetch your breakfast.

Aida pins the last decoration in your hair and steps back. “Ta-da! What do you think, my lady?”

You glance at yourself in the mirror, uninterested. You've been through this so many times that the glamour of dressing up has lost its allure.

You hesitantly walk down the stairs, reluctant to see your father. If you didn't already hate him, you downright loathe him now.

Everything plays exactly as you recall. Yet when your eyes meet Lucca's, you're hit with an idea.

Why didn't you think of this before? Instead of taking care of Lucca now and letting him die later. Why not make him indebted to you? Thwart your father's plans so Lucca can keep his life and you can keep yours.

With this new drive fueling you, you approach him. “Hello. Are you alright?”

Lucca watches you in silence. You reach out to him. “Are you alr-”

Lucca smacks your hand away. The sound echoes throughout the entrance hall and you cringe in pain.

The noise turns the count's attention towards you. He smirks at the scene in front of him. You pale under his scrutiny and cold gaze. 

“Well, well, well, I see that you dared to injure a Balcom, boy.” The man takes sick pleasure in watching both children cower before him.

“For injuring my precious daughter's hand, you will receive 15 whips.” A sinister grin creeps onto your father's face.

Little tremors shake your body. Lucca did nothing wrong. He doesn't deserve this. “W-wait! It-it wasn't his fault!”

“I see.” Your father nods in consideration. “You have a compassionate heart, daughter of mine.”

Your father pats you. “But,” his voice turns cold. “Compassion gets you nowhere in life. Do you still want to stop his punishment?”

Your father's pats turn into an iron grip on your head. He tilts his head, prompting your response, “N-no. Wh-when wronged, we sh-should give back tenfold what we received. I-its's the Balcom way, right?” The automated response rolls off your tongue while you shake in fear.

Your father smiles. “Good job.” He gives you one final pat and turns to a maid. “Take him to the dungeons and make sure to give him his punishment.”

With that, your father departs, leaving deadly silence in his wake.

◇◇◇

Who knew that standing in front of an office could be so nerve-wracking? After taking another deep breath, you hesitantly knock on your father's office.

The door cracks open to reveal your father’s loyal aide. “My lady? What do you need?”

“Can I see Father?” you mutter out.

“Let me ask the count.” The aide turns around, leaving you in front of the door.

He returns shortly and ushers you in. “So, what do you want?” your father asks without looking up.

Gathering your courage, you say, “I want that boy.”

Only then does your father look up. “That boy?”

“Yes. The boy you brought in this morning.”

Your father scratches his chin in thought. “And what will you give me in return?”

You gulp. You expected him to say that. Your father is known for not giving without taking. “I'll give you information about House Devoy. Pivotal information.”

“Oho, and is this information credible?”

You nod. “Very well. When will I receive this information?”

“I will have it ready in two days,” you confirm.

“Alright.” Your father's gaze turns into a glare. “But if your information turns out to be wrong, you won't escape punishment.”

“Understood.” You bow and leave.

Once the door to your room closes behind you, you collapse in relief. Let's hope that the information you remember from your past lives is enough to save your neck.

You bring double the amount of bandages and ointment on your nightly trip to the dungeons. With the extra abuse Lucca went through today, courtesy of yours truly, you certainly needed more.

After bribing the guard and gaining access to Lucca's cell, you get to work on treating his wounds.

As soon as Lucca feels the cold, stinging sensation of the ointment, he opens his eyes. You make eye contact. He glares at you. You shake your head, ignoring him and continue working.

Once Lucca's last wound has been patched up, you leave the bread you got him and stand up to leave.

You feel his gaze on you the whole time, trying to size you up. “Why do you care?” You barely hear him whisper.

“You got hurt because of me. Of course, I care,” you firmly say.

Lucca scoffs but makes no further comments. You shrug, used to his apathy. This time you were able to leave without any incidents.

◇◇◇

The next morning, you hand a list of everything you remember about Count Devoy to your father. You pray that the information is good enough to keep you and Lucca alive.

You were informed by your father's aide that processing and proving the intel you gave will take some time. Three days to be precise. But you weren't allowed to have Lucca till after. Bastard. You were sure your father took pleasure in tormenting his kids.

Whatever. It was nothing new. It was well-known that your father was a repulsive man. At least to people with a strong sense of justice.

Your father sickened you. He doesn't hesitate to dabble in the illegal. Unlicensed auction houses, drug selling and human trafficking are just some of the things that your father does.

The problem is that he likes doing these things. His hobbies are no less disgusting. He enjoys gambling, the company of many women and hunting.

Not your typical animal hunting. He hunts slaves. Buys them then releases them into a forest on the territory to be hunted.

Yet, his reputation is still intact. Your father spends lots of money to keep his activities under the rug. In fact, he's so well regarded that if someone speaks up, they'll be immediately ignored and silenced. Voluntarily or forcefully.

You shake your head in loathing. Dwelling further on this will only cause a bad mood.

Instead, you opt to go for a walk in the hope that the wind blowing through your hair will calm your turbulent thoughts.

At dinner, you were surprised to find yourself seated to the right of your father. You can practically feel the hatred rolling off your half-siblings.

According to noble etiquette, during a meal, the household's head sits at the head of the table, dubbed as the seat of honour.

The next most important person is seated to the right of the seat of honour. Then the third most important to their left, then the fourth on the right and so on.

In a highly competitive family like yours, getting the seat on the right of the head’s seat essentially means the favour of the count. Not a position you necessarily want.

The meal proceeds in suffocating silence. The only sounds are the clinking of plates and spoons echoing in the room.

At the end of the meal, your father makes a comment that you wish he never uttered, “I'm very pleased with you.”

As soon as he leaves, your half-siblings look at you with obvious murderous intent. Bastard. You were certain that your father thrives on the discord between his children.

As the fifth daughter, your chance at succession is practically non-existent. Sitting at the right of the seat of honour and getting a compliment from the head suggests that you're participating in the fight for succession.

So all in all, your father raised the risk of your death. Not a good thing.

◇◇◇

You were incredibly relieved when your father finally handed Lucca over to you. You hope that avoiding your father from now on will reduce the attention on yourself.

While Aida and the family doctor give Lucca a checkup, you give orders to other maids to set up the room beside yours for him.

You make sure the room is immaculate. The last thing you need is Lucca feeling compelled to kill you over an improper room. With instructions in place, you meet up with Aida in front of the infirmary. 

“How is he?” you ask, once you reach her.

“The doctor said he's severely malnourished and suffering from multitudes of wounds,” your maid dutifully replies.

You grimace. “Is it serious?”

“Some of them are,” Aida says, sullen.

You frown. “Let me see him.”

Aida nods and opens the door to let you in.

You blink your eyes against the sunlight streaming in through the window across the room. Shielding your eyes, you notice that the whole room is made from walnut wood. The desk and chair to your right are cluttered with paper and books. The left side of the room houses a table and a modest library. The table has what you assume to be a mix of herbal plants and medicine concoctions on it. A small table and seats are tucked at the back of the room. Overall, it has a warm vibe to it.

You turn to the bed situated in the corner beside the window. Lucca sits on it, white sheets tucked around him, staring out the open window. The white sheer curtains flutter around him. The wind flows through the window, taking his silver strands for a ride. He looks dwarfed in the bedding, his arms look scrawny and pale against the white of the sheet. His body is littered with bandages. 

Your heart lurches at the sight. While nothing justifies him killing you over and over again, you realize that he was just a kid. Is a kid. He lost his family overnight, endured abuse from the count and fought an evil dragon as the Divine Warrior. It was no wonder how the kid ended up the way he did.

“Are you done staring?” Lucca speaks without turning around.

You answer his question with a question, “How are you feeling?”

Lucca shrugs and you sigh, exasperated at his non-answer.

Pulling up a stool beside the bed, you stare at his small frame again. A child should never have to undergo such hardship.

Another breeze streams through the open glass panes, ruffling your hair and blocking your vision for a moment. Moving the strands away, you notice that Lucca has finally faced you. You grin, loving the feeling of the air in your hair and pleased that he’s finally looking at you.

It feels somehow freeing to feel the flutter of the wind caressing you. You hold Lucca’s gaze, smiling, hoping that he shares (or at least) feels your joy.

When he doesn’t say anything, you turn to face the lush green visible through the window. Lucca doesn’t turn away, keeping his eyes on you. The silence feels liberating. Now, at this moment, you aren’t a murderer and his victim. You are just two children enjoying the wind. 

So you don’t break the silence, content to watch the birds drift from branch to branch while Lucca watches you.

[rileyslibrary]

Ghost shares his New Year’s resolution with you.

A/N: This is an automated message. I’m still on a break. Also, a warning for you: this story does not follow canon. It’s fluff, though.

———————————————————————

You look around as you move through the groups of people, making your way toward the buffet. These New Year’s Eve parties at the military base are something else. It’s not the celebration that fascinates you; it’s the way people, just for the night, ditch their ranks and show another part of them that duty tends to conceal.

Seniors and subordinates talk like equals, and the rigid structure fades into the background, much like the slow jazz music playing from the speakers. Annoying ads occasionally interrupt the rhythm, and you make a mental note to locate the source and plug in your Spotify.

