#but I’ll take it. I’ll make it. as a treat. AND WHAT A TREAT THIS WAS your world building is chefs fucking kiss here

[kitkatscabinet]

MURDER ON THE DANCEFLOOR

requested by anon

pairing: dick grayson x fem! reader

summary: He hands you his drink, a simple, innocent gesture. Twenty minutes later, you're unresponsive in his arms, and what started as a pleasant night evolves into the worst moment of his life.

word count: 5.6k

"I hate these things." Dick grumped, fiddling with his tie for the hundredth time that night.

You reached up to swat his hands away gently. "What, the tie or the gala?"

"Both." He whines, grabbing one of your hands and tangling your fingers with his.

"You say that every time Bruce drags you to one of these, you're such a baby." You mock, leaning in to peck his pouty lips.

His lips twitch with the effort it takes to keep pretending to frown. "You know, I'm starting to think you keep showing up on my arm just because you like watching me suffer."

"You caught me," you grin slyly before adjusting his tie properly, "Or maybe I just like seeing you in a tux."

His breath hitches, adoration painted across his face as he leans closer, "That so? You’re not so bad yourself, y’know. Very distracting."

You rolled your eyes, trying to appear nonchalant, but you couldn't prevent the flutter in your stomach at his attention. It was hardly your first gala together, Dick had seen you dressed up plenty of times before, but everytime he looked at you as if you were a goddess.

He drapes an arm over your shoulder, pulling you snug against his side. "Let’s just get through this thing. Then it’s you, me, some cheap Chinese takeout, and most importantly, no pants."

"Oh, baby, you really know how to treat a woman." You giggled, kissing his jaw and leaving a lipstick stain that he either doesn't notice or doesn't care to wipe off.

The two of you stay like that, standing on the fringes of the room, content to ignore everyone else, until you spot Cass looking longingly at the dancefloor.

"Dick," you nudged him, "you should dance with Cassie."

You can tell he's hesitant to leave you, but Cassie clearly wants to dance and Dick would do anything to make his siblings happy. "Take this?" He holds out the drink he'd been nursing for 10 minutes but had yet to touch.

"Why, Mr Grayson, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk." You joked, gently tugging him closer by the lapels of his jacket.

He grins as you steal a kiss just before lifting the rim of the glass to your lips. "Moscato?" You raise a brow at the choice, your favourite, "You really were planning this."

"I didn't say drink it." He tries to play innocent, but you both know he's been waiting to hand it off to you. You give the liquid a swirl before taking another sip, relishing in the sweet taste as it coats your tongue.

"Now go on, dance with your sister."

Dick’s still smiling when he leans in, brushing your cheek with a kiss. "I’ll be back in a minute."

"I'll count the seconds." You joke, waving him off like a woman seeing her husband off for war, delighting in the way Cassandra lights up as Dick leads her onto the floor.

With Dick gone, Tim sidles up to your side seamlessly, your own sleepy little guard dog as he eyes the other gala goers mistrustfully.

You snort before pulling him into your side, which he readily accepts. Your heart swells with affection for the boy you'd come to view as your own little brother.

You take another drink, trying to stave off your sudden bout of cotton mouth. When that doesn't work, you clear your throat before downing the rest of your glass.

Tim gives you an odd look, but you wave off his concern, "just a little thirsty." You don't admit that your throat is suddenly drier than the Sahara as you take a glass of water from the nearest waiter.

You take slow sips, but no matter what you do, your tongue still feels like paper. Annoying, but not unbearable, an unfortunate side effect you sometimes suffered when drinking.

A few minutes pass, and you start to think something might be wrong when your vision blurs a little. You unconsciously lean slightly against Tim, who startles as he feels the heat emanating from you. Placing the back of his palm against your forehead, before you can stop him. "Jesus, you're hot."

"Careful Timmers, wouldn't wanna make Dick jealous." You joke weakly, fanning yourself with your free hand as the heat crawls down the back of your neck and chest. "Though, it is kind of hot in here."

"I guess." Tim seemed a little unconvinced, pulling out of your grip, only for you to stumble. "Oh wow, I think you might've had a bit too much to drink."

"Hmm, maybe." You agree even if you don't remember having that much. You turn your head, wincing a little as the light reflects harshly from the chandeliers into your eyes.

"Ok, I think it's time we get you home." You nod your head, only to immediately regret it when the world spins a little bit.

"What's this? My little brother is trying to abscond with my girlfriend? Say it ain't so." Dick suddenly appeared, a hint of worry hiding behind his good natured demeanour.

You beam, going to embrace your boyfriend, only to trip when your ankle wobbles. Your heart thumps wildly against your chest, as you lean heavily against Dick's chest.

You don't see the alarmed glances Tim and Dick exchange, keeping your eyes closed to try and abate the odd pressure building up behind them.

Dick says something, hand cupping your jaw as he keeps your head upright, but you don't hear it. His voice is muffled, as if he is trying to speak to you through water.

He seems worried, but you don't understand why; everything's so floaty.

"I'm fine... think I just need to... to" you trail off, losing your train of thought.

"Hey—hey, no, no, no. Stay with me." Dick’s voice cuts through the haze, low and urgent, a stark contrast to the earlier soft teasing you’d shared over stolen kisses and that glass of Moscato.

His hand is warm against your jaw, gently cradling it, thumb brushing your cheek as he keeps your head propped up.

Despite your best efforts, your vision slips in and out of focus. All you can see is Dick's face, so pretty even in his panic. You don't want him to look at you like that, you never want him to be upset, you want him happy, always.

You try to tell him that, but your tongue refuses to cooperate. You don't know why he's so frantic; you're just a little overheated. Your mouth finally opens, but you can't remember what you wanted to say. The thought, whatever it was, slips from your grasp like sand.

Your legs suddenly give out, the new glass of water you'd been clutching slipping from your lax grasp and shattering against the marble floor.

Dick is already moving, catching you before you hit the ground. His arms wrap tightly around you, cushioning your fall.

"Hey, hey—look at me. Look at me, baby."

The sound is distant to your ears, as if from another world entirely. But the commotion grabs the attention of the nearby gala goers, and alarmed whispers reach Bruce's ears from across the room just in time for him to witness his eldest catch you and sink to the floor.

He forgets his charming, genial mask, shoving through scandalised socialites as he runs to reach his son.

Tim's already calling an ambulance, and Damian has appeared suddenly as if from thin air, snarling at anyone attempting to get a closer look.

Dick is hysterical, tears in his eyes as he holds your face in his hands as he tries to get you to respond, but any words he can elicit from you are slurred and confused.

His son doesn't even register his presence until he's kneeling opposite him, clasping a grounding hand on his shoulder. Dick looks up at him, tears sliding down his devastated face. "Bruce, Dad, help her, please!" He begs, voice cracking.

Bruce inhales sharply, the word Dad hitting him like a freight train. Dick hadn’t called him that in months. Years, maybe. It's a word he'd secretly ached to hear for so long, but not like this, not tinted with raw desperation.

Bruce inhales sharply at that, at his son desperately looking at him to fix something they're both powerless to combat.

"She’s going to be okay," Bruce tells him, quietly, as if trying to soothe a wounded animal.

"You can't know that! You can't promise me that!"

Dick looks down at you, taking in the way you gasped raggedly for air, pupils blown wide as you twitch in his grasp.

"Dick." Bruce squeezed his shoulder, grounding him and forcing him back to the present moment. "The ambulance will be here soon. She's still breathing and still has a pulse, she's going to be okay."

"She just... she just collapsed," Dick babbles, as if he hadn't even heard Bruce. "She was fine when I left her, she was, she was fine! But when I got back she couldn't, couldn't breathe - "

"She’s breathing," Bruce murmurs, his hand pressed lightly to your neck. "Pulse is faint, but still there."

"She couldn’t focus. She can’t speak, Bruce." Dick sounds like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. "I don’t... I don’t know what’s happening!"

Bruce doesn’t answer right away. Not because he doesn’t care—God, he cares so much it aches—but because he doesn’t know, and that terrifies him.

Dick is muttering, a mindless stream of thoughts as he clutches you tighter against his chest. "I gave her my drink," he stammers suddenly, as if the memory just struck him. "I didn’t touch it, I just… handed it to her. It was moscato, she likes moscato."

He looks up at Bruce, haunted. "Did I do this? Did I—was it the drink? Or—what if it was something else, what if something's wrong with her heart, or she's sick or something, she was unwell last week. I don't know. I don’t know."

Bruce doesn’t answer right away. Not yet. His mind is already spinning, cataloguing symptoms, possibilities: low blood sugar, dehydration, cardiac event, something neurological. The possibilities were endless.

"We’re going to figure it out," he tells Dick quietly. "Help will be here soon, she'll be ok son."

"She has to be," Dick whimpers, thumb brushing over your cheekbones, and then a little quieter. "She promised me forever."

Bruce watches, his heart in his throat as he watches Dick's hand absentmindedly reach into his pocket for something. Was that... a ring?

That train of thought is abruptly derailed when the paramedics finally arrive.

Dick tries to stay with you as they check your vitals, his hand gripping yours like a vice even as you're lifted onto a stretched and rolled into the back of the ambulance.

One medic tries to gently pull him back, but he doesn’t budge, refusing to leave your side. "I’m staying," he snaps, voice low and dangerous. The paramedic hesitates, glancing at his colleague, who just nods their assent.

"Just stay out of our way," he mutters, but Dick barely hears him, already sinking onto the bench beside the gurney, white-knuckled fingers still wrapped around yours. 

"She was fine," he whispers to no one in particular. "Twenty minutes ago, she was teasing me about getting her drunk. We were laughing."

He can't stop the tears from falling any longer when they attach an oxygen mask, your eyelids fluttering open and closed at random intervals.

"Stay with me, please, baby, just hang in there." He begs you feverishly. Your head lolls toward him, something like recognition flashing in your eyes before it's gone again in a blink. 

"Miss," the second paramedic says suddenly, gently lifting one of your eyelids and shining a small penlight into your eyes. "Miss, can you hear me?"

"Pupils are dilated. Sluggish response," he mutters, more to his partner now. "Could be neurological."

Dick’s stomach drops. "Neurological? Like what, a stroke?"

"We won’t know until we get her stable. It could be toxins. It could be a reaction to something. Could be—" The medic stops himself, shooting Dick a look. "Could be a lot of things."

"She didn’t take anything," Dick says quickly, defensively. "She doesn’t even like taking Tylenol without checking with her doctor first."

"You gave her a drink?" the other medic asks.

Dick nods slowly. "Moscato. Mine. I hadn’t touched it; I was holding it for too long. I didn’t want to waste it—" He swallows. "She was happy. She kissed me. She was fine."

You let out a soft, breathless sound. Not quite a moan. Not quite a word. But it yanks Dick forward like a lifeline, his hand tightening around yours.

"Hey, hey, I’m here," he says urgently. "Babe, can you hear me? Just squeeze my hand, yeah? Just let me know you can hear me."