And yes, you’ve seen different aspects of their personality while on missions or in more casual settings. However, when you add alcohol into the mix, pair it with the excitement of the upcoming new year, and factor in the human need for closeness when away from family, everything feels different.

For example, you’d never have thought that Gaz gets an itch that lasts for days whenever he has to wear a Gillie suit or that Price can distinguish between different brands of cigars just by smelling them. ‘They need to have the right humidity level,’ you hear him say as you walk past the group and stand in front of the buffet. You scan the pastry platter, trying to find one that’s intact so you can pop it directly in your mouth since no plates are left. That or you haven’t spotted them yet. You look around, searching for a pile of clean ones, but pause as your eyes land on the training ground perimeter outside.

Approximately six feet-something, broad, a glass in his right hand, balaclava slightly raised, leaning against the fence, gazing up at the sky.

Your appetite for pastries is gone.

Leaving the buffet, you walk towards the door leading outside, but as you slide it open, a teammate grabs your shoulder. She urges you to share with the rest of her group about your time in Norway when you mistook a group of migrating salmon travelling upstream for a raid. You smile in response and promise her you’ll join them shortly, motioning towards the training grounds. She follows your gaze, and once she understands what you’re on about, she releases your shoulder and nods understandingly.

You slide open the door; Ghost looks over his shoulder but not directly at you. He’s not alarmed.

“The salmon story is not that funny,” he remarks in a low voice, wiggling his glass. “You should tell them about that time in Mexico.”

“You mean when I complained to the bartender that there was a worm in the tequila bottle?”

He nods, taking a sip. “Like finding a fly in your soup,” he murmurs, lowering his glass.

“I’m surprised you heard the conversation,” you state. “It’s chaos inside.”

Ghost shrugs and lowers his head. He’s not much of a talker lately—not like he’s a social butterfly on other days—but he’s not very keen on the chaos inside. Not only that, but the recent events have shaken him quite a lot, even though he conceals it well.

You rest your arms on the fence beside him, dangling your wine glass on the edge and look at the stars. He follows your lead and does the same. You lean in closer, and your shoulder touches his. He doesn’t move away—instead, he steadies himself further to support you. When you feel ready and secure, you shift your weight onto him and rest your head on his shoulder.

“I won’t ask you if you’re ok.” You whisper.

“That counts like asking.”

“Yeah,” you reply, “but I didn’t.”

“Good.” He says and takes a sip from his glass.

“Should I change the subject?”

“Should you keep on talking?” He asks back.

“Yes,” you murmur. “Yes, I absolutely should.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Go on then.”

“So,” you begin, “any New Year resolution for you, Lt.?”

You feel him nod, and you stand upright in shock.

“Why look at you, Lt!” You shout wide-eyed, “I didn’t peg you as the resolution type.”

“What can I say,” he mumbles. “I’m a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside a fucking enigma.”

“Churchill said something like that.” You state proudly.

“Indeed.” He replies. “Minus the ‘fucking’ part.”

“So?” You ask, “What is it?”

He looks at his glass, searching for the right words. “No more casualties.” He finally states.

“Don’t you think that’s a little far-fetched?” You ask, tilting your head to the side. “Considering the nature of our job and such?”

“So was your ‘no more chocolate’ resolution last year.” He replies.

“Hey!” You shout, “At least I tried!”

“That’s what I’m saying,” he rolls his eyes. “I’ll try to keep everyone safe.”

“That’s more like it,” You nod, lifting your glass. “Here’s to trying our best to keep everyone safe.”

He turns to face you. There’s a solemn expression behind those eyes of his. As if he’s determined to make this his life’s goal. He brings his glass closer to yours, and they clink together.

And as you’re about to drink from your shared toast, the door slides open, and a face pops in between.

“Here’s Johnny!” Soap shouts. Although he sports that annoying smug look, the top of his head is wrapped in a fresh white bandage, courtesy of the bullet that grazed him last month.

“I see you’re feeling better, Soap.” You say with a smile. “Would you like to join us?”

“Nah,” he replies. “Captain told me to tell you to come inside; cake’s about to be served.”

You thank him, and he shuts the door behind him. You turn to look at the lieutenant, who is slowly shaking his head.

“Scratch my New Year’s resolution,” Ghost murmurs, looking at the remains of his drink. “For this year, I plan on moving bases so I’d be away from him once and for all.” He states and downs the rest of it.

“You don’t mean that.” You chuckle and slap his arm.

“I don’t,” he admits, “but he made us all lose ten fucking years of our lives.”

“Everything turned alright, Lieutenant.” You say and wrap an arm around his waist. “Now, pull down your balaclava and come inside before you catch a cold.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and plants three little kisses at the top of your head before covering the rest of his face with his mask, leading you inside to celebrate the new year.

———————————————————————

[amberlynnmurdock]

Neighbor Pt. 6

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: On a random midnight, she comes to Matt's apartment to feel less lonely. Matt lets her in.

Words: just under 3k!

Genres: FLUFF with a dash of angst because of course... they are just two lost souls confiding in the other <3

A/N: I sort of had trouble with this chapter but she's finally here lol. This picks up from Pt. 5... hope you like it!!!

Part 5

Matt felt rejuvenated the next morning. 

Maybe it wasn’t stress he had been feeling the past few weeks… maybe it was something else, something he hadn’t felt in a while. Something that made him need sweet relief that throwing punches and taking hits couldn’t provide. He needed something more sensual—intimate. Something else to get his anxiety and frustration out. Even if it was a brush of contact. Something as simple as a touch. 

Yeah, it had been a while since he’d felt that. And it felt so good to listen to her like that… despite how wrong it was. That was until she said his name out loud. Matt pondered the question all morning as he lay in bed waiting for his alarm to go off. What did it mean? Did she like him like that? What should he do next?

  Nothing, he decided. It was wrong he knew she felt that way about him… it was wrong he continued to listen to her. It was wrong of him to think he could ever make her happy when he leads the life he leads. But God, did it feel so good to think that for a moment—just a moment—it might be possible. 

He rolls out of bed as soon as he hears his automated alarm go off. Wake up, wake up! Matt slams the alarm with his fist, harder than he intended to. He sits for a moment on the edge of his bed, feeling achy all over. Other people in the apartment are waking up right now, too. Downstairs, someone turns their stove on and begins to cook bacon. Another apartment opens its windows to the cool winter air. And her—she’s awake now, too. She turned her TV on to the news.

“Daredevil took down an armed robbery and saved an old woman at the corner bodega…“ 

Matt tunes it out immediately. 

It was strange to hear news about himself playing in her apartment. It made him uncomfortable. There he was, imagining a future with her and playing with the idea of being intimate with her, all the while having one of the biggest secrets ever. 

After a hot shower and brewing coffee, Matt was just about to be on his way out. He heard her shuffling behind her door, slipping her boots on, and zipping up her coat. They always walked out at the same time, an unspoken ritual. Maybe it was safer to keep it like this, Matt thought. Maybe this was as far as they’d ever go. 

Matt took a deep breath as he stepped out, unsurprisingly at the same time as she did. Matt heard her heart rate quicken as she saw him. 

“G’morning, Matt,” she said softly, as casually as she could.

“Morning,” he smiled. Act natural. “Sleep well?” 

She paused, ever so slightly, and locked her door. “I did, better than I normally do. You?”

“Same,” Matt answered, picking up on her hesitation. Maybe he should leave the conversation at this, not push anything further. From the way she was speaking quietly to her slight quiver, Matt knew she was nervous. He didn’t want to make her feel that way. 

“I hope you have a good day, Matt,” she smiled, walking ahead of him down the stairs. Before Matt could give a response, she was already out the door. Matt slowly followed behind, somehow feeling guilty about it all over again. 

She weighed heavy on his mind all day—did he do something wrong unknowingly? All of this was confusing—he heard her say his name at her most intimate, and this morning she seemed to want to avoid him altogether. What happened?

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe there wasn’t anything wrong. 

***

Matt walked up the steps to his apartment slowly, one hand using his cane to guide himself, the other holding onto the rail. He passed the floors of the other apartments. They were all so loud to him. Fran had the TV on a bit higher than usual. Someone’s dog was barking begging to be fed. Another was on the phone having a heated conversation with an in-law. All day, Matt was consumed by conversations he wished not to be part of. Sounds he wished he could drown out and turn off.

Finally, he reached the floor of his apartment—and hers. He liked that he shared this floor with only her. He paused at the top of the steps and pressed his fingertips against the wall. She was inside, home already from work. From the sound of her soft breathing and very still movement, Matt knew she was sleeping. A part of him melted inside. Tired from a long day of work himself, he walked as quietly as he could to his apartment and opened the door slowly to avoid making any sound.

He wasted no time changing into his Daredevil gear and waiting on his roof.

***

Matt felt accomplished when he arrived back on his rooftop after a night out as Daredevil. He stopped another robbery and saved an old couple’s bodega. He saved an old man from being mugged. He saved a young girl and her mother from an abusive ex-boyfriend. 

Entering his apartment, he stripped himself of his Daredevil gear and locked it away in his old trunk. He paused, hand still on the locked trunk that held his most detrimental secret. This trunk used to belong to his father. He pushed it inside the closet and closed the door. He made a sign of the cross and stalked off to the bathroom. 

It was shortly past midnight. After washing off in the shower, Matt changed into sweatpants. He lay in bed and shut his eyes. His thoughts always drifted to the same thing: was there more to this life, than just keeping a secret? 

After reciting a prayer and just as he was about to fall asleep, he heard a gentle knocking on his door. His eyes shot open and his senses were fully engaged in the source of the sound. More knocks came. It was her. She shivered under her cardigan and shifted in her slippers from foot to foot, anxiously. Was something wrong? Why was she at his door so late?

Matt threw on a shirt quickly and walked over to open his door. Just as she was about to turn around and retreat to her apartment, thinking this is stupid, Matt opened his door. She stood there with her arms tucked around her frame and shivered from the cold in the hallway.

“Hi,” she said in a tired voice, “I’m sorry, Matt. I know it’s late. But I heard your shower go off and assumed you were awake and—God, I realize how creepy that sounds that I heard your water running so I knew you were awake—never mind. I’ve spoken too much,” she rambled nervously, shivering from the cold in the hallway. Matt was surprised by her presence; he wasn’t upset at all. He welcomed her sudden appearance but couldn’t help but wonder why she was there. 

Not to mention her apologizing for hearing his water running, and assuming he was awake. After all the things he’s heard her do through her apartment… Matt was in no place to judge (not that he would, anyway).

“It's okay,” Matt whispered her name. “I was awake. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, and Matt didn’t have to listen to her heartbeat to know she was lying. It was in her voice, her mannerisms. The way she answered quickly without really considering his question. “I just—“ and she was shivering so much.

“You can come in,” Matt opened the door wider. “It’s cold in the hall.” 

“Okay,” she stepped inside his apartment and away from him as he shut his large, old door. Matt locked it and turned around to smile at her. It was then Matt realized he forgot to put his glasses on. 

“I’m sorry, let me get my glasses on,” Matt said sheepishly, reaching for them on the side table. 

“It’s okay,” she said, “you don’t have to put them on.” She paused, looking at his handsome face in the low glow of his apartment. He wasn’t hard to look at at all—from his warm hazel eyes to his plump lips. 

“Are you sure you won’t be uncomfortable?” He asked. 

“Yeah,” she answered. “I’m barging in on your place—you don’t have to sacrifice your comfort for mine.” 

He smiled at that and then offered her to take a seat on his couch. He allowed her a moment to get a sense of her surroundings—she’d never been in his apartment before. Her heartbeat was steady. She looked around his living room and squinted at the windows when the large screen across the street flashed bright purple and pink lights. 

“Wow,” she said, looking back at his dark apartment. “Those are bright.”

“So I’ve heard,” Matt said lightly with a warm smile. “Do you want any water?”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

She curled up on the corner of his brown leather couch, tucking her feet in underneath her legs. She was still shivering. Matt offered her the blanket that lay on it and she took it gracefully. 

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said sheepishly wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, “truthfully, I couldn’t sleep and I could use a friend to talk to.”

A friend? Matt’s heart jumped at this. She considered him a friend. 

“I’m glad you came,” Matt replied. 

“On Christmas, you told me that any time I felt lonely, I could come by. So… this is one of those times.”

“Yeah,” Matt nodded. “Felt lonely tonight?”

“Not anymore,” she sighed, pleasantly, like his presence alone was enough to cure whatever it was she was feeling. “I took a long nap after work to avoid it and woke up feeling worse than I did before. Like a harrowing, deep hole in my chest.” 

Matt knew that feeling all too well—a hole he’d been trying to fill since he was 11. It occurred to him in that moment Matt hardly knew anything about her. Where she came from, what her story was. She knew bits and pieces of him but he didn’t know anything more than that she lived alone and worked at a bookstore. 

“I understand,” Matt said. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe another time,” she said, pushing the matter away. “I just wanted to get my mind off it.”

Matt was happy she was comfortable enough to come to him this late at night for nothing more than just another person to talk to. He could be that person for her—he wanted to be that person for her. 

“I didn’t know you had hazel eyes,” she said softly. “You shouldn’t hide them as much as you do behind those red glasses.” 

Matt blushed—unfamiliar with this feeling in his chest, like a bubbling warmth spread over that harrowing hole she was talking about just moments ago. “Oh,” he said. “People can get uncomfortable when they see my eyes.”

“Then screw them,” she said defiantly. “Like I said…you shouldn’t sacrifice your comfort for theirs.” 

“Thank you,” Matt replied. “For understanding that part.” 

“Were you—“

“Born blind?” Matt had finished this question so many times, that it became a habit to interject whenever anyone began to ask it. “No. It was an accident when I was a kid.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind,” Matt shrugged. He wanted to open up to her, as much as he could—without revealing his biggest secret of all. “I saw an old man crossing the street. A large truck with chemical containers was coming down the block at the same time. I pushed the old man out of the way. The truck lost control, and swerved to avoid hitting us. Well, it did bump me a little, and all the chemicals fell over, leaking everywhere. Some of it got in my eyes and—“

“That was it,” she finished his sentence. “Wow.” 

“That was it,” Matt repeated. His gaze fell on the carpet. He sat at the opposite end of the couch. 

“So, little Matt was a hero?” He could hear the smile in her voice when she said this. Matt chuckled. 

“I did what anyone else would have.”

“How many adults were there, do you remember?”

“It was on a random corner in Hell’s Kitchen. Plenty of people were walking around.”

“So, you did what anyone else would have avoided.”

Matt blushed, looked away from the general direction he was looking in. It felt different to be called a hero when it was coming from her lips. 

“Sure,” he finally said. “We can go with that.”

“Do you…” her voice trailed off, unsure how to phrase her next question without sounding offensive. 

“You can ask me anything,” Matt assured her. “You know a lot about me that some of my closest friends don’t know. Nothing’s off the table.”

“Do you miss having sight? That’s probably a silly question. Do you remember the last thing you saw?”

“The sky,” Matt answered, a flash of blue appearing in his mind. “That was the last thing I saw. And I do miss having sight,” Matt took a deep breath. “But there are other ways to see.”

“Absolutely,” she agreed. “How do you see in other ways?”

What a loaded question, he thought. 

“Touch, for one. I can get a sense of something when I touch it. Smell—easy to distinguish what’s on my plate. I still know what a majority of things look like.”

“But not people,” she stated. 

“Not people,” Matt affirmed. “But there’s a way for me to paint a picture in my mind.”

“How? A person describes what they look like?”

“Descriptions help,” Matt answered, “but touching their face helps a hell of a lot more.” 

She was silent for a moment, understanding his answers and pondering them. She wondered what he would think of her if he could see. Matt felt as if she was wondering that very thought.

“Do you want to touch my face?” She asked in a hesitant voice. “Or I can describe to you what I look like.”

Matt felt his heart grow in his chest. How could he answer that question, without revealing his true feelings for her right then and there? It had been months of being her neighbor that he hoped and prayed he could cross that threshold with her. Hell, it was a miracle she was in his apartment at that moment. 

“Only if you’re comfortable,” Matt finally said, shifting in his seat. 

“I am,” she whispered, leaning forward. “Come here.”

Matt moved closer to her on his couch until his left knee was touching her right. When he sat close enough to her, she grabbed his hand and wrapped her fingers around his wrist to guide him. 

Starting with her hair, she gently brushed his fingers through it. It was soft. Every thread of her hair felt like water slipping gently through his fingers. Matt held his breath as his fingers grazed her neck. He had to close his eyes for this part. Matt gently placed his hand on the side of her neck, feeling how soft her skin felt on his fingertips. Like Braille, he ran his fingers ever so lightly on her skin, goosebumps following his touch. 

He moved his hand to the side of her face, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. He gently ran his thumb over her brow bone, smoothing it out. Then he traced his thumb under her eye in a sweeping motion. His gaze fell on her chin. He traced the pad of his thumb down the bridge of her nose, stopping at her cupid’s bow. She gently let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. Matt gently let out a breath too. He took his other hand and cupped the other side of her face in his palm, feeling her cheeks heat against him. Her heart was pounding in her chest, a steady boom boom, boom boom, he had come to memorize to help him fall asleep. He caressed her chin with his thumb and traced her jawline before slowly running his hand down the length of her neck, retreating to his thigh. 

“Beautiful,” Matt whispered. It was all he could say. 

“Matt…” she uttered his name, trailing off, losing her words. Her heart felt like a cement block in her chest. He swallowed hard, resisting the urge to touch her again. She reached for his hand and placed it on her face, desperate to feel how gently he held her again, something she hadn’t felt in a long time. 

She turns her head into his hand and kisses his palm. Matt moves his fingers to the back of her head and guides her lips to his, a kiss that should’ve happened a long time ago. Her lips molded to his, the taste of her bringing him back to life, filling that empty hole in his chest again. He hoped it had the same effect on her. Her hand moved to hold his face, a plan to not break the kiss. A plan that didn’t matter if it worked or not, because Matt wasn’t going to let go anytime soon. He wasn’t going to let go of her. 

When she eventually did pull back, he only wanted more. 

“Thank you,” she whispered breathlessly, “for letting me in.” 

Letting her into his apartment, or letting her into his heart—both answers were suitable. 

Eventually, she did go back to her apartment, for reasons they didn’t need to say out loud. But it would be a while until they brought up this night again. 