You don’t respond, you can’t, and Dick nearly starts to sob again. Helpless to do anything but watch and pray to a god he doesn’t believe in, as the paramedics work around him. He rests your clasped hands against his lips, rocking restlessly back and forth as he watches for any change in your condition. 

Your eyes flutter weakly open for half a second, glassy and unfocused, and he leaps to reassure you. "I’ve got you," he whispers, running his free hand gently down your cheek. "I swear, I’ve got you. Just stay with me."

Your fingers twitch—the smallest, weakest movement, but Dick clings to that like a lifeline. His hand tightens around yours, and you suddenly twitch again, your whole body flinching as your eyelids blink rapidly.

"Hey, sweetheart." His voice shakes as he leans forward, cupping your cheek again. "You with me?"

Your eyes are wide open, but they’re not focused, unseeing as you stare right through him before abruptly attempting to recoil. "Don’t touch me!" you gasp, trying to pull your hand away, though he doesn’t let go. "Get off me, get—"

"Hey, hey, it’s me!" Dick says quickly, panic clawing up his throat. "It’s me. It’s Dick, you’re safe, baby, you’re safe."

You’re thrashing now, feeble but undoubtedly panicked. Your pupils are blown wide, nearly swallowing the colour of your irises. 

"There’s someone! He’s behind you, Dick!" you sob suddenly, eyes locked on the corner of the ambulance where no one sits. "He’s watching me, he’s watching me. Stop looking at me—"

"There’s no one there," Dick breathes, helpless. "There’s no one there, I promise, I swear—"

One of the medics leans over. "Hallucinations. She’s panicking, we need to sedate her before she hurts herself."

"No," Dick says reflexively. "She’s scared. She needs to know she’s not alone. She doesn’t like being sedated."

"She can’t hear you right now," the paramedic says gently, already preparing a sedative. "You have to let us do our job."

You scream again, incoherent, like you’re fighting something only you can see. "I’m right here. I’m not leaving," he says, voice trembling. "You’re okay, I’ve got you. There’s no one else here, just me. It’s just me."

But you don’t hear him, head thrashing from side to side, murmuring something over and over, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. His heart splinters.

"Give it to her," he says quietly. "If it’ll help her stop being afraid... do it."

The sedative enters your bloodstream through the IV, and your breathing begins to slow within moments. Your muscles go slack, and your face's tension eases slightly.

Dick swallows hard, brushing your cheek with the back of his hand once more.

"I’m right here," he whispers. "You’re safe now. Whatever you’re seeing… It’s not real. I promise. I won’t let anything hurt you." But the words feel cheap and hollow against his tongue, because he’s already failed to keep you safe. 

His mind's a mess, but Dick’s sure that this whole thing really is his fault. The timeline, the symptoms, you’ve been poisoned, with a glass of wine that had been meant for him. If you die, it’ll be all his fault. If you die, then Dick thinks he might just die with you. 

The thought hits him like a bullet to the chest. He can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t hear your laugh, doesn’t feel your hand reaching for his across crowded rooms, doesn’t get to kiss you goodnight and pretend, just for a moment, that the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

You whimper in his arms, body twitching against the restraints that keep you from hurting yourself. The EMT had told him it was necessary, but it felt like cruelty.

You start to seize right as they get to the hospital, thrashing against your restraints as they wheel you through the ER doors. The paramedics speak rapid fire at the awaiting nurses and doctors, Dick barely hears any of it.

"Sir, you need to stay here—" someone tries to stop him from pushing past the double doors, but Dick shrugs them off with more force than necessary.

"I’m not leaving her!" he shouts, his voice cracking at the last word. His fists are clenched so tightly at his sides that they tremble.

"Mr. Grayson!" An overworked nurse tried to calm him down, and had he been in his right mind Dick would have been appalled at his behaviour.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder, pulling him back and Dick whirls around, snarling in Bruce's face.

"Let them work," Bruce says quietly, yet sternly.

Collapsing into Bruce's awaiting arms, Dick feels like a small child again. Completely helpless. He's sobbing, gasping against Bruce's chest.

The man is silent, aware that nothing he says can make it better, no matter how badly he wants to take away his son's pain. He wishes he could absorb it all and make everything magically better. But he can't, so he remains a pillar of support, holding his son up.

Time doesn’t pass normally in the hospital. Every second feels like an eternity, every tick of the clock on the far wall drawn out like torture. Bruce tries to get him to sit, but Dick refuses, staring at the doors they wheeled you through like it will bring you back.

"Please be okay," he whispers into the silence, his voice barely audible. "Please." He doesn't know who he's begging anymore: you, the doctors, God, or himself.

The hours feel eternal, a torturous, maddening slog as they wait for any sort of news.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a sickly white glow that makes the hospital hallway feel more like a purgatory than a place of healing.

Dick’s been pacing outside the ICU for so long he’s probably worn a hole in the ludicrously expensive shoes. Every nurse who walks by earns a hopeful glance, and every time they pass without stopping, it feels like another knife to the gut.

He’s running on adrenaline and guilt, the phantom image of your limp body in his arms haunting every breath.

Then, finally, footsteps approach, and Dick's nearly manic when someone finally adresses him.

"She’s stable. Still weak, but the anticholinergic treatment’s working. We’ve flushed most of the toxins from her system. You can see her now"

Anticholinergic treatment? That meant... poison.

Dick's already moving before she finishes, murmuring a breathless "Thank you" as he slips past her and into the private room Bruce is undoubtedlybpaying for.

The sight of you hooked up to various machines, IV lines, oxygen monitors, heart rate beeping slow and steady, makes his chest tighten, but at least you’re here. Alive.

He drags a chair up to your bedside and takes your hand, careful not to jostle the IV. It’s warm, but no longer searing like it had been in the ambulance.

"Hey, baby." He murmurs, voice cracking as he brushes his thumb gently across your knuckles.

You don’t respond.

He speaks softly anyway. He promises you’re safe, that everything's fine, that he’s right here, and that his family is already tearing Gotham apart, trying to figure out who did this.

The nurses try to get him to leave when visiting hours are over, but Dick kicks up a such a fuss that he's sure he accidentally scares them. Bruce ends up flashing some money to smooth things over, the benefits of being rich.

He refuses to leave your side; he won't leave you alone when you're so vulnerable. He does his best to stay awake, he needs to be there for you when you wake up, but eventually he succumbs to the exhaustion.

The room is quiet, save for the steady rhythm of the heart monitor and the soft mechanical whir of the machines monitoring your vitals.

Dick sits slouched in the chair beside your hospital bed, one arm resting awkwardly across his chest, the other still holding your hand like a lifeline. His head is bowed forward, chin tucked against his chest, breathing deep and even.

His suit jacket has long since been discarded, his tie loosened, his hair a mess, and dark circles paint shadows beneath his eyes.

You stir slowly, fighting desperately against the lethargy. Your eyelids feel like cement is weighing them down as you attempt to open them.

Your fingers twitch. A slight, barely perceptible movement before you manage to curl them around the hand clasped in yours.

The light is blinding, burning your retinas when you finally manage to pry them open. The world swims, but you push through it, turning your head as you follow the trail of the hand holding yours up to the blurry image of your sleeping boyfriend.

"…Dick?" Your voice is raw, no louder than a whisper. Not enough to stir him from his exhausted slump.

You squeeze his hand weakly, but it’s enough for him to jerk upright, eyes wild with panic, before they lock on yours.

"Hey," you croak, attempting to smile, but your facial muscles won't cooperate.

For a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s not sure he’s really awake. He lets out a shaky, tearful laugh before dragging the chair closer. "You’re awake," he breathes through a sob.

"I… yeah," you rasp, coughing from the dryness of your throat. "Hurts."

"I know love." He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "You’ve been out for almost a day. They said you were stable, but, god, I didn’t know if—" His voice cracks on a sob, and you want nothing more than to reach out and comfort him but your sluggish body refuses to obey.

"M'sorry, didn’t wanna scare you."

"No, no, no, honey. Don't apologise, this isn't your fault." He shakes his head, eyes wet with unshed tears. "It's mine—"

"Don’t," you interrupt as sternly as you're able. "Don’t do that. Not your fault. I’m okay. I'm okay."

You start to cough again, and Dick reaches for the cup of water on the bedside, helping you drink slowly through the straw.

He helps you lie back down against the pillows, looking at you with such tenderness you almost cry. "You didn’t leave."

He smiles, a broken, crooked thing, but still shining with so much love. "I never will, never."

And you believe him.

[callikari]

YOU'RE MY FAVORITE ╰┈➤ kind of problem 。。。

PRECIS 。 he doesn't hate you (but he think he likes it that way.)

西村力 x fem!reader 1218 fluff highschool au opposite attract ─ kissing teasing emotional vulnerability skinship

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

nishimura riki hates mornings, loud people, and unnecessary affection. so of course, fate seats him next to you.

you — with your sparkly pens, cherry lip gloss, and the habit of being genuinely nice to everyone, including him. you talk too much, always smile like the world isn’t exhausting, and keep offering him gum even though he never says thank you.

(he always takes it.)

“you should smile more,” you say one morning, tapping the corner of his mouth with your pen. “you’d look cute if you didn’t look like you hate everything.”

“i don’t want to look cute,” he mumbles.

“too bad. you kind of do.”

he chokes on his water.

you treat him like someone worth taking care of.

when he shows up with damp hair, you push your umbrella into his hands without asking. when he skips breakfast, you press half your sandwich into his palm. you say his name like it’s normal to look at him gently, like it’s not strange to care even when he doesn’t make it easy.

and somehow, he doesn’t push you away.

riki acts annoyed. at your chatter. your energy. the way you remind him to drink water like you’re responsible for him now.

but then it’s picture day, and you’re fixing his tie like it’s second nature, murmuring something about how “you’d be helpless without me,” and he just… lets you. doesn’t move. doesn’t stop you.

when you pat his chest lightly after, like you’re proud of how he turned out, he has no idea what to do with that.

“look at you,” you say. “pretty boy.”

he wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

he gets a paper cut during class and barely reacts, but you notice.

“riki. you’re bleeding.”

“it’s fine.”

you dig through your pencil pouch. “i’ve got bandaids—want rilakkuma or space rockets?”

“…rilakkuma?”

“thought so.”

you stick it on for him, then tap it once like sealing a deal. “good as new.”

he doesn’t respond. just leaves it on for the rest of the day.

“drink water,” you tell him, holding out your bottle.

“i’m not a toddler.”

“didn’t say you were. but dehydration makes you cranky.”

he glares at you, but takes it.

(he pretends not to notice the lip gloss mark on the rim.)

when you find out he’s been skipping meals, you start showing up with something wrapped in foil.

“what’s this?” he mumbles.

“something with actual nutrition, for once.”

“you’re acting like i’m five.”

“you’re acting like you don’t need it.”

he eats it anyway.

(you cut the crust off the next day without comment. he doesn’t complain.)

“you’re kind of like a cat,” you say once, watching him swat at a paper ball someone threw at him.

“what?”