______________________________________________________________

TAGS: @mattmurdocksstarlight @yentroucnagol @danzer8705 @allllium @i-marvel-bitch @babygrlmurdock @writtenbyred @uncle-eggy @marvelcinematiquniverse @sweetbee0108

[jinogasux-fr]

Santae banned me without telling me why and won't unban me unless I send them my photo ID

Hey guys sorry for not posting in… forever? I just suck at social media lol. But you may have seen that I've reblogged some posts that advertise Santae in the past, but please disregard all that. I've since deleted those posts after learning how the site is managed and, after what happened to me a few days ago, I feel as though I should go public about this. Because boy did I just get fucked over.

Anyway, yeah, what it says in the title. On October 24th, around 10am EST, I was restocking my user shop when the entire webpage went white. I couldn't access the site at all and, when I tried to look for the Discord on my server list, it wasn't there. I knew what this had meant. I got banned from both the game, and the Discord - this is important to keep in mind for later.

I didn't receive any Discord DM or email notification about my ban, so after asking a mod what their support email was (and yes, I later verified that this is indeed their legitimate support email), I sent them this:

After a few hours, I get this back in response:

There's so much I'm confused about here. I think the one that screams out the most is that they're asking me to show them my photo ID so I can get unbanned. Absolutely not. I refuse to do this. This poses a massive security and privacy risk. They straight up banned my account, gave this half-baked explanation, and told me I need to send my personal information or... I stay banned?

Let me make something clear: The only personal thing they have on file about this account is the email address that I created my account with, which I've also used to contact them. My real name, date of birth, anything of that nature would not be connected because this was not asked for during account creation, therefore this wouldn't actually prove I'm the account holder. Theoretically speaking, I could show them any ID in the world and for all they know, that's my real information, because they have nothing else to go off of. They even say as much in their privacy page.

Secondly, "account has been compromised"? What does that mean? I think anyone's interpretation of this would be that my account got hacked. But if my account got hacked, why wasn't I informed of this? I had to reach out to support, they did not reach out to me first. That means my password, which I may share across other sites, would have been known to someone else and thus I should've been warned of this immediately, not roughly 5 hours after the fact.

Thirdly, what, was my Discord "compromised" too? If an automated system had flagged my account, does that system somehow interact with a Discord bot so they ban a user on both at the same time? How does that work? That makes no sense as to why they'd ban me on both the game and the Discord for something like this, which is why I'm calling bullshit.

Let me tell you what I think happened.

Recently, Santae has been in some really hot water with connections revealing their relation to an older petsite, Lurapets, which has a history of scamming and artist mistreatment, as well as proof coming out of them using AI art for their NPC art. You can find these posts on the @santae-salt blog if you want to see for yourself, but I'm also linking them throughout this post.

Once the post about them being directly related to Lurapets was released, several users that the Santae staff thought might be involved in the creation of the post got banned. As it turns out, I was banned at the same time as these users.

After speaking with the @santae-salt admin, we are both of the belief that I, a regular user, got caught up in this mess because they're assuming I'm an alt account of someone else and staff demanded to see my ID because they didn't think I was a different person. It may turn out to be wrong, and yeah that sounds a bit far-fetched, sure, but really, what else can I go off of here?? Santae staff has given me a very questionable and refutable explanation as to why I've been banned, and their radio silence after I refused to send them my ID is just making me believe they don't think I'm real. They don't want my photo ID to verify I'm the account holder, they want my photo ID to verify I'm not someone else.

This is unprecedented. I've never seen any petsite ask for a photo ID in any situation, and after asking around, not even those banned from Santae were asked for this. It's just me! This is an incredible attempted breach of privacy, and, with Santae now under doxxing allegations, I really don't feel confident they'd keep my personal information… well, personal.

I messaged back almost immediately after they responded to me where I told them I would not send my ID and I had asked if there were any other way I could verify myself to get my account unbanned. I've received no response so far, and after what I've learned, I feel like I'm not going to get one at all.

So, let this be a lesson to you: don't waste your time on Santae. You can be the most obedient player out there. You can abide by all their rules, be a nice and generous player, or just be minding your own business, but if they so much as think you're associated with someone who they think has wronged them, you'll be banned.

And they can't even be bothered to properly tell you why.

[thepraline]

AN UPDATE:

As some of you know, I've taken on the task of actually emailing tumblr daily and staying on them about terminating my blog, and today I got a response. While the response was just an automated "your blog was terminated for breaking tos" blah blah, it's still something because that means my support tickets actually been opened, and it'll be possible for me to get an actual human to review this once I push back against the system.

I'm mainly doubling down on my point of "why did i get terminated for doing what every other person on nsfw tumblr does, some even get more explicit and skate by" 😂. So we'll see how this goes over, I'll keep up with updates until I get a final definitive answer.

As of now, it all falls down to them proving I broke TOS, and I know I didn't.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Someone New 5

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include angst, pining, romcom tropes, and some darker elements later in the series. Some triggers may not be specifically tagged. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This fic will contain explicit content. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your best friend for years, but you’re slapped in the face with reality when he takes things to the next level with his girlfriend.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Thor

Note: Tuesday! Ugh.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s nearly midnight in Norway by the time you’re free of the airport. The train station isn’t far; it’s part of the airport. You wait on a bench between the rails as your boarding is two hours away. You sit with your luggage and mope. This new land only adds to the gloom clinging to you. 

You shiver as a draft flows down the tunnel. Not only is grey and grim, but it’s cold. It’s almost June but the weather is more akin to the cusp of winter and spring back home.  

Your weeks of research couldn’t prepare you for the real things. All that anticipation could never compare to that moment of desolation; alone in this far land, away from everything you knew. Everything around you is new and foreign and unwelcoming. 

When the train pulls up, you wait in queue with the other passengers. Some are native, speaking in lilted English or indecipherable Norwegian. Duolingo hasn’t done much for you as you catch only scraps of pronouns and verbs. Others are new arrivals like yourself but they seem much more certain of themselves. You feel utterly lost. 

You show your ticket and board. You tuck your bag away with the larger pieces kept at the front of the carriage and hug your carry-on in your lap. You stare out the window as the train begins to roll on the tracks, screeching as it pulls out into the black night of this strange land. 

The subtle rumble of the locomotive lulls you into a half-sleep. Your head is wrought with the ache of your building hangover and twisted visions of the life left behind. You hear Steve’s final goodbye, you feel the hug that was snugger on your end than his, and you feel the razor of Peggy’s spiteful eye. Even in a stupour, you can’t forget it. You hope Sam is right and that it will fade with time, yet you fear it might all be gone for good. 

You wake as the automated voice announces your stop as the next one. You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. You’re trying to be optimistic. Just focus on work. That’s what this is all about. Everyone keeps saying it and you haven’t heard any of them. This is a great opportunity. What you’ve been hoping for all these years. How did you forget that?  

You disembark and drag your bag behind your heavy feet. You’re exhausted but you still have a trek to go. Everything looks so different than back home. Small differences but enough to reinforce your displacement. 

You find the rental car kiosk at the other end of the station and show your reservation. Work is paying for that too. Apparently, you’ll need it to get to the site. Another harbinger of desolation. 

You hook up your phone to the built-in bluetooth and tap the address already saved in your maps. The app takes a moment to recenter and finally, you’re off. You wonder if you should even be driving. You’re definitely not drunk anymore but you’re barely awake. 

It’s only an hours ride across the city, just along the ridges that look off onto the coast. It’s beautiful. You can see that even through your melancholy.  

The morning rises as you get your key to the blue paneled townhouse. You should try to stay up to reset your clock but you’re jet lagged to the bone. The moment the door is locked, you let your bags fall to the floor and stumble through to the first piece of furniture you see. You collapse face first onto the couch, unable to feel the impact as you plummet into a deep sleep. 

Time, space, and all your pain disappears. There is only the endless void of fatigue. Your mind is too tired to summon nightmares or nonsensical visions. Your body is so drained that even your brain is empty. 

You wake on your arm, fingers tingling painfully as your shoulder muscles burn. You hiss and sit up. The bend of your fingers and a shaky attempt to move your elbow make you whine. Ugh. You rub feeling back into the limb as you lean against the back of the couch. 

You look around, finally able to take it all in. The house is neat and sleek. White plaster and pale wood finishes. The couch you sit on is a sectional and there’s a match ottoman across from you. The TV mounted on the wall reflects the shadow of the archway behind you and the tall lamp in the corner and the stone and marble ornaments. 

You rise, wobbling on your legs, and put your arms out to get your bearings. You meander through the townhouse. You can hardly admire the furnished interior as it underlines your loneliness. All this space for just you. 

There’s a kitchen at the rear of the house, a large wooden island standing center to a fridge with a glass door and polished counters carved in granite. The tiles are pristinely placed diamonds in hexagons and a large window looks out into the rain-soaked yard. It’s night again, or maybe that’s what the daylight looks like here. 

Upstairs, there’s a bedroom and a bathroom. A full tub and separate shower, two sinks set into a sparkling counter, and a wall of mirrors above them. It truly is a dream but why doesn’t it feel like it? 

You amble down stairs and fish out your phone. The battery is at eight percent. You have several texts. All from Sam. You only remember then why you don’t see any from Steve. No, you won’t check. 

You quickly type that you’ve landed safely and set the cell down. You’ll let it die before you plug back in. You need time. You need to get yourself straight. You need to accept that this is all real. You made this choice.  

You’re starting over. It’s a new life and there’s no room for your heart here. 

💟

You have the night to unpack, more than just your luggage. Still, there are things you can’t let out. Not yet. As much as the blade twists in your chest, taking it out will mean a deluge you can’t quell. For now, you just won’t think about it. 

You sleep a few more hours and wake just before six. You have your bag ready to go for the day. You tie on your boots and pull on a lined jacket before braving the Norwegian summer. You lock the door behind you and yawn into the brisk air. 

Before you head for the site, you stop at a cafe you see along the way. You get an egg biscuit and a coffee with extra espresso. You’re sure to add on a snack to eat between your work. 

You drive towards the greater mountains and turn onto the road that angles up the side. You follow the curved ledge as the GPS guides you through the car speakers. The drive is two hours up, maybe a bit quicker on the way down. Suddenly, a ping sounds from the system and you glance at the screen; ‘signal lost’. Shoot. It’s okay. You think you’re almost there. 

You pull over, not that there’s much space to do so. You have the physical maps you’ll use for the work itself. You find yourself amid the lines and symbols and memorise the path forward. You continue on cautiously, reassured as you’re met with a sign that delineates the site. The plot has already been closed off with a fence. 

‘Grant land. No trespassing.’ 

You park just outside the fencing and grab your bag and your breakfast. You sit on the hood and eat as you look over the muddy site. You read the grant report. It’s here they think there was a settlement. Not a very big one but an important one.  

The rock wall hugs the site in an almost perfect basin as the slick land is barren of almost any growth. You’ll start with gridding it all out, both with string and on paper. You clap your hands off and get up to begin. The process will keep your distracted. 

You put your earbud in and set to task. You pause to sip coffee and mark the paper between planting the stakes and the string the twine to divvy it all up in squares. You watch where you put each step, the mud sucking at your treads. A wet site is never an easy one. 

It takes the first day just to prep for digging and you don’t even think you’re done. You’re tired and achy and ready to go home. It’ll take you nearly three hours back by your guess. The night will be a short one as you figure you’ll need to head out earlier, especially if you hope to take advantage of the fleeting sunlight. 

As you get back to the townhouse, it’s night again. You walk down to a fish restaurant just a block away. The faces are friendly and the food is good, but it all seems so bland. You eat and go back to your accommodation. Not home, just a place to lay your head. 

You check your phone. Back amid the world of the living, you have a dozen messages; Sam, Bucky, your mom, Arturo. You respond to each of them in turn, assuring them that all is well. You don’t have the energy for much more. 

Yet it isn’t up to you. Your phone chimes at you as you near the bed, sitting on the edge as you answer. You know with Sam that ignoring him will only make him worse. 

“Hey,” you answer with an unrestrained yawn. 

“Yo, how ya feeling?” he asks. 

“Erm, tired,” you lean forward, crossing and arm over your knees. “How are things there?” 

“Eh, usual. So, uh, did that paradise punch knock you on your ass too or am I getting old?” He chuckles. 

“Heh, yeah, no I’m feeling it still,” you mutter. 

“Mm, it’s late there...” he says, “sorry, if I’m keeping you up.” 

“No, it’s fine. Just... a lot of driving.” 

“Oh? You worked today?” 

“Wanted to get a head start,” you shrug as you play with the fold of your pajamas across your knee. 

“How is it? Is it bleak? Cold? Are the men gruff?” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Grey. Bit chilly but it’s not bad around noon,” you say dully, “haven’t seen much of the locals. With how long it takes me to get up the mountain...” 

“Oh, a mountain,” he echoes enthusiastically, “that’s exciting.” 

“I guess. Eats away the day.” 

“I’m sure,” he agrees glumly, “hey, don’t forget to treat yourself. Take a weekend off and hit that spa.” 

“I will. I just got here.” 

“Well, we all miss you,” he says. “Bucky especially. We got in a huge blow out the other day over the string in his hoodie.” 

“Of course you did,” you can’t help but laugh. 

“Really, I didn’t do anything. I was trying to fix it and it just... slipped inside, I don’t know. I don’t think it was about the string,” he snickers. “Probably having to deal with Steve and his--” Sam stops himself, “sorry.” 

“What? No, it’s fine. Really. I came out here to get away but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.” 

“I know but you’re tryna forget him. Like you should,” Sam insists. “And he’ll realise soon enough what he missed out on all these years. And you need to do the same. Go out, explore, enjoy it. You’ll need to have some good stories to bring back to us here, we’re dying of boredom without you.” 

“Yeah, uh, I’ll try,” you grumble, “anyway, I gotta head out early for the dig so I should let you go.” 

“Right, of course,” he agrees, “don’t be a stranger.” 

“I won’t. Promise.” 

“Night,” he says. 

You return a ‘good night’ and hang up. You toss your phone onto the pillow and heave as you clutch your head. You hate this. Why did you come all this way just to suffer? You should have just stuck it out. Sat on the sidelines like you always did and just swallow it all down. This is worse. Being so alone.  

There’s no going back. Not now. So you just need to get through this and after... after you’ll just have to face Mr. and Mrs. Rogers with a fake smile and broken heart. 

💟

The next week goes by much like your first days there. You wake up, drive up the mountain, plot, dig, clean up, and drive back. You sleep almost as soon as you sit down. You don’t have time to mull over what you left behind, not as you catalogue every bone and bead you come across. 

You check in with Arturo when you can, just to confirm that everything is going according to plan. Often, you’re asleep when anyone else calls. You wake up to notifications from your mom and Sam and even Bucky. You should call them back but you just can’t. You can’t put on a fake voice for them. Not yet. 

You take a day off. Only after Arturo insists. You know you should. You may as well have a proper grocery shop. You can’t keep living off the cafe and fish shop.  

The shop feels more like a market. You pick through produce and meats, and get what’s easy. You’ll cook it all and package it up so you can just heat it up later. Some muffins to eat on your way up the mountain and maybe a few protein bars. 

As you trawl the grocery store aisles, you pull out your phone. You have a pile of unread notifications from Insta. You don’t often check it anyway but your curious and a little homesick. 

You see your mom’s post about her trip to the vineyard with her book club pals and Sam’s story with a very agitated looking Bucky. That makes you laugh. You scroll by some crafting videos and the pages you follow of castle curators living your aspirational goals. 

Then you stop. You pull the cart still and go rigid as you stare at the screen. The image of Steve and Peggy burns into your retinas like a blinding light. It’s there engagement announcement. He has her in his arms, kissing her, as she holds out her hand to the camera to show off the diamond. 

You can’t breathe. Your chest is on fire and your ears are ringing. It’s like salt in the wound and you don’t doubt it's intentional, at least on Peggy’s part.  

Your hands shake as you grip the phone tightly and tap on Steve’s username. You ignore the rest of his profile and the pictures you know will only add to the turmoil brewing in your stomach. You hit the button in the corner and tap again and again. ‘You are about to block ‘starsnstripes18, are you sure’. Yes and yes! 

You lock the screen and drop the phone into your purse, nestled into the basket of the cart. You grasp the bar and push the cart forward, steadying your steps with it. You look between the shelves and exhale. 

You need to go cold turkey. No more Steve, no more Peggy, no more New York. You stood still so long, it feels good to run away from it all. 

[doujindungeon]

summary: even with his high profile, alex wasn't above or against using the tube to get around london. this time however, your ride together was a lot more different than usual. rating: nc-17 pairing: f!reader/alex content warnings: established relationship, smut, exhibitionism, sex in a subway (the transportation system not the sandwich franchise !) word count: 0.5k previous one-shot - george r. | next one-shot - fernando a.

“Alex, you’re not minding the gap.”

Though quiet and rather labored, there was a teasing mirth in your voice as you spoke. With the subway car packed to the gills with local commuters and gallivanting travelers from abroad, along with the usual hum of the Tube speeding beneath the nightly bustle of London, you anticipated your words to be drowned out by the surrounding noise.

However, as you continued to face the somewhat worn poster denoting proper public etiquette on the London Underground that was plastered on the wall, your boyfriend proceeded to intrude further into your space in response, eliciting a hushed gasp from your lips while you found yourself ushered further into the corner of the subway car.

“Well, I have to keep close, unless you wanna give a show to everyone on board, darling.”

While you couldn’t look back to face him, you knew fully well that there was a grin that was as wide as could be on his face.

Even as his teeth were clamping down onto his bottom lip in pleasure.

After all, with some sneaky tugs at the front of his jeans and discreet yanks at the hem of your dress, he was happily plugging your cunt full with his cock from behind, his thrusts subtle, slow, yet divinely deep. Paired with the turns, bumps, and stops along the track of the Tube, you were left enthralled in sheer euphoria as you felt his hips rock against your backside.

Tucked away in your own little section of the subway car, locked and engaged together in your own personal debauchery.

Willingly at that.

Though Alex was of mind to dress accordingly–a plain fitted cap tugged down as lowly as possible to shadow over his eyes, a facemask to obscure his trademark smile, clothes that bore not a single designer brand logo–he was still very much the Alex Albon.

Risking the chance of getting caught being intimate with his lover in such a public setting within the capital city of the country he was born in seemed too absurd to even consider in the first place.

However, since recently earning your forgiveness after a nasty spat that saw him accidentally pointing his frustrations from the season towards your direction, he was utterly determined to make things right.