“you pretend you don’t like people, but you keep showing up. and you’re grumpy when you’re hungry. and—” you grin— “you’re secretly affectionate when no one’s looking.”

“take it back.”

“never.”

you boop his nose. he mutters something under his breath and doesn’t meet your eyes for the rest of lunch.

one day he shows up late, hoodie on, eyes heavy. you don’t ask questions. just tug him toward the empty music room and sit him down.

you pull out a cookie from your bag. press it into his hand.

“eat first,” you say quietly. “then nap. i’ll wake you up before class.”

he looks at you like he wants to argue, but doesn’t. he eats in silence. and when he finally closes his eyes, you drape your jacket over him and keep watch.

he says your name softly, right before he dozes off.

that afternoon, he finds you by the back steps.

“why do you baby me?”

you look up from your phone. “what?”

“i’m not some charity case,” he mutters. “you don’t have to do all this.”

you shrug. “i know.”

“then why?”

you blink at him, like the answer’s obvious. “because i like you.”

he freezes.

“like, not just ‘you’re tolerable’ like. i actually like you. and you’re terrible at taking care of yourself, so i do it for you.”

“…oh.”

“you okay?”

he hesitates. “you like me?”

“yes, riki.”

“…like, really?”

“you’re exhausting,” you sigh. “yes.”

he stares. then: “can i hold your hand or are you gonna turn this into a whole thing?”

you smile. “i mean, i could—”

he takes your hand.

you stop talking.

he’s still grumpy. still rolls his eyes when you make a big deal out of nothing. still pretends he’s unaffected when you fix his hair or lean your head on his shoulder.

but he lets you do it all.

and when he calls you “sunshine” under his breath — quiet and honest, like the word is just for you — you pretend not to hear it, just so he’ll say it again.

he’s not good at affection. not the way you are. his hands get awkward, his words feel clumsy, and he never knows if he’s doing enough.

but he tries.

he starts carrying an extra granola bar in his bag — not for himself, but for you, when you’re running late or forget to eat. he won’t say it’s for you, but he slides it across your desk when you’re too tired to smile and mumbles, “you always feed me. figured i’d return the favor.”

you beam at him like he just handed you the sun.

he nearly explodes.

one day, it’s cold and rainy and you show up to school shivering, jacket forgotten. at lunch, you come back from the vending machine to find his hoodie draped over your seat.

you look at him.

he doesn’t meet your eyes. “it’s not a big deal.”

“riki—”

“just wear it.”

you slip it on. it smells like fabric softener and him.

“you’re warm,” you tell him.

“shut up,” he says, ears red.

when you forget your umbrella, he waits outside your classroom after school, pretending he was “just passing by.” walks you home without a word. you don’t bring it up, and neither does he. but the next day, he hands you a compact umbrella, still in the wrapper.

“keep it in your bag,” he says. “you forget stuff.”

you blink. “you bought this for me?”

“don’t make it weird.”

you smile anyway.

he starts noticing the little things — how your hands get cold easily, how your hair gets tangled when it’s windy, how you forget to take breaks when you’re stressed.

so he does what he can.

throws a scarf at you in the morning. pulls you toward the shade when it’s too hot. slips your favorite snacks into your bag with no note, no explanation, just a quiet kind of care.

it’s not perfect, but it’s him. trying.

and you notice. of course you do.

“you’re getting good at this,” you whisper one day, threading your fingers through his as he walks you home.

“at what?”

“being mine.”

he squeezes your hand. doesn’t say anything.

but when you get to your door, he kisses your forehead — awkward, fast, barely a brush — and mutters, “you’re my favorite, okay? just… don’t tell anyone.”

you grin. “your secret’s safe with me.”

(he kisses you properly a week later. still shy. still soft. but this time, he doesn’t pull away.)

taglist is open :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @manaah02 @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read @ijustwannareadstuff20

vi says :: i worked hard on this so i hoped you enjoyed it TT

© callikari — all rights reserved

[gyubakeries]

HtBDaSTGYM presents: Method 1 - Love Potions

test subjects: kim mingyu x f!reader

word count: 2.9k

contents: college au , friends to lovers , love potions , lowkey witchcraft , verkwan cameo , cookies as a plot device , crack treated seriously , this is just Silly , the slightest bit of angst , inspired by descendants 1

verification: Trust Me Bro

sources: thank you serena ( @gotta-winwin ) and ally ( @lovetaroandtaemin ) for helping me finish this fic with your motivation + inspiration 🩷

series masterlist

seungkwan, focused on his assignment due in four hours, startles in his seat when you plop down onto the chair next to him, a guttural groan leaving your lips. he’s pretty sure the librarian shoots a dirty glance in your direction, followed by passive aggressive motions towards the bold ‘keep quiet’ sign in the library.

“what did kim mingyu do this time?” seungkwan sighs, voice dropping to a whisper. you slam your head on the table, immediately cursing and rubbing your forehead at the impact.

“he’s being too nice,” you whine. “it would be so much easier if he was a mean asshole who wasn’t the literal human embodiment of a golden retriever!”

“so this is wh​​at first world problems sound like,” seungkwan mutters. he then puts his pen down to turn his body and face your figure, currently slumped over the table in defeat. “look, if his existence bothers you that much, stop being around him!”

“it’s not a bother,” you click your tongue. “it’s annoying because i like him so much and can’t do anything about it.”

“why not?”

“seungkwan, have you looked at me?” you deadpan. “mingyu is way out of my league. there’s no way he’d like someone like me.”

“then make him like you,” seungkwan shrugs.

“and how do you suggest i do that, genius?” you roll your eyes and scoff.

seungkwan simply smiles in response and clasps his hands together. you only have a few moments to feel extremely terrified before seungkwan says, “let dr. boo teach you how to.”

“this feels like a scam.”

“please don’t hurt my ego.”

“.... alright.”

—

for seungkwan’s ‘masterclass’, he drags you out of the library, assignment forgotten, and into his dorm room. his roommate, hansol, doesn’t even spare a glance at seungkwan’s strange antics, as if he’s seen this play out multiple times before.

seungkwan takes you into his room and instructs you to sit down in the middle of his bed.

“okay, enlighten me,” you look up at seungkwan expectantly.

“the most fool-proof method of getting your crush to like you back, pause for dramatic effect,”seungkwan mutters under his breath before continuing, “is by making a love potion.”

there’s silence for a few moments, only to be interrupted by hansol loudly munching on chips while leaning against the doorframe. you raise an eyebrow at him, and all he says is, “watching seungkwan be delusional is my favorite hobby.”

“i’m not being delusional!” seungkwan argues. “my methods are tried and tested.”

“yeah, right,” you snicker. “who exactly has tested your methods?”

“i have!” seungkwan says with pride. “the love potion is real. ask hansol.”

“hey man, don’t turn this on me,” hansol raises his arms in defense. “i haven’t been given any potion.”

“remember that one week when you begged me to bake you cookies every day?” seungkwan hums. “what do you think was in those?”

“no way,” hansol’s eyes are wide with surprise. “i just thought your grandmother passed down some killer cookie recipe.”

“she did,” seungkwan nods, facing you. “that’s where i got my love potion recipe from. does it sound legit enough?”

“not even close,” you shake your head. “but i’m desperate, so teach me.”

“i’ll be glad to,” seungkwan chirps, and you momentarily think to yourself, what have i gotten myself into?

—

“hey, y/n! good morning!” the familiar voice makes you whip your head back, butterflies going crazy in your stomach as mingyu walks up to you. he looks effortlessly handsome in a simple hoodie and jeans as he comes to a stop next to your locker, canines peeking through when he smiles.

“how was your weekend?” he asks, and you pray to every divine presence watching that you aren’t a blushing mess.

“oh, it was fine,” you reply. “just trying out new things.”

“like what?” mingyu asks, and somehow, the ever-present twinkle in his eye seems even brighter. you wrack your brain to come up with any answer that won’t give away exactly what you’ve been doing over the weekend.

“a new recipe,” you finally reply. “you know, the tiktok recipes are becoming too interesting not to try.”

“but i thought you said you were terrible at cooking?” mingyu’s eyebrows furrow, and you mentally kick yourself for your flimsy lie. making seungkwan’s love potion-infused cookies hadn’t been easy, given your lack of basic cooking skills, but you had managed to scrape together a batch of cookies that were edible, not burnt, and baked all the way through.

“i had some help,” you smile. hoping that you sounded convincing enough.

“so, what’d you make?” mingyu asks, and you nearly sigh with relief. you had been thinking of ways to bring up the cookies in conversation, but thankfully, mingyu did all the work himself.

“i made some cookies,” you reply, and mingyu’s eyes light up.

“please tell me they’re choco chip,” he gasps, squealing when you nod in confirmation.

“would you wanna…. try them?” you offer hesitantly, not knowing just how much you could ask of mingyu before he got suspicious. fortunately for you, mingyu was like a giant dog whose tail starts wagging the instant he hears anything about food.

“yes! i’d love to try some,” he nods eagerly, and you couldn’t be any quicker in pulling out the box of cookies from your bag. mingyu watches closely as you open the lid, the smell of warm, fresh cookies filling the air. he doesn’t hesitate to reach into the box and grab a cookie, immediately taking a huge bite out of it.

you watch with bated breath as mingyu chews on the cookie, humming with satisfaction as his eyebrows scrunch together.

“y/n, these are heavenly,” mingyu groans. “do you mind if i take another one?”

you remember seungkwan’s instructions from earlier that week. the more cookies he eats, the stronger the effect of the potion is.

“of course! take as many as you want,” you grin, holding the box out for mingyu. he takes the box from your hands and reaches in for another one. you only watch (with heart-eyes) as mingyu finishes three cookies within five minutes.

“these are seriously so good,” mingyu sighs, closing the lid on the box. “do you think i could take the rest of these home?”

seungkwan’s voice speaks up from a corner of your brain. ‘the potion will work in your favor only if you are the first person mingyu sees after eating the cookies. you can’t let him have it anywhere else, or he’ll be in love with someone else.’

“no!” you reply, wincing at how loud your voice sounded. “i mean, i was saving some for myself too….”

you hate how quickly mingyu’s smile fades, shoulders drooping instantly as he hands the box back to you. “i see,” he says, looking dejected. “you can have these back.”

“i could make you some more!” you offer, trying to bring back the smile you loved seeing. “you can come over this weekend, and i can make you some more cookies, if you’d like.”

“really?” mingyu asks. “i won’t be too much of a bother?”

“you’re never a bother to me,” you say, and you hope that mingyu can tell that you really meant the words.

“awesome! i’ll see you on saturday,” mingyu grins. “i have to get to class now, but text me what time works for you, yeah?”

you frown. seungkwan had mentioned that the potion takes a couple of minutes to work, but mingyu’s behaviour was still normal.

“sure! but, uh, do you have anything you want to tell me?” you question, wringing your hands together with nervousness. mingyu stays silent for a while, his eyes locked onto yours, and for a second, you think that the potion really has worked, but the only answer that leaves his lips is: “great cookies! you’ve underestimated your cooking skills.”

as mingyu walks away to get to his class, it’s your turn to feel dejected as you think, why on earth did the cookies not work?