Fulfilling one of your long-harbored fantasies was just one step to achieving that.

Besides, he was more than happy to put his tall, towering stature to use, hiding you behind his frame with ease as he continued to sink his cock deep into the slick heat of your core.

As he choked back a groan as he felt the sweet squeeze of your cunt clamp around his dick, Alex matched your amused tone as he leaned forward to utter out,

“Though, if we had to give everyone a show, we should at least get paid for it, yeah?”

It was then that the automated announcement for the next approaching stop played throughout the subway car, with some passengers preparing their belongings to soon leave while others shifted over in anticipation of freed seats.

For you and Alex however, the two of you weren’t getting off until he successfully got you off.

-----------------------

that's the second stop on the "pole positions" express !!! 🚂💃

maybe i write about running a train with some of the drivers next--

stay tuned for spanish ossan appreciation tomorrow at 11 am est !!! 🙆‍♀️💚

[blissfulrain12]

Curly Doesn't Care About His Reputation or Being the Hero

Jimmy however does. I keep seeing people say that Curly acts or doesn't act to save his reputation or that he has a savior complex when that's Jimmy not Curly.

See this is a trait of Jimmy's that he projects onto Curly. He's the only one to ever bring up or talk about reputation and being the hero. Jimmy brings up Curly's rep as a good captain during the cockpit convo. Jimmy insists that Curly wanted a way to ditch the crew and stay the hero during the birthday party. Jimmy is the one who brings up Curly's rep as a way to threaten Curly. Jimmy's the one who brings up being heroes as a reason to crash the ship. It's Jimmy who ultimately keeps going on about heroism and reputation as he gets everyone killed and shoves Curly into a cryopod to finally be a "hero".

Curly though? Curly never brings up either topic. Curly in fact expresses the opposite sentiment. He wants out. He's dissatisfied and wants to leave but is too hesitant. Why would he care about his reputation in a job he doesn't like in a field that is being automated out of existence? I don't even think he'd go for a space pilot/captain job again cause "space is empty" to him now. No, the fact is the concepts of reputation and heroism are only used to hurt him. His job as captain just seems to stress him leading to his inability to sleep and being forced to handle too much responsibility. And Jimmy uses them to silence and mischaracterize Curly repeatedly.

[th3mrskory]

Terms & Conditions

Pairing: fem!Reader x Tony Stark

Warning: none.

Word count: 3k

A/N: Divorced couple forced to work together on a merger. Heavily inspired by Suits and Succession because, clearly, I have a type. IDK if this is going to be a series or not, we'll see... also thank you @tezooks for the interest on this fic!

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

Y/n’s heels echoed sharply against the polished marble floor as she walked toward the conference room. The familiar hum of the office surrounded her, but her mind was already in the meeting, calculating, strategizing. Every step was deliberate, each movement precise.

She turned the corner to find Linda waiting by the conference room door, her posture as immaculate as ever, her gaze steady. Linda had been with the firm for years—long enough to understand the weight of every decision Y/n made, and long enough to be trusted without question.

“Good morning,” Y/n greeted, her tone crisp, but warm enough to convey a sense of connection.

Linda’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles as she met Y/n’s eyes. “Good morning, Ms. Y/n. Everything’s in place for the meeting.”

Y/n’s eyes flicked to the door of the conference room. “And Tony?”

Linda’s smile faded, her expression carefully neutral. “He’s already in there. Waiting.”

Y/n’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second before she nodded. “Let him wait. He thrives on anticipation.” She adjusted her suit, ensuring everything was perfectly in place before meeting Linda’s eyes once more. “Thank you for the heads-up.”

Linda offered a silent nod in response, her respect for Y/n clear in the way she carried herself. “Of course. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

With that, Y/n gave a small nod of acknowledgment, the brief exchange enough to communicate the trust between them. Without another word, she pushed open the door to the conference room, her presence commanding the space before she even entered.

All eyes turned to her—except one.

Leaning back in one of the leather chairs at the far end of the table, her ex-husband lounged like he owned the place. Technically, he did own a chunk of it. His tie was loose, his tailored jacket draped over the chair next to him, and a mischievous smirk played on his lips as he scrolled through his phone.

“Well, well,well” he drawled without looking up, “the queen has arrived. Let the peasants rejoice.”

The corner of her mouth twitched, but she masked it with a pointed glance at her watch. “And here I thought you’d be too busy golfing to show up. Or was it poker night at the club?”

Finally, he looked up, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Poker’s tomorrow. Today’s just my weekly charity work.” He gestured around the room. “You know, teaching the juniors how the grown-ups do mergers.”

One of the younger associates coughed to cover a laugh, and Y/n’s gaze swept over the room, silencing them with a single arch of her brow.

“Charity work?” she echoed, walking to her seat at the head of the table. “That’s funny. I thought your specialty was tax avoidance and charming widows.”

“Not just widows,” he quipped, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “I have a pretty good track record with divorcees, too.”

Her hand tightened on the back of her chair, but her voice stayed cool. “So good, you’re two for two. Impressive.”

The room collectively froze, caught in the crossfire of their razor-sharp exchange. The senior partner on her right cleared his throat nervously, trying to cut the tension. “Shall we get started?”

“Please,” Y/n said smoothly, lowering herself into her seat. “We’re here to finalize the merger details for Sterling & Co. before their board meeting tomorrow. I trust everyone has reviewed the financial reports?”

“Oh, I’ve reviewed them,” her ex chimed in, pulling a neatly folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. “There’s just one problem. Page 17—projections for the fourth quarter are laughable. Unless Sterling’s CFO moonlights as a magician, those numbers are pure fiction.”

There were a few nervous chuckles around the table, and Y/n arched an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you didn’t find their magical 20% growth plan convincing? Shocking.”

“Shocking is how long it took for someone to point it out,” he shot back, leaning forward.

She raised an eyebrow, flipping to the page in question. “I suppose you’re volunteering to rewrite their business plan?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve saved a failing venture,” he said, leaning back with an infuriatingly confident smirk. “Or reminded someone to check their blind spots.” He slid a file across the table.

She picked it up, skimming the contents. Her lips pursed, and for a moment, the room held its breath.

“Not bad,” she admitted, her tone grudging. “For someone who spends more time golfing than working.”

He leaned back, grinning. “You’d be amazed at how productive I can be between holes.”

“Spare us the details,” she retorted, her eyes still on the file. “Let’s focus on salvaging this merger before Sterling’s board meeting tomorrow.”

Tony leaned back, his hands behind his head, his grin infuriatingly smug. “Fine. But if we’re going to save Sterling, we need to talk about their litigation risks. Their portfolio’s a disaster.”

Y/n glanced up, her expression sharp. “I’ve already flagged that. Their employment practices alone are a lawsuit waiting to happen. The severance disputes in their HR files could sink them if they’re not handled correctly.”

“Handled correctly?” Tony echoed, feigning shock. “Darling, they need a complete overhaul. Their HR policies look like they were written on a napkin in the ‘80s. I suggest we include mandatory compliance training as part of the merger terms.”

She raised an eyebrow, flipping to another section of the report. “I’ve already drafted a clause for that. But compliance training alone won’t cut it. We need to clean house, starting with their general counsel.”

Tony whistled low, clearly impressed. “Ouch. Cold as ever. But you’re not wrong. Their general counsel is... how should I put this? Underwhelming. What’s your plan for the inevitable PR fallout when we push them out?”

“Mitigation,” she replied, not missing a beat. “We’ll preemptively frame it as a step toward modernization and efficiency. Their board will eat it up, especially if we back it with an improved diversity and inclusion plan.”

Tony smirked. “Always ten steps ahead, aren’t you?”

“Someone has to be,” she shot back. “While you’re busy charming the press and schmoozing clients, I’m the one keeping the ship from sinking.”

“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, “I schmooze strategically. You’d be surprised how much a little charm can smooth over merger tensions.”

“Charm doesn’t fix bad contracts,” she countered. “Or litigation traps. Sterling’s arbitration agreements are a mess, and their partnership structure is barely holding together. If we don’t address those, this merger will be dead on arrival.”

Tony sat up, his tone serious now. “Agreed. Let’s restructure their partnership agreements entirely—transition them to a tiered equity model. It’ll stabilize their revenue streams and make it easier to retain top talent post-merger.”

Y/n nodded, jotting notes as he spoke. “Good. But we’ll need to sweeten the deal for their junior partners. Increased buy-in options tied to performance metrics should do the trick. We’ll incentivize loyalty without draining their resources.”

“Smart,” he said, leaning forward. “But let’s not forget client retention. Sterling’s client portfolio is solid, but they’re vulnerable. If we don’t reassure their top clients during this transition, we risk defections.”

“I’ve already scheduled meetings with their top five clients,” she replied. “We’ll present the merger as a move toward stronger, more efficient representation. If we position it correctly, we can even upsell them on additional services.”

Tony’s grin returned. “God, I missed this. Watching you destroy everyone else’s arguments is like poetry in motion.”

She didn’t look up, her pen still moving across the page. “Focus, Tony. We’re not here to reminisce.”

The senior partner cleared his throat, interrupting the moment. “If I may,” he began hesitantly, “how do you propose handling Sterling’s ongoing class-action suit? Their legal team seems... ill-equipped.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Ill-equipped" is putting it mildly. Their lead counsel couldn’t argue his way out of a parking ticket. I’ll take point on this one.”

Y/n shook her head. “No. You’ll assist, but this is my case. I’ve already started drafting a strategy. First, we push for mediation. If that fails, we’ve got a fallback plan for a quick settlement. The longer this drags on, the more it jeopardizes the merger.”

Tony smirked. “Always the control freak.”

“Always the improviser,” she shot back. “Which is why you’re better as my backup.”

The team exchanged amused glances, their dynamic both entertaining and awe-inspiring.

Tony leaned back, giving her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. You drive; I’ll navigate.”

As the meeting progressed, the room buzzed with energy. Y/n and Tony dissected every aspect of the merger with precision, their combined expertise a masterclass in legal strategy.

By the time the meeting adjourned, the team looked equal parts exhausted and inspired.

“Alright,” Y/n said, gathering her notes. “Tony, I expect your revisions on the partnership agreements by midnight.”

He smirked. “Midnight? Cutting me some slack, will you?”

“Don’t push your luck,” she replied, her tone sharp but with a hint of a smile.

As the team filed out, Tony lingered, his eyes following her as she packed up her things.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “we make a hell of a team.”

She paused, her expression unreadable. “We always did.”

The team exchanged glances, marveling at the seamless way the two bounced ideas off each other. It was like watching two virtuosos perform a duet—each one pushing the other to greater heights.

Y/n gathered her notes, sliding them into her leather portfolio with meticulous precision, fully aware of Tony’s eyes tracking her every move. His gaze was too heavy, too familiar.

“So,” he said casually, leaning against the edge of the table like he owned not just the furniture but the air she was breathing, “since we’re working so well together, how about lunch? To strategize further, of course. I hear that new French place downtown is incredible.”

She glanced up, arching a brow. “Lunch? Is that your latest excuse for trying to spend more time with me?”

“Excuse?” he repeated, his tone mock-wounded as he straightened. “Ouch, sweetheart. I thought you’d jump at the chance to pick my brain over a plate of foie gras.”

Y/n’s lips twitched—almost—but she didn’t give him the satisfaction. “Your brain is the last thing I’d want to pick, Tony. And stop calling me ‘sweetheart.’”

“Force of habit,” he replied, the smirk in his voice as audible as the one gracing his lips. He stepped closer, invading her space, his cologne a maddening reminder of nights she didn’t want to remember but couldn’t forget. “But come on. Just lunch. Strictly professional. You have my word.”

“Your word?” she repeated, closing her portfolio with a sharp snap. “Excuse me if I don’t find that particularly reassuring.”

He leaned down, hands on the table on either side of her notes, caging her in with that infuriating mix of charm and audacity. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”

Her breath hitched despite herself. Damn him. “You’re worse.”

His smirk widened as his dark eyes bore into hers. “You’re smiling, though.”

“Barely,” she countered, stepping back—or trying to. The table behind her left nowhere to go.

Tony’s grin softened, a rare flicker of something real slipping through. “You used to like my bad habits.”

“That was before I knew better,” she shot back, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge.

He tilted his head, closing the space between them again, so close now she could feel the heat radiating from him. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, and her pulse betrayed her, quickening.

“For the record,” he murmured, his voice low and impossibly smooth, “you haven’t learned a thing. Otherwise, you’d have kicked me out by now.”

She swallowed hard, willing her composure back. “Don’t tempt me.”

Tony chuckled, his breath brushing her cheek. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”

The air between them crackled, the distance practically nonexistent. His hand drifted just slightly, brushing her arm, a touch so brief it could have been accidental—but wasn’t.

And then, as if the moment teetered on the edge of something neither of them was ready to admit, Y/n sidestepped, breaking the spell.

“Lunch,” she said briskly, grabbing her portfolio and stepping around him. “Twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”

He turned as she walked away, his smirk returning, though his voice was softer. “When am I ever late?”

She didn’t answer, disappearing through the door with her usual grace.

The French bistro had a quiet sophistication that suited the occasion. Light chatter filled the room, underscored by soft classical music, but Y/n barely noticed. Her focus was on the folder in front of her, its contents neatly arranged—notes, projections, and proposals that could make or break the merger.

Tony arrived a few minutes late, as usual, but with the air of someone who knew how to make an entrance. He shed his coat and slid into the seat across from her, his casual demeanor contrasting sharply with her poised professionalism.

“So, what’s on the agenda, boss?”

Y/n’s lips twitched at the title, but she let it slide. “Sterling,” she said, cutting straight to the point. “They’re playing hardball on equity redistribution. I’ve outlined our options, but we need to decide on a strategy before the board meeting tomorrow.”

Tony leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Let me guess—they’re trying to hold out for a bigger piece of the pie?”

“Exactly,” she confirmed. “But their position isn’t as strong as they think. They’re banking on us blinking first.”

The waiter appeared, interrupting them briefly to take their orders. Y/n opted for a salade niçoise, Tony for steak frites. As soon as the waiter left, Tony turned back to her, his expression unusually serious.

“So, what’s the play?” he asked, scanning the document she slid across the table.

“We present minor concessions as a gesture of goodwill,” she explained. “Enough to make them feel like they’ve won something, but not enough to disrupt the structure. If they push for more, we call their bluff. Their position won’t hold up under scrutiny, and they know it.”

Tony nodded, his eyes darting over the document. “Solid plan. But what if they double down instead? They might drag this out just to see how far we’ll bend.”

“I’ve factored that in,” Y/n said, pulling another sheet from her portfolio. “This is our fallback position. It’s not ideal, but it’ll keep the deal moving forward without giving up too much leverage.”

He studied the paper, his brow furrowing slightly. “You’ve been busy.”

“Someone has to be,” she replied dryly.

Tony glanced up, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “You know, most people would have called it a day after the last round of negotiations. But not you.”

“Most people aren’t trying to save a multi-million-dollar merger,” she shot back.

His lips curved into a faint smile, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before shifting to the folder still open on the table.

“So,” he began, his tone casual, “what’s your take on Sterling’s new CFO? Walters, right? He’s been suspiciously quiet in these meetings.”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Quiet, but not absent. He’s been feeding his team notes—counterpoints, objections. He’s not as passive as he seems.”

Tony nodded thoughtfully, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. “That’s what I figured. I had a chat with one of his former colleagues. Apparently, Walters likes to fly under the radar until he’s ready to pounce.”

She arched a brow. “And you just happened to run into one of his colleagues?”

“What can I say?” he replied, a hint of mischief in his tone. “I like to be thorough.”

“Thorough,” she repeated, her voice laced with skepticism.

“Thorough,” he confirmed, his grin widening. “You trust me, don’t you?”

“On this?” she said after a pause. “Yes. But don’t push it.”

Their conversation paused as the waiter returned with their food. Tony’s steak frites looked indulgent compared to her lighter salad, but he didn’t comment, instead diving into the meal with surprising restraint.

As they ate, the discussion shifted to logistics: timelines, integration plans, and the delicate task of managing client lists. Tony contributed more than she’d expected, his insights sharp and his instincts—when not veering into overly charming territory—on point.

“I’ll follow up with Walters,” he said as they reached the end of their plates. “See if I can’t get a better read on him.”

Y/n hesitated, her fork hovering over her plate. “Be careful. He’s not the type to underestimate. If he realizes you’re fishing for information—”

“He won’t,” Tony interrupted smoothly. “I’ll keep it subtle. Promise.”

She gave him a long look, weighing her trust against her better judgment. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But let me know what you find.”

“Always,” he said, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. “What would you do without me?”

“Sleep better, for one,” she replied, closing her portfolio with a sharp snap.

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair enough.”

As they stood to leave, Tony lingered for a moment, holding the door open for her. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something quieter, almost thoughtful.

“You know,” he said as they stepped into the street, “for all your talk about strategy, I think you just like keeping me on my toes.”

“Someone has to,” she quipped, her tone brisk but not unkind.

He grinned, falling into step beside her. “Well, keep it up. You’re pretty good at it.”

They walked down the street together, their usual banter fading into companionable silence. 

© th3mrskory 2025 — all rights reserved.

[asphodelsandpomegranates]

Experiment 1-1-7-0 (Huggy Wuggy x Reader)

When you had received the plans on “Experiment 1-1-7-0”, you had spat out your tea and had called your boss, Dr. Laith Pierre. He had told you that it was by no means a joke and it was one of the most important experiments that they had envisioned. After more explanations from Laith, you had finally conceded and took full commitment into making “Experiment 1-1-7-0”. 

At least two dozen scientists, including yourself, were involved with the experiment. Many people had wanted the credit for this. You felt it was kind of silly as you weren't  hundred percent sure if it would work or not. 

A couple of months later, “Experiment 1-1-7-0” or Huggy Wuggy as you had named him, much to the other fellow scientist’s chagrin, had been a major success but there were a few adjustments that needed to be made. Huggy was extremely feral, obviously from some of the animal DNA that had been put into his body and had ended up being put into a steel reinforced glass cage to keep you and the others safe. 

But you weren’t scared of him. 

When you had started your first shift with the experiment, you had gone straight over to the cage where Huggy Wuggy sat, hunched over in a corner. With a little coaxing, you got Huggy out of his shell a little and have him trust you. 