—

“something probably went wrong in the baking process,” seungkwan assures you over the phone, later that week, two hours before mingyu was scheduled to come over to your apartment.

“you told me your recipe was easy! what could’ve gone wrong?” you throw your hands up, frustrated.

“maybe ask yourself that,” seungkwan rolls his eyes. “my recipe is perfect, maybe consider that you did something wrong?”

you sigh. you did end up doing something wrong with five batches of cookies before the last batch had turned out good, so it wasn’t too unbelievable of a proposition.

“fine, then at least tell me what i should do now,” you plead. “this is probably my last chance to make this work, and i can’t screw it up.”

“don’t worry, i’ve got you,” seungkwan comforts you. “get the ingredients ready, i’ll guide you through every step.”

an hour later, the cookies were baking away in the oven as seungkwan busied himself with doing karaoke in his room, and you cleaned up the kitchen. the bottles of ‘magical’ ingredients seungkwan had given you, labelled unicorn vanilla essence, fairy chocolate chips, and pixie cocoa powder, were now empty, so you sweep them into the trash. the names did sound a little sketchy, but you’d rather stay silent than question seungkwan’s credibility.

“are you sure it’s gonna work this time?” you ask seungkwan, and he shoots you a glare before moving to pause his music.

“y/n, there’s absolutely nothing that could go wrong,” seungkwan says. “i guided you through the entire thing. now, just trust the process and let the magic do its thing.”

“okay, got it,” you nod. just then, the oven timer rings, and you hurry to grab your mittens to take the tray out of the oven. you carry the tray over to the cooling rack on your kitchen counter, the smell of cookies wafting through your apartment, when your doorbell rings.

“wait here, kwan, i’ll go check who’s at the door,” you tell your friend before hanging up and heading over to the front door, mittens still on your hands. you open the door, and then your jaw drops.

“mingyu?”

“hi!” mingyu chirps. he looks good; good enough to make your brain short-circuit when he smiles at you. you’re so caught up in your thoughts that it takes you a while to realize that he’s also holding out a bouquet of flowers for you.

“you didn’t have to—”

“i wanted to,” mingyu cuts you off. “you’re making me cookies, and i felt bad for showing up empty-handed, so i got you these flowers. you said you liked tulips, right?”

you blush instantly, smiling bashfully as you take the bouquet of tulips from mingyu. “i love them, thank you. please, come in.”

mingyu trails behind you as you lead him into the apartment. you mentally kick yourself when you see a blanket strewn haphazardly over the couch, immediately going over to fold it to make your living room look more presentable. “excuse the mess, i wasn’t expecting you for…. another hour.”

it’s mingyu’s turn to look flustered as he scratches the back of his neck. “i’m sorry for showing up this early— i was excited to meet you.” when he sees your eyes go wide at his words, he quickly adds on, “and the cookies. i was really excited to meet the cookies and eat you! oh. i mean—“

“it’s alright!” you cut him off, saving him the awkwardness. “why don’t you take a seat? i’ll bring the cookies out.”

mingyu merely nods, his cheeks just as red as you imagine yours to be.

he’s probably just embarrassed, because there’s no way he likes me. the love potion didn’t even work on him! you grapple with your reasoning for some more time before settling on a version that made sense. a version that, unfortunately, didn’t involve mingyu feeling the same way you did.

ignoring the urge to cry, you head into the kitchen to pile the fresh cookies onto a plate. while you’re focused on arranging them in a pretty way, you fail to realize when mingyu enters the kitchen.

“they smell so good,” mingyu says, right next to your ear, and you can’t help but startle. mingyu smiles sheepishly, moving away from you to keep a comfortable distance between both of you.

“sorry, i keep surprising you,” mingyu apologises. “i only came into the kitchen to see if you needed any help.”

“don’t worry, you’re good,” you assure him quickly. you don’t even care about the sudden jumpscares mingyu has been giving you, not when the excitement and nervousness rising from your love potion-cookies overwhelms every other feeling.

not being able to hold back any longer, you grab the plate of cookies from the counter and slide them over to mingyu. “you can make it up to me by having these cookies.”

mingyu’s smile becomes even brighter, something you never thought was possible, as he reaches for a cookie. he doesn’t even hesitate to bite into it, and for a moment, you feel guilty for feeding him a potion without his knowledge.

“they’re even better today!” mingyu’s gasp of contentment interrupts your thoughts. “they’re fresh, warm, and the perfect amount of chewy,” he continues, raving on and on about how the ‘sea salt enhances the chocolate perfectly’ like some cookie connoisseur.

on a normal day, your chest would be swelling with pride at how mingyu, a die-hard foodie, complimented your food, but you had the love potion to worry about.

impatient and curious, you make your first mistake by blurting out: “is it working?”

at the confused expression mingyu shoots you, you can only bite your tongue at the wrong choice of words.

and then, your second mistake:

“i meant, i—uh, used some new ingredients for these cookies,” you quickly add to cover up your lie. “i just wanted to check if they were able to—”

“—make the love potion you put in these cookies?” mingyu raises an eyebrow, and your jaw drops. your heart is soon to follow when you see mingyu’s smile morph into something upset and betrayed.

“how did—how did you know?” you ask, wringing your hands together.

“y/n, there’s literally an instruction booklet in front of you that says, ‘love potion-cookies,’” mingyu sighs. “it’s pretty obvious.”

horrified, you stare at the recipe laid out in front of you. there was no way you could save yourself now. so, you decide to own up to your actions.

“mingyu, look—”

“i knew your plan,” mingyu stops you. “i knew it the day you first gave me the cookies.”

“h-how?”

“people have used it on me many times,” mingyu admits, sounding annoyed. “what sucked was that i used to fall ‘in love’ with them momentarily. even though it’d wear off in a few hours, it wasn’t the best feeling.”

“but how could you tell that—that my cookies had the potion?” you ask him, wondering why on earth mingyu would agree to eat cookies laced with potential magic ingredients.

“i’ll be honest, seungkwan’s recipe is a bit different, so i couldn’t tell at first. i only recognized the flavor of unicorn vanilla essence after the second cookie, and i knew.” mingyu reveals.

“but why didn’t it work on you?” you’re more frustrated than confused. if you did everything right both times, why hadn’t it worked on mingyu? “is it really so impossible for us to be together that not even borderline witchcraft can help me?”

“y/n—”

“this was my last resort, because i was so tired of pining after you for months and still being seen as a friend by you—”

“listen to me—”

“maybe i was never destined to even find love, because whose luck is this bad—” this time your rant is cut off by mingyu’s hands cupping your face and his lips meeting yours.

for approximately three seconds, your body freezes. you wish you could move, kiss him back, do something, but you can’t be blamed for taking a few extra seconds to process that you’re being kissed by someone you’ve liked for almost two years.

when your brain finally starts working again, you lean in closer to mingyu, placing your hands on his shoulders for some leverage as you balance on your toes to kiss him back properly.

mingyu is the first to pull away, and he even leaves a soft peck on the tip of your nose. his hands move from your face to your waist, and you allow yourself to be hugged close to him.

“the potion doesn’t work on me because i already like you back,” mingyu explains, and a heavy weight lifts off your chest. “i was too scared to confess to you, so i was kinda glad that you tried to make some move.”

“wait, so— how long have you felt this way?” you question, feeling like an idiot who can’t stop smiling.

“ever since we got paired up in the cooking contest at the college fair,” mingyu chuckles, and your eyes widen at that memory.

“oh god. that’s so embarrassing,” you complain, leaning forward to rest your head on mingyu’s chest and hide your face from him.

“hey, seeing you cry before you got to cutting the onions was hilarious!” mingyu adds on in a teasing tone, and you playfully punch his arm.

“it stung my eyes real bad! you had to be there to know,” you defend yourself, to which mingyu replies, “i was there. it really wasn’t that bad.”

“are you trying to get me to lose feelings for you right after i confessed?” you pout, and mingyu simply laughs before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“okay, let’s never bring that day up again,” he says, and you nod in agreement.

“do you think you could make me some more cookies, though? like, at least once a week.”

“are you insane? i’m never going near an oven ever again. you are the chef in this relationship.”

“it was worth a try, i guess.”

fill this form to be added to the taglist <3

head to the masterlist for more!

ask in the comments of this post to be added to the series taglist!

main taglist: @lecheugo @min-imum @sousydive @livelaughloveseventeen @unlikelysublimekryptonite

@theidontknowmehn @shinwonderful @wonuwrites @hearts4hee @t-102

@gyuguys @grapejuicelh @aaa-sia @cixrosie @baseball-dokyeom

@4shypotato @rafayellegalwife @gyuhao365 @flickhurstyles @bibblemiluvr

@valvoria @moonyxhcbi @minwonwoozi @brownbunnyb @chanranghaeys

@ceelesss @callmemadhatter @iris65 @junplusone @fulltimedrunk

@minwonwoozi @callis-corner @choco-scoups @rem-mp3 @supi-wupi

@spookykryptonitegardener @dreamingofpcy @leigh-darling @eumpappasmom @arianna-r13

@gyusaeri @honeybear-taetae @dcrlingyou @bobagukks @jades-archive

@twixxxpie @wooingmandy @metanoianlove @ybimoon @mikauraur

[shurisneakers]

Hello, lovely Ari! I hope life is treating you like the queen you are 💜 I come bearing a thought: grumpy x grumpy with Bucky where he falls asleep on her shoulder on the jet after a mission.

a/n: my angel violet. is there any universe where you ask me to write something and I do not do it? I think not.

featuring the two bozos the fools from misery loves company. all parts are stand alone fics

warnings: stab wounds, gun shot wounds, alcohol, swearing

"Happy with yourselves?"

"Positively thrilled," you mutter, stifling a yawn. "Any more morphine?"

"Last of it went into your boyfriend," Nat calls from the cockpit.

"Not my boyfriend," you say, slumping back.

"Sweet. That’s real sweet, thanks," Bucky grumbles, dragging himself across the floor, one arm pressed to his side. "No morphine-- where's the damn liquor? I had a bottle here."

"Barton torched it. Molotov," Sam says without looking up.

"Dick," Bucky mutters. "Pyromaniac asshole."

"Sit down before your insides become outsides," Nat warns.

"Whee."

"Sit."

"Or what?"

"You’ll die."

"Big whoop."

You glance over. He’s still standing. Barely.

"You bleeding out on purpose or just trying to make a point?"

He shrugs. Or tries to. Winces instead. “Little from column A, little from column B.”

You shoot Bucky a sharp look. 

He meets your gaze with a flash of indifference. Then, finally, that twitch of his mouth.

"How’s it going?" he rasps, sinking into the seat beside you.

"Stabbed. You?"

"Shot."

"Spectacular."

"No one told you to get stabbed."

"No one told you to get shot."

"No one told either of you clowns to dive into each other’s line of fire," Nat cuts in. "What was the plan? Now you're both useless."

"I’m not useless," you grumble.

"That knife went through you like butter."

"Okay, Swiss cheese, let’s not start."

A beat of silence passes. Bucky holds back a hiss every time the plane goes through turbulence.

"I've gotten stabbed before," he mutters.

"Try not being shit at it next time, champ."

"Didn't need the save."

"Neither did I." 

Silence.

You shift. "Bottle under the seat. Back left."

"Christ, you get me," he groans, leaning over. 

He grabs it, opens it with his metal hand, takes a long drink.

His head drops to your shoulder. All heat and blood-soaked fatigue.

“You’re heavy,” you mutter.

“Give it ten minutes. I’ll bleed out some weight.”

A pause.

He moves just enough to press a slow, rough kiss to your shoulder. Somehow finds a scrap of skin between the shredded fabric and grime.

You exhale, slow.

"Not your boyfriend, huh?" he murmurs, voice drowsy. Blood loss and alcohol, hell of a combination.

"Still not."

He hums, quiet. 

He doesn’t move. You don’t push him off.

You sigh, resting your cheek against his head, letting the dull hum of the jet act as a lullaby

[bumblebecc]

the one where trinity santos knows that frank is using again, except he isn’t

Trinity knows something is up with Frank Langdon. She just does.

It starts when she walks in on a Monday with a truly horrific looking board. A massive carpile up handled by the nightshift has set them all back and tied up Ortho for the day. Good luck, all broken bones and potential amputations walking into the waiting room. It’s the first time she’s ever seen Dana look frazzled (apart from PittFest, but she tries not to think about that day too much. She puts it all in the Do Not Touch box that lives in the back of her brain). Robby is extra prickly because Gloria keeps popping up and jumpscaring everyone. Perlah’s daughter is turning ten next week and she’s making it a bigger deal than it needs to be (in Trinity’s opinion), so the normally restrained camp of Perlah and Princess is also stressed.

And Frank comes in basically skipping past the waiting room and freaking everyone out.

“Why all the glum faces?” Trinity hears him ask Collins.

“Have you even looked at the board today? It’s like Hell opened up overnight.”

“Never took you for a theater kid.” Trinity spares a look and sees Langdon languidly leaning on the nurse’s station. “So much drama. Nah, we’ll get this straightened up. Hey, look, you take South 15, he’s been here awhile. I’ll handle the rash and fever in North 5. We’ll get these beds opened up in no time.”

“Could’ve sworn you would’ve gone for the potential hernia.”

“Hernia, shmernia. McKay can have that one. C’mon, new attending. We have a waiting room to empty.”

Trinity sits up.

“You’re… optimistic today,” says Collins slowly.

“Ah, you know what they say.” Langdon smirks, snagging a pair of gloves as he leaves. “A cynic has to be an optimist at least some of the time.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Heather calls after him.

And Trinity would just chock that little interaction up to Langdon just being his normal brand of obnoxious if she hadn’t overheard Princess and Perlah in the breakroom.

“He smiled at me and told me to have a good day,” says Princess, audibly bewildered. “Has he ever done that to you?”

“No, but he asked me to tell Jamillah Roslyn happy birthday for her party,” says Perlah, bewildered. “I didn’t even know he knew her name.”

“Something’s up with him,” says Princess suspiciously and Trinity agrees. Parks it in her mind as she and the others steadfastly work through the onslaught of patients. Post-hysterectomy infection (and potential malpractice suit, the fucker didn’t prescribe the poor woman any antibiotics). A simple MI sent up to surgery in record time. A pulmonary contusion in an eight year old from a gnarly bumper car collision.

And then—

“Are you whistling?” Garcia asks, almost in disbelief.

“What, the patient is anesthetized,” says Langdon casually as he makes room for the ultrasound tech. “Don’t be knocking my bedside manner when the bedside isn’t awake.”

“Look,” says Garcia. “The Cure is low, even for you. At least do Bowie or Santana.”

“You would hate The Cure,” says Langdon and then whistles the first few lines of Smooth freakishly well.

“That’s more like it,” says Garcia.

“You treat me like a radio,” sighs Langdon. “Is that all I am to you?”

“Yes, especially because I am not needed here,” says Garcia. “Look at the head CT. Brain tumor. More than most likely caused the seizure. Far above my paygrade. He needs oncology and a specialized treatment plan, not emergency surgery.”

“Copy,” says Frank. “I’ll call up Blestner and get a consult.”

Garcia’s eyebrow slowly rises. “You’ll just ‘call up’ Blestner?”

“For a potentially glioneuronal mass that size?” Frank clicks his tongue. “Hell yeah I’m calling Blestner.”

“Blestner hates your guts,” interrupts Trinity. She’s too bewildered to stay quiet. “He called you a junkie and told you to put him on the phone with a real doctor last time.”

“And I went through the official channels and put in an HR complaint and everything’s been peachy since,” says Langdon, unbothered. “He loves me now.”

“Huh.” Garcia looks him over slowly. “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Indubitably.” And Langdon strides out of the room, already on his pager.

“Keep an eye on him.”

Trinity looks up, surprised.

Yolanda is smiling, but there’s a tension around her mouth that Trinity recognizes from that time when she forgot to wash the pan after making eggs. The this thing is out of my control smile. “He is in a really good mood,” she says. “Which might be nothing. But it also might be something. I haven’t heard him whistle since he passed the Step 3. And that was 2021, so.”

“You don’t think—?”

“No, babe, I don’t think. I just worry.” Yolanda glances behind her, makes sure no nosy RN is looking, and presses a quick kiss to Trinity’s cheek. That was also something Trinity had to get used to. Yo’s touchyness. It’s a plus, she knows now, but there was a time she would’ve dodged away, wary. Now, she leans in.

“My worrier,” says Trinity, grinning.

“Yeah, yeah.” Yolanda Garcia backs out of the room, smiling. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

And Trinity keeps a half-eye on Langdon, yeah. And maybe he’s a little too nice to Lupe, calling her a “badass” and then dapping up some random EMT after a successful code. But she’s not really concerned because she’s sure he’ll be back to his usual “I’m surrounded by idiots” self tomorrow.

Except he isn’t.

“He brought donuts,” says Mateo in the breakroom, looking like he’s seen a ghost. “And not Dunkin Donuts. Leonarda’s. The fancy shit. For Nurse Appreciation Week.”

“That’s not so weird!” Kim is sheepishly playing with her hair. “Dr. King gave me a personalized card.”

“Please call her Mel, Kim, no one calls her Dr. King and it’s lowkey a little weird that you do.” Mateo opens up one of the boxes (with gilded swirly writing on top, Trinity knows it’s bougie) and a heavenly smell envelopes them.

Donahue shakes his head. “This… this is some spooky shit.”

“Do you think this is like some NA thing?” Jesse asks. “Like, being nice to people?”

Trinity doesn’t speak, because being allowed in the nurse’s lounge is a privilege that gets easily revoked, but she thinks no fucking way to herself.

But then she kinda forgets about it because she’s pulled for Chairs. Bleh.

Flu case. Ten year old with influenza. Fifty year old with the flu. Eighteen year old with a headache and fever—influenza A. Seventy year old with—you guessed it—the flu.

“Fuck, I hate triage,” she tells the skittish med student who started last week. The name will come to her. Jessica. Jennifer. Something with a J? She’s red-haired, pretty in an effortless kind of way, and petrified of everything that moves and makes Trinity miss Whitaker, who matched into emergency medicine at Allegheny. “Don’t you want some action?”

“Huh?!�� Jessica Jennifer Jayla blushes so hard, Trinity looks at her with concern. “No!! No I don’t!”

“Easy, easy,” says Trinity, undeterred. “So you like the boring ones?”

“Oh! You meant—“ the blush recedes and Jennifer Jessica Jaime clears her throat. “The cases. Yeah, uh, they’re alright. I don’t really like traumas that much.”

Trinity eyes her, slightly concerned. “Calm down, Mother Mary. I wasn’t asking you about your sex life.”

Jaime Joanna Jessica frowns. “My name is Julie.”

“Julieee,” says Trinity. “Cool. Just a joke.” And then she follows Julie’s eyesight, which is locked across the room to—Langdon, chatting with an EMT. “No way. He’s gotta be old enough to be your dad.”

“No!!” Julie is fumbling with her gloves. “He’s 33! And I’m 25!”

“You asked him his age?” Trinity says, absolutely delighted.

“He’s divorced!” says Julie. “It’s not a crime!”

“But it is definitely frowned upon. A resident and a med student, are you crazy?”

“You’re an R-2 with a new attending!” says Julie, suddenly fierce.

“Different departments, plus no one gives a shit.” Trinity could laugh. She could care less how Mother Mary knows about her and Garcia—probably a mouthy respiratory therapist or something. “Good luck with that HR violation, Julie. You should get some better taste.”

“What? He’s so nice. And hot. The day me and Yamaguchi started, he told us we’re on our way to being great doctors.” Yep, those are definitely stars in the med student’s eyes.

Langdon. Being overly nice to med students. An alarm goes off in Trinity’s brain. And she automatically says, “Yeah, he lies a lot,” and beelines straight to Robby, who is intensely charting and pretending not to notice a frequent flyer asking for a blanket (he has about five already). “Okay, is something up with Langdon?”

Robby slides his glasses down at her with intense scrutiny. “Let’s rephrase the question to something more specific, Dr. Santos.”

“He’s whistling in the ER,” says Trinity. “He’s happily doing all the shitty boring cases. He told Perlah to tell her kid happy birthday. He bought the nurses donuts for Nurse Appreciation Week. He’s being nice to med students. Med students. That’s weird.”

Robby sighs, slips off his glasses. “Maybe he’s just having a good day.”

“Try a good week.” And Trinity lowers her voice. “Look. Is it possible he’s relapsed?”

Her chief attending leans back in the chair. Clicks around on the computer for a minute. “Dr. Langdon’s drug screening results are private healthcare information that I cannot release to you, Dr. Santos. However, I can guarantee that as of this morning, Langdon is enthusiastically cleared to work in the ED.” He shoots her a look. “So whatever’s bothering you has nothing to do with his recovery. Okay? Conversation done.”

And Trinity stands there, frowning, because things aren’t clicking.

And they don’t until she bumps into Mel the next day.

“Heyyy, MelMel,” Trinity says, fresh off a Cliff bar break. “What the heck are you doing here? Isn’t today your day off?”

Mel beams, cute as ever with her hair up in two twin buns. It must be boiling outside, because she’s in little white shorts and her cheeks are pink from the sun. “Yeah, it is! But Becca and I stayed up late last night baking.” And Trinity does notice the brownie tray. “We might have gone a little overboard.”

“Ah. Baking.”

“Yes, Becca’s very into sourdough lately,” says Mel seriously. Trinity can’t help but have a soft spot for her. A tiny soft spot. “She’s been watching these TikTok videos. My kitchen is now her experiment station.”

“Ah. Your sister. Nice.” Trinity’s about to politely extricate herself from the conversation in favor of a patient when Langdon suddenly appears. And by suddenly, Trinity means he was on the other side of the room, and then he basically teleported to Mel’s side.

“Mel, what are you doing here?” He puts his hand on her shoulder like she’ll disappear otherwise. “Are you—oh! Nice shirt.”

It’s a normal shirt, light pink with a print of Hello Kitty waving. Mel smiles brightly. “Hi!! Yeah it’s—“

“Becca’s favorite,” Langdon finishes and they both laugh, even though it isn’t really funny, like it’s an inside joke. And then Langdon glances down at the tray and says, “Ah, the brownies, shit, sorry, I forgot you were going to bring those in.”

“Well, I felt bad, you got the nurses those fancy donuts and I only gave out cards.” Mel is—pouting? Not really, not in the exaggerated way Yolanda does to make Trinity give her attention, but actually genuinely. Mel’s mouth is a little downturned, her eyebrows are scrunched with mild displeasure.

“Stop, they’d take a card from you over anything from me any day,” scoffs Frank. “Donnie acted like I was trying to poison him. And I’m half fucking convinced Ramón thinks you’re an actual angel from heaven.”

“No, he doesn’t, we have a very good professional rapport,” says Mel.

“Bullshit, he likes you.” And then Frank… softens? Like all the muscles in his neck and shoulders relax and he leans down, looking at her with his weirdly intense eyes and Trinity feels like she walked in on something. And the hand, still on Mel’s shoulder, is sliding down, his long fingers curling softly around her wrist. “Maybe I can’t blame him, though.”

“Oh my god,” says Trinity and they both jump, like they forgot she was even there. “You’re getting laid. That’s why you’ve been so fucking weird all week. You’re boinking Mel.”

“Santos.”

“That’s not a very appropriate thing to say in the workplace,” says Mel, frowning. But she doesn’t deny it. Because they TOTALLY ARE.

“It all makes sense,” says Trinity in disbelief.

Like she knew they were close. Langdon gets her a hot tea from a cafe every morning (Robby always asks where his is and Langdon snarks, “The break room, hands off.”) And the way they follow each other around and bump into each other without comment. That one time Langdon handed her a hair tie when hers snapped during a procedure and her too-bright smile.

“The stupid whistling. The weirdly good mood. You bought donuts. Oh my god. Mel, you and him? For real?”

Langdon’s face is not a nice face. “Can you go one day with causing a potential HR crisis?”

“I know way hotter dudes I can hook you up with, Mel,” Trinity tells her, enjoying this way more than she should. “Like I’m not a man enjoyer, but there’s this guy from med school who all my hetero friends say is a god at eating puss—“

“Okay, enough of that,” says Langdon firmly, and his hand is on the small of Mel’s back, herding her away, and he’s scowling. But Trinity follows, she’s so delighted. Mel and Mr. Asshole? Together? That’s so gold, it’s like platinum level gossip. Princess and Perlah are going to die. “Don’t you have a patient to neglect or something?”

“Possessive much, Langdon?” Trinity waggles her eyebrows. “Or are you that shitty in bed that you’re feeling a little threatened?”

“Frank is very good at cunnilingus, Trinity,” says Mel over her shoulder and ugh, she calls him Frank? And Trinity regrets all the teasing, because she did not need to know that. Or picture that. “I’m very well satisfied, thank you.”

And Langdon is grinning, an evil smug horny grin that immediately takes the wind out of Trinity’s sails.

“I am so texting Whitaker about this.”

“Tell Dennis I said hi!” calls Mel as Langdon ushers her into the break room. Where they’ll probably make out or say lovey dovey words to each other. (Probably not. Mel is a classy lady after all).

“This hospital,” Trinity says and then rushes off to hunt down Garcia.

[reidsism]

➳ DON’T WORRY — S.R

to nav 𓇙 to s.r mlist

spencer reid x fem!reader

in which spencer is having a tough time, and penelope garcia decides to take matters into her own hands, by sending him on a blind date

wc: 3.3k

warnings: none, just wine! all fluff and awkwardness and a shy blind date that’s not really a date but definitely feels like one (also my overabundance of italics)

a/n: my first spencer fic omg hi!!! pls go easy on me, i haven’t written in like three years and im still only on s9 of cm :,) also not beta’d lol

Spencer’s in a slump. He can’t deny it, even with the forced smiles and the constant “I’m fine”s to the team, day after day.

He knows the lack of sleep has manifested itself in his appearance—his undereyes are so dark he looks like he’s been punched, his hair is more unruly than usual, his clothes are rumpled. He’s even been having trouble focusing.  Stumbling over his words. Mixing up numbers when he rambles, which isn’t even all that often anymore.

He knows the team’s been concerned, too.

Hotch has been glancing at him more during briefings and keeping an eye on him when on cases.

Frankly, Spencer’s getting a bit annoyed by it all.

And then, when he’s staring through the report on his desk, Penelope strolls into the bullpen like a woman on a mission, planting herself next to him, her hands on her hips with a wide grin.

Spencer sighs. “Garcia—”

She interrupts him. “I have a proposal for you.” She’s not hiding her excitement well; her legs are jumpy, her heels stuttering in place on the linoleum where she stands, and she’s even slightly shaking, positively vibrating with eagerness. Spencer holds in a groan. “I feel like the Good Doctor needs a bit of a pick-me-up. So, I’ve done what I do, and made some calls, and oh,” she grins impossibly wider. “Long story short, you have a date!”

Spencer blanches. “What…?”

Garcia just nods. “I set up a reservation for you two at Gianni’s—it’s this totally adorable little Italian place, you’ll love it.”

He can’t quite make out the rest of her rambling. He feels like his hearing is going again, like his headaches have come back full-force. He coughs, successfully ending Garcia’s rant. She just looks at him, a flicker of worry crossing her bright features before she sighs, taking a seat on the corner of his desk. She sets a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Spencer, you can’t lie to me, like, at all. I know you,” she wiggles his shoulder with a cheeky grin. “You’re, well… you’re struggling. We can see it, and, hey,” she leans down to smile softly, more reassuring. “You don’t need to treat it like a date if you don’t want to. I just know someone who I think you’ll click with, and I think it’ll be fun. Y’know, to let loose for a bit? Eat some good food, drink some good wine, have a fun, not death-slash-kidnapping-slash-totally-terrible-things-based conversation? I mean, honestly, Reid, when’s the last time you had a normal conversation with someone outside of us?”

And, well… that makes Spencer pause. He thinks—really, genuinely thinks. About two weeks and four days ago, he made a call to a semi-local bookstore to see if they had a first-edition copy of The Outsider by HP Lovecraft in stock. (They didn’t.)

Since then, cases have taken up most of his time. He mostly spends his days working on cases at the BAU or reviewing the files at home.

Garcia knows she has him beat when Spencer hangs his head. She grins and claps her hands like she’s won a prize. “Yay! So, head home before it’s dark out, yeah? I’ll text you the details! It’ll be fun, don’t even worry about it!” She grins before heading back to her office down the hall, and Spencer sighs, putting his head onto his desk.

***

Spencer stands outside of the restaurant for, probably, longer than socially acceptable. He really would’ve rather not come, but then he started feeling guilty. He didn’t want to hurt Garcia’s feelings by refusing her, and he didn’t want to potentially hurt whoever she had set up to meet him by standing them up, even if he had no idea who they were.

The sign over the door says Gianni’s in blinking red neon, and he thinks the establishment seems… painfully fine, from his view into the windows. It’s not overly fancy, not exactly the vibe of a romantic first date. He mentally thanks Garcia for that.

He wrings his hands one final time before pulling open the glass door and stepping inside.

The hostess smiles brightly at him. “Hi! Welcome to Gianni’s,” she glances around him for a moment. “Party of one?” The smile turns to pity.

Spencer purses his lips in a tiny smile. “Uh, no. I have a reservation actually, under, uh…” he blinks. “Under Garcia?”

God, this is awkward. Spencer nibbles on his lower lip, glancing around the room as the hostess takes a look at the book beside the register. She nods. “Of course, sir. Right this way,” she grins, leading him to the back of the dining room, to a small table nestled in the corner right beside a huge window, the lights of the city nightlife shining through the glass.

He takes a seat with a small smile. The hostess says she’ll have someone over to take care of him shortly, and Spencer just nods before looking outside. It’s started to rain slowly tonight, small round droplets pattering the concrete sidewalk. He follows the lines they leave on the glass like a lure.

When the waitress comes over, she simply introduces herself—Sasha. She says she’ll come back once he’s settled, before leaving two laminated menus on the table and, strangely, taking the wine menu with her.

Spencer starts skimming over the menu, lower lip locked between his teeth. He worries the corner of the laminate between his fingers. Why is he so nervous? It’s not like this is a real date, after all, Garcia even told him it would just be something casual for him to get his mind off of work for a while. But he can’t help the strange stuttering in his chest when he thinks about it, meeting someone he doesn’t know for dinner. It’s not that he’s worried, no, he trusts Garcia. Even if her methods are, well, blunt, he knows that she knows him well enough not to drop a bomb on his lap in the form of a conversation partner.

He’s lost staring through the laminated cover of the menu when he hears footsteps nearing his little alcove in the corner. He glances up, and, well. Is it dramatic to say his breath catches? He’ll deny it if—or rather, when—Garcia asks.

You’re standing with a slightly nervous smile, the remnants of small raindrops clinging to your hair, with wet streaks shining on your skin. You wave shyly at him. “Hi, uh, are you Spencer?”

Spencer’s standing before you can even finish speaking, the chair scraping against the hardwood. He cringes. “Yeah- yes. Hi,” he smiles. 

You extend your hand to shake before pulling it away quickly. He frowns. “Penelope mentioned you don’t really do handshakes,” you chuckle. “Can I sit?” You point at the chair across from him. Spencer nods, sitting back down in his seat, watching as you shed your coat and hang it on the back of the chair, before taking a seat across from him. You smile at him, introducing yourself. “I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long? I didn’t expect the rain to hit when it did, and I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

Spencer shakes his head with a small laugh; just the barest exhale from his nose. “Uh, no, don’t worry. I just got here. And I didn’t bring an umbrella either, so,” he grins back at you. “Don’t worry.”

“You said that twice,” you grin, all teeth. Spencer can feel the warmth flush his neck. “Don’t worry,” you echo. “Maybe the rain’ll let up by the time we leave.” You pick up the other menu, so casual, and Spencer watches you like a creature he’s never seen before.

His phone buzzes from its place on the table. You don’t look up from your menu, but Spencer can see a faint smirk on your face with a hint of mischief or mirth in your eyes. He scrambles to look at the screen, only to be met with a text from Garcia.

PG: Is she there yet? Call her pretty! And don’t forget to smile! You’ll be fine, Einstein <3

Spencer sighs, turning his phone off and tucking it into his messenger bag, hanging off the back of his seat. He murmurs a small apology, and you simply shake your head before lowering the menu. “Was it Pen?” At his guilty look, you grin and shake your head. “She was badgering me, too. Don’t worry.”

Spencer can't hold back his tiny smile. “We’re saying that a lot.” You just laugh. Any tension that might’ve lingered over the evening seems to dissipate into thin air.

It doesn’t take long for the waitress, Sasha, to return to the table, this time carrying a bucket filled with ice and a bottle of wine sticking out of the top.  Spencer’s eyes widen comically, and you can only laugh as Sasha sets the bucket down. “A 2003 Pinot Gris,” she explains as she takes the bottle out and begins to fill both your glasses.

“I- I didn’t order any wine,” Spencer says, a strange, pathetic tinge to his voice as he helplessly watches his glass get filled. He hopes it’s not too expensive.

Sasha shakes her head. “It was requested when the reservation was made. Miss Garcia said she had your bill covered tonight.” She places the open bottle back into the bucket, the ice shifting around it. “So don’t worry. I’ll be back in a moment to take your orders,” she winks before stalking off.

You both stare at each other for a breath. The silence is broken with your contagious laughter, picking up your glass and raising it for a toast. “Well then. To Pen!”

Spencer grins, slowly raising his glass to gently clink it against yours. “To Garcia.”

Conversation flows naturally, more easily than Spencer had expected. Even when he went on an unintentional ramble about how fettuccine alfredo isn't really Italian, and how the word “pesto” literally means “to crush”, and how Pinot Gris is a French wine, not Italian like Pinot Grigio, even though they’re basically the same thing, and how a wine like this tends to pair well with pasta because of its dry, acidic profile that can cut through thick, creamy sauces.

When Spencer cut himself off to take a full, proper breath, he freezes. You have the sweetest smile on your face, your head resting on your hand like you’re really listening, like you’re actually interested in his long, unnecessary rambling. He takes a gulp of his wine and cringes. God, he hates wine.

When the food gets to the table, you grin at him. “I thought fettuccine alfredo wasn’t really Italian?” It’s a tease, yes, but Spencer doesn’t hear a trace of malice in your voice.

He shrugs, twirling some onto his fork. “I mean, it was technically invented in Rome, but it’s not the same. This version of fettuccine alfredo is an Americanized recreation from 1920s Hollywood,” he says, taking a bite. “Still, that doesn’t mean it’s not good.”

You chuckle, taking a bite of your own food. You grin at each other across the table like teenagers with a secret. It’s nice. Comfortable.

“So,” you start, pouring the last bit of wine, splitting the amount between your glass and his. “Aside from your impressive knowledge of the wine menu, what do you do when you’re not reading about Italian cuisine?”

Spencer shrugs, setting his fork down. “I, uh, I read. A lot.”

You smile. “Yeah, you seem like a reader. Anything that’s not like, work or Italian food-related, though? I’m sure you have hobbies outside of… well, the obvious.”

He nods. “I guess. I’m kind of a nerd about a lot of things, honestly. Not that that’s a hobby,” Spencer clarifies, his shoulders relaxing at your chuckle. “I’m really into old, out-of-print books. You know, the ones that—”

“The ones that cost a small fortune and have that weird, dusty smell?” You cut in, simpering. Your eyes crinkle. Spencer finds it painfully sweet.

He smiles. “Exactly,” he exhales a laugh before taking a sip of his wine. “I like to collect them. It’s kind of… calming, I guess.”

“That’s really cool,” you grin. “Y’know, I used to be super into photography when I was younger. Like, just… taking random pictures of random things.”

Spencer tilts his head. “Really? Like a hobby, or—?”

“No, no,” you laugh. “Just random moments. Sometimes the best things happen when you’re not looking, y’know?” And if there’s a part of Spencer’s heart that flutters in understanding, that whispers “you, you, you,” like an echo in his chest? Well, that’s between him and his internal organs. “Anyway, I haven’t even touched a camera in years.” 

“Why not?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Life got busy, and now it just feels kind of silly to start again. I do kind of miss it, though, I guess. The idea of capturing something, like… pure. Unfiltered? That’s still pretty appealing.”

Spencer smiles softly. “Don’t worry,” and oh, there’s a warmth in his gut that has nothing to do with the wine. “You still have time.”

“You think so?” There’s a far-off, wistful look of something not unlike hope that swims in your eyes.

He nods, and Spencer wonders if it’s too early to consider buying you a gift.

By the time you’re done, you’ve shared a small plate of tiramisu between you both. The rain outside the window hasn’t let up; if anything, it looks like it’s only coming down harder now. You and Spencer are still mindlessly chatting as you stand, and he helps you put your coat on. You look back at him and smile like a fool.

You walk outside the restaurant, and Spencer stops at the hostess’ station at the front, slipping a fifty to Sasha, and smiling softly as she balks.

The rain is pouring. You groan, “I took the metro here,” you say, raising your voice over the sounds of fat droplets hitting the sidewalk.

Spencer nods, tugging his coat tighter around himself. “Me too,” he glances towards the street. “We can get a cab?”

You nod, watching as he rushes into the rain, out from the cover of the awning, to wave down one of the yellow cars driving past. He beckons you over as one slows to a stop at the side of the road.

You follow Spencer, sliding into the backseat behind him and sitting beside him as the driver turns. “Where to?”

Spencer clears his throat. “Uh, two stops, if that’s alright?” The driver simply nods, and you tell him your address, a faint nervous tremble in your voice.

The ride to your apartment is almost silent, save for quiet murmuring from the backseat. Like you two can’t help the conversation, like you can’t bear not talking to each other for even five minutes.

When the cab pulls up to your apartment complex, you grin at Spencer, about to speak, when he climbs out of the car behind you. He mutters to the driver that he’ll only take a minute. “What’re you doing?” you ask, looking up at him in confusion.

Spencer shrugs, leading you to the doorway to the building. “I wouldn’t be a very good date if I left you to walk to your door alone.” He says it so simply, so easily, it almost shakes him. He can’t believe how nervous he was, not that long ago, refusing to even think of this dinner as anything more than a way to get his mind off work.

You grin widely up at him, letting yourself inside and holding the door open for him. “I suppose you’re right,” you lead him to the elevator. “You wouldn’t be a very good date. But I wouldn’t hold it against you,” you tease, pressing the button for your floor—eight. Spencer tucks that information away. “Don’t worry.”

You wink, and Spencer can’t hold back his soft laughter. He’s quiet on the elevator ride, too busy just looking at you. You’ve managed to shatter every one of his expectations and preconceived notions in no more than a couple of hours. It’s strange, but welcome. You’re welcome, now. Always.

When the elevator opens, and you lead the way to your apartment door, you turn around to face him fully. “Thank you,” you smile softly, looking up at him. “I had a really good evening, Spencer. Thanks for not running off.”

He purses his lips, smiling back at you. “I had a really good evening, too.” His hands start to wring again. “And, I wouldn’t have run off. Don’t worry.”

You chuckle, a glint in your eyes. “Well, still. Thanks. For the company, tonight. And the conversation. And all of the new facts I’ve just learned about Italian cuisine.”

Spencer blushes. He shrugs, his hands moving to clutch at the strap of his messenger bag. “Glad to provide newfound knowledge, then,” he chuckles.

And before he can overthink it or second-guess himself, Spencer bends slightly, pressing a soft, feather-light kiss to your cheek. Your eyes go wide for just a moment before warmth floods your cheeks, and a grin that surpasses even sunshine itself takes over your face. You inhale shakily and unlock your door. You keep your eyes on Spencer as you step inside. “Thanks again,” you breathe. “I’ll um, I’ll text you?”

Spencer nods before beginning to walk backwards toward the elevator. He wishes you a good night and watches you slowly close your door.

He doesn’t step onto the elevator until he hears your door lock, and then he’s rushing back outside, into the pouring monsoon, before throwing himself into the backseat of the taxi.

The driver just laughs at him, at his cheeks all blotchy and red. Spencer clears his throat and awkwardly gives him his address.

He’s inside his apartment and toeing off his shoes when he realizes he never got your number.

Spencer freezes. He yanks his phone out of his bag with all the decorum of a deer in the road, and notices the abundance of missed texts from Garcia.

PG: How’s dinner going?? Is it awkward??? Did you say anything weird yet????

PG: Guess things are going well!! Don’t worry about the bill, it’s on me!!

PG: And DON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT THE WINE!!!!!!!

PG: Oh I’m SO excited to see your face tomorrow, Reid! I told you this was a good idea!

PG: Here’s her number, in case you were too stunned and totally in love with her to ask for it ;)

Spencer sighs, grateful for the inclusion of your number that saves him the awkward embarrassment of asking for it. He can’t keep the smile off his face as he adds it to his contacts, and types out a quick message. He sends it before he can talk himself out of it, and leaves his phone on the couch as he heads into his room to change.

Spencer: Hi, this is Spencer. Have a good night, and thanks again for dinner! It was really enjoyable. Hope you don’t mind me getting your number from Garcia, I only just noticed we hadn’t exchanged contact info :)

If Garcia ever asked, Spencer would deny it, but he runs out of his bedroom with his shirt still in his hand when he hears his phone buzz on the couch.

You: hey spencer! you have a good night too, dinner was super fun. you’re a fun conversationalist. and if you hadn’t gotten my number from pen, i would’ve asked her for yours, so don’t worry :)

He grins down at his phone before turning it off and pulling his shirt on. He brushes his teeth with a smile on his lips, crawls into bed with his face sore and his cheeks cramping, and begins to fall asleep to the sound of heavy rain pattering on his window.

It’s not until he’s curled up between the sheets, half asleep, that he realizes he hasn’t thought about work or cases all night.

Well then. Thank you, Penelope Garcia.

[hivemuthur]

To Be Known - Ch.8.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! (and I can't stress this enough, kids shoo!) Modern AU, set in London, current era but not very specific. It's just a love story.

<- previous chapter MASTERLIST next chapter ->

word count: 6,2K

warnings, or rather this chapter contains: safe word use mentioned from Viktor's POV, subdrop & domspace (Viktor's), mentions of asphyxiation via throat fucking, light slapping and crying from Viktor's POV, some good ol' sex and you wouldn't believe it, actual fluff.

author’s note: Viktor's POV of what happened so we take a step back in timeline! Dinner next week. And as usual, playlist here and artist is @petitesieste ♡ translations from Czech at the bottom! @rennethen beta read, thank you ♡

Cross-posted on AO3

—

He wakes to the smell of coffee—not the acrid, burnt kind that Jayce swears by, but something softer. Sweeter. Something you made.

The light in the flat is watery, the clouds outside dragging slow shadows across the walls. He blinks blearily at the bedroom ceiling and shifts, noticing first the ache in his leg, then the heaviness in his chest.

You’re not in bed. But your warmth is still in the sheets, curled faintly into the pillow beside him.

Viktor forces himself upright, limbs slow. His body doesn’t feel wrong, just... unfamiliar. Like someone else’s skin laid gently over his own. The memory of your hands—so sure, so careful—makes his mouth go dry.

He finds you in the kitchen in an oversized hoodie, hair tied back loosely, humming under your breath as you pour hot water into the press. You don’t startle when he appears. You just glance over your shoulder, smiling, as if you’ve always known exactly where he is.

��Hi,” you say, setting a mug down for him.

He hesitates before taking it. “You didn’t have to,” he murmurs.

“I wanted to,” you reply, simply, like it’s obvious and it disarms him.

The morning passes like that—quiet, your fingers brushing his side when you walk past, his eyes following the curve of your smile like it’s something sacred. You don’t tease him. Don’t press. You just move around him like you know the weight of what you shared, and refuse to treat it lightly.

It should soothe him, but it doesn’t. The secret spilled last night—wordless but scratched open—lingers in the silence between you like a held breath. Even though he’s absolutely certain that you know what it feels like, it remains unspoken. And it seems as if touching it would be asking too much of you. So Viktor grits his teeth and tries to survive it on his own.

Until you’re dressed and ready to go, arms draped loosely over his shoulders, sat on the edge of the kitchen table like you belong there.

“I have to get going,” you murmur, nose brushing against the rough plane of his cheek, warm and certain in a way he can barely bring himself to match. You pull his hair back from his face with one hand—a loving gesture—and then trace your thumbs down the hollows of his cheeks.

“I can’t convince you to take a day off, can I?” he asks, the words raw with something too close to need. He tells himself he means it as a joke, but there’s no dignity in the way his fingers wrap around your wrist, desperate to keep you just a moment longer.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, smiling with that soft guilt. “Young Vic needs me.”

“Old Vik needs you more today,” he tries again, thinner now, an attempt at levity that collapses when the line leaves his mouth. The moment it does, he has to turn away from you—because the recoil twists something awful in his face, and he doesn’t want you to see it.

You hesitate, then offer gently, “I could call you in the evening? Or come over?”

“Eh, I’m… joking,” he says quickly, waving his hand. “Go to work. I’ll be alright.”

There’s a pause, and then: “Viktor?” His name sounds different when you say it like that. Soft. Careful. “I—” You bite your lip, then exhale. “I know how… this feels,” you say, smoothing a hand over his chest.

“I know you do. And I know how this feels,” he replies, reaching for you and placing a flat palm over your heart. “Go and use it for something good. I have an easy day today.”

You wait until he’s looking away to rise up, hovering over his lap before kissing him. There’s no rush in it, just something tender and attentive. His hands come to your waist, hesitant at first—then firmer as he pulls you in and gives the kiss back. But not for long. He breaks it, pressing his face to yours with a tired sound in his throat.

“You’re making it worse,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible against your lips. It isn’t accusation—just truth, hushed and heavy.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Your forehead rests against his, your breath warm between you. “But leaving you doesn’t feel right today.”

He huffs a soft sound that might have been a laugh if it didn’t sound so pained. “Does it ever feel right?”

“No,” you admit quietly. “But it feels less wrong when you’re perked up.”

That earns you a faint smile, crooked and tired. “Well, you will be back, won’t you? I need a day.”

“Of course,” you say, brushing your knuckles down the sharp line of his jaw. The gesture is soft, familiar, meant to soothe. “Call me though?”

His eyes meet yours—something tender flickering behind them. He doesn’t answer right away, but the nod that follows is slow and sure. Then his eyes grow distant, as if he’s trying not to grab blindly for what you’re taking with you. 

By the time he arrives at the Institute, he’s already chasing the part of himself that slipped out of reach last night. The one you pulled into your hands and held so reverently it scared him. He spends the day half-there, sketching absent lines into his notebook, one ear tuned vaguely to Jayce’s humming.

He tells himself it’s because he misses you, and not because he’s trying to claw back the version of himself you once begged to submit to.

The workbench doesn’t help. The lab work under his fingertips feels alien in a way it never has before—he assembles, disassembles, calibrates again, but none of it lands. His hands move, but they don’t belong to him today. 

At lunch, Jayce tries to corner him about a supply delay, but the words slide past like water on glass. Viktor nods where appropriate, gives a half-hum of agreement, and then stares at a small flaw in a solder point for twelve minutes, unable to remember what made it wrong. When Jayce circles back later, brows lifted and lips curled with mock concern, Viktor doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You sick or something?” Jayce finally says, nudging him with a wrench. “Is your leg bad?”

Viktor shrugs, without irony. “No. Just tired.” Which isn’t a lie. He is tired. But it’s the sort that sleep doesn’t touch.

He manages through it—just barely—riding a vague cloud of undefined sadness and borrowed momentum until the sky turns the soft blue of dusk. It’s a day in which nothing really happens, and yet, getting through it feels like wading through wet wool. Every hour stretches like taffy. Every question aimed at him demands a version of himself he can’t quite locate.

It’s very late when you call, but your pseudonym on the little black screen does serve as a lifeboat. At first Viktor wonders if just the sheer act of you calling him would be enough—and whether he should actually pick up. He does, in the end.

Your voice balms over him, the sound of it wrapping like gauze around an open wound. He exhales, head tipping back against the wall behind him as you sigh—relieved, clearly—that he picked up.

“I’m sorry, it’s so late. How are you doing?”

“I—” His throat tightens. “I actually don’t know.”

A pause. Then: “Would you like to… elaborate?”

He runs a hand through his hair, fingers catching. “It’s just… It’s been a long time since I’ve done this.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You calling is nice.”

There’s a breath on the line. Then: “Look, I… I wouldn’t be opposed to coming back to the initial… setup.”

“Wouldn’t be opposed?” he echoes, mouth twitching faintly.

“I would love to come back to it.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he murmurs, quieter now. “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, I’m good, but, hmm… irritable?”

That earns a small smile from him. “Oh?”

“It’s hard to explain,” you say, voice lilting in that way that always means you’re hedging. “Suddenly it’s very hard for me to understand when people just don’t do what I ask of them perfectly… Charlie called me Idi Amin today, so, uh, you know, I fear it might’ve turned me into a villain.”

“Ah, that.” Viktor chuckles softly, the sound hollow. “I can imagine it’s harder when you actually are in charge of something.”

“Yeah, I might not be the best person to wield such power.”

He lets his head fall back again, the ceiling above him blurred in the low light. “It’s something you can learn, should you wish to.”

“I—maybe.” A shift in your voice, tentative. “But Viktor, I don’t want you to think that something changes now.”

His chest tightens with that dull pressure he’s come to associate with wanting too much. “Well, something has changed,” he says, slowly, carefully. “In the spirit of honesty, which should be a pillar of this arrangement, I can tell you... that it perhaps was a little bit too soon for me.”

His own admission tastes strange in his mouth, too open and bare, but it’s true, nevertheless. “But I offered,” he adds, swallowing. “So the consequences are on me. I just don’t feel like myself today. But it will pass.”

“What can I do?”

He smiles, brief and tired, the expression hidden in shadow. “Hold back your control freak tendencies until we meet again? For the sake of theatre industry and possibly humanity?”

A soft exhale from the other end of the line. “It seems that we are on the opposite poles of control freakiness.”

“Yes,” he says, leaning forward, his elbow braced on his knee. “Two halves of one giant freakiness.”

“Viktor?”

He hums, eyelids lowering.

“I never said thank you. So thank you, for trusting me.”

The silence stretches for a beat before he answers, voice soft. “You are welcome.” He presses a thumb to his temple, almost without thinking. “You’ve earned it.”

“You are such a sap, I swear.”

“And you are romance repellent.”

That pulls a laugh from you—quick, bright, and it lingers in his ear even after the words fade. “Goodnight, Viktor.”

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, holding the phone just a second longer than needed before finally ending the call.

Truthfully what Viktor needs is you, right here with him in no particular setup, just being. He chuckles at his own contemplation on how strong or utterly stubborn you must be for not crawling back to him night after night, only every two or three nights, and still manage to tease him. Were you to walk through his door right now, he would fold like a napkin.

And Viktor would never call himself a person with a bleeding heart, yet for you he seems to be haemorrhaging slowly, from a small vein where the blood is airless, thick and lazy, so it can remain unnoticed for the longest time.

He stands under the scalding stream in the shower for ages, trying to purge the tension away from his body. The water pelts his shoulders in rhythmic bursts, but it does little to dissolve the tightness lodged deep beneath his skin. His mind is too loud for that—replaying your voice, dissecting its tone for layers of guilt, affection, detachment, something he can hold onto.

Eventually he turns the tap off, but lingers, head bowed. The air steams around him like a fog he doesn’t step out of.

When he finally makes it to bed, his leg is restless enough that he has to fumble for the crutch to keep it tucked against the nightstand—just in case. He hates using it at night, hates the metallic echo it taps across the floor, but tonight the ache is sharper than usual, aggravated by the weight of a day spent dragging emotions behind him like a second body.

He lies down without much ceremony. Gets his injection. Shifts once. Then again. He flips the pillow over, though it’s still warm on both sides. The silence hums in his ears. Sleep doesn’t come—not for a long time. When it finally does, it’s light and hollow, and Viktor wakes cold in his own bed.

The next day drags unbearably. He’s irritable and impatient, self-loathing rocketing sky-high as every weak spot crawls to the surface. There’s a monstrous, near-comical need welling up inside him, and it leaves him deeming himself utterly useless. He’s pliant with the investors. Jayce notices—worries—and eventually makes him go home, despite Viktor’s scoffs and brittle protests.

By the third day, he breaks. His good leg jumps up and down as he sits hunched on the stool in the lab, clutching his phone. The sass has long evaporated. He deletes a message three times before settling on something tolerable.

First attempt: Can I see you tonight? Utterly outrageous. No. Second: Come over in the evening. It feels presumptuous. He has no right. Third: How are you? Pathetic. Eventually, he settles on: What are you wearing?

You reply almost immediately, and he exhales—relieved. He’s certain your ass is perfectly fine, and you’re just indulging him. He snorts when you say you can afford his begging. Jayce raises an eyebrow, the question already forming, so Viktor simply mutters, “Cat videos.”

And when you text back I can’t wait, the giddiness rushes in—like a teenager. He can't wait either. When you buzz in and stumble out of the elevator, eyes distressed and posture tight, practically falling into his arms, Viktor has a single, foolish dream: That he could lift you, toss you onto the bed, and love you so gently the world would fall away. That maybe, just maybe, it would fix everything.

It’s the first time Viktor sees you like this—begging from the very threshold of his apartment. Pressing against him as if he offers some kind of relief. The sheer demand in your body for him to fall back into a role scrapes at the edges of his restraint, tipping him toward something darker when you won’t say what happened. He wants to know so badly who hurt you like this—so he can burn their house down and salt the ashes, tear their family apart, ruin them beyond repair.

You feel like an answered prayer in his arms, desperate and pliant. He takes you to the living room, watching the way you move—shaky, flushed, undone—as if his presence alone steadies you. He gestures to the cushions beside the couch. You kneel without protest.

It’s the image that splits him open.

Your mouth on him is so familiar, so obedient. Like a script returning to its first draft. He doesn