One of the head bosses had noticed this and had given you a promotion and put you in charge of looking after Hugy Wuggy. You couldn’t have been happier. 

*************

Entering the basement of the factory, you made your way to the clocking machine and then straight to Huggy Wuggy’s cage. 

The large, blue furred creature was no longer slouched in a corner but lying on his left side at one side of the cage. You made your way round to that side of the cage and sat down with your legs tucked in to one side. 

You tapped your fingers gently against the glass that was encased with steel. Huggy Wuggy jerked a little in his sleep and blinked open his large dark eyes. He moved his crescent shaped head up towards you. 

“Morning, sweetie.” you cooed, wagging your fingers in a kind of wave. 

Huggy’s big red lips curled into a big smile and began to sit up a little. 

“Hey, boy. Did you sleep well?” 

Huggy made a loud chirping sound in response and began to shuffle a little closer to the glass wall that divided you. 

“Yeah, that’s great.” you said. “Have you had anything to eat yet?” 

Huggy shook his head in an innocent fashion that made him look adorable, considering the large beast that he was created to be. 

Looks could be very deceiving. 

“Okay, I’ll go and find someone to get your food. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Huggy suddenly made a stage noise that sounded almost like a whimper. It made you halt as you began to get to your feet. The large furry creature was now pawing at the walls with his yellow glove-like paws. 

You stared at him, confused. Then it dawned on you. The only times he acted like this was when you left him after your shift ended. The poor creature often pawed at the glass wall and whimpered as you w9uld say your goodbyes to him. More to the point, Huggy would roar and claw wildly at his cage as you left and the noise would echo throughout the whole factory. One time, he had attacked one of your colleagues sending her to the hospital, all because he missed you. 

Now, the poor thing was thinking you were going to leave him again. 

“It’s okay, boy.” you reassured him.. “I won’t be gone long, I swear. Just to find someone and get your food. I’ll be back soon.” 

Huggy still continued to whimper but relented as you got to your feet and gently made your way over to a coworker. 

“Hey, Ross. Can you get me some food for Huggy?” 

“Sure. I’ll be about five minutes.” 

“Thank you.” 

You then made your way back to Huggy’s cage and typed in the key code: 56437. 

“Holding cell open.” came the automated voice and you stepped inside. 

The moment you stepped in, Huggy’s long limbed arms came around you and pulled you closer to him. Immediately, your ears were swamped with low purring. 

It still baffled you how such an odd creature like Huggy could be so sweet and caring?

You reached up and scratched the spot between his eyes, making the purring grow louder. 

(The End)

[mangotheguy]

Overloaded Beneath the Vigil

AO3 link

Ships: Commandant/Lee, Commandant & Lee (Lee's and Commandant's relationship is up to interpretation.)

Tags: gn!reader, sfw, Lee:Hyperreal, Canon Compliant, Light Angst, M.I.N.D overload, Sensory Overload, Duty, Caretaking, Sleep Deprivation, Overworking, Reader-Insert, Y/N

Summary:

The Commandant fell asleep in his office again, only to be found by Lee: Hyperreal. As Lee carefully carries them to their room, he battles his own inner turmoil.

Notes:

First time posting. I've been really into Lee lately, especially after exploring his affection stories. I haven't finished the main story yet, so sorry for any inaccuracies! I based everything on his voicelines, secrets, etc.

Lee sighed. This was a common sight for him, but nonetheless a little disappointing. Was this their way of revenge on him? To make him worry by showing off that humans can also stay up for three days straight like he does?

“Commandant. I brought the documents you req–” Lee wanted to finish his sentence but was interrupted by what he saw in Y/N's office. They were asleep at their desk.

But he brushed his worries aside and walked towards their desk, placing a few papers on top of the other stacks of documents.

Lee thought that their desk was always riddled with those. “Annoying. Let them rest sometimes,” he muttered unconsciously under his breath.

He looked up at the Commandant again. His expression softened, and he leaned his head on the side of the desk. There's no hurry, he thought. With his left hand, he reached out to Y/N's hair, fiddling with it. He curled it around his fingers, analyzing how it felt and moved between his digits. A gentle smile wore on his face as he enjoyed this quiet moment. When he was about to reach out and caress the Commandant's cheek, he was startled and froze.

Lee stood behind the desk, next to the Commandant's chair, which had now become their bed. With a sigh, he crouched down next to them, but instead of his usual gentle nagging, he just stared at Y/N. He was getting sick of them overworking constantly again. His gaze shifted to the ground. Why isn't their paperwork automated at this point? We have damn constructs, yet more paperwork. Nonsense.

Lee huffed, annoyed.

“Lee… ” said the leader softly. Were they awake?

Lee stood up. He recognized that he was acting strangely and tried to recover by doing his usual routine. “Commandant..? Commandant! Are you awake?” he said very softly.

“Nghh,” only grumbling could be heard from Y/N as they shifted in their sleep.

Lee placed his hand on Y/N's back: “Commandant..?” No response. Thank god, they were still sleeping. Lee became flushed and facepalmed, screaming at himself from the inside.

“Ugh. What's wrong with me?” Lee whispered to himself. He'd never done that before. Usually, he'd quickly scoop up the Commandant and get them to bed. Tonight was an exception he didn't anticipate. Maybe he needed to recompile some of his system.

After chewing himself out, Lee lifted Y/N up bridal style. He noted how light they were compared to a few months ago. Or maybe he had just become stronger? “Either way, they should gain some weight,” Lee said to himself.

On his way to Y/N's room, he took great care to avoid any witnesses. Every night he'd keep hacking into the camera system, unnoticed. Mostly because he didn't want rumors spreading about Gray Raven's great leader. But in the back of his mind, he knew that was the perfect excuse to be more… selfish. Only he would see Y/N sleepy and vulnerable like this. Although he knew other constructs, especially Lucia and Liv, knew about this bad habit of theirs, he was the one by their side every night. It was his moment. “Everyone has their eyes on you, Commandant… ” Lee whispered as he pressed his forehead against theirs. “Just let me have this.”

Lee's M.I.N.D started to deviate. A potential M.I.N.D overload was imminent. “Shit,” cursed Lee, and he quietly placed the Commandant on the ground, leaning against the floor. He sat next to them, letting them rest on his shoulder while he waited to be overloaded for a few seconds. For some reason, he kept having these issues, especially in front of the Commandant, which he felt embarrassed about. He thought that performing multiple highly precise calculations at the same time was one of the only ways to get a M.I.N.D overload, but that wasn't the case anymore. At times, he couldn't convince himself anymore that this wouldn't cause any data errors or affect his daily work.

“Urgh…” Lee groaned, his M.I.N.D spontaneously overloading. He held his head between his hands, leaning his arms against his knees. They usually lasted only a few seconds, but every time those few seconds were excruciating. And this time he didn't have a conscious leader to rely on. “Rely… on? Urgh,” Lee groaned again, cursing his newfound weakness. He had been relying on others more, but he didn't want anyone to know about this, especially his Commandant. But their mere presence made these moments ever so slightly more bearable. Every time a M.I.N.D overload happened and they were there, he'd gain more conviction. He would keep the Commandant safe, no matter how painful these moments were.

Lee closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. “Ahh…” Relief. Finally. He pinched the space between his eyes, readjusting his focal length. As he came to, Y/N was still resting on his shoulder. “Hah. You could probably sleep through anything, Commandant,” Lee laughed. As if on instinct, Y/N curled up and readjusted their sleeping position. Seeing this, Lee fought back his inner voice's reactions to the sight. He felt guilty for seeing this side of Y/N. Lee gave up on checking the security cameras. He convinced himself that overchecking the cams was the cause of his M.I.N.D overload. If there were any witnesses, so be it. He leaned his head against Y/N's and closed his eyes.

“If I no longer see you here at this time one day, I'm sure it'll take me a long time to get used to it…” he confessed. To whom? Who knows. Best not to ruminate on it.

A strange feeling of comfort enveloped him as he embraced the idea that his time with them is limited. No matter how many philosophical books he read about time, everyone agreed that there's no escaping it. Life is followed by death. Destruction creates energy. “Miracles” come at a high price. If miracles did exist, he would gladly become the price for them. For they are priceless to him.

When Lee had fully accepted the stillness around the two of them, he had made a full recovery and could finish his task of tucking the Commandant into bed.

As he laid down the blanket, he stared at them a while longer. His excuse being that he was guarding them just in case they were followed. After making sure Y/N's breathing and status seemed stable, Lee leaned by the bedroom door. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms, staying like that for the rest of the night. Thirty minutes before Y/N's alarm went off, Lee left the room.

When the Commandant entered the kitchen that morning, they were greeted by Lee.

“Morning. You awake? I made too much coffee, so you can have some.” It was a blatant lie, and they both knew it. Nonetheless, Y/N chuckled as Lee lowered his head to hide his slightly flushed face. He didn't need to lie to them about such a small thing, but old habits die hard.

They enjoyed the rest of their breakfast together. The Commandant ate some breakfast as Lee gave them a briefing on tomorrow’s mission. He couldn't help but notice them spacing out instead of listening to him.

Notes:

He said jokingly: “Why do you keep staring at me? Do I have the mission brief on my face?”

Thanks for reading! Please leave your thoughts in the comments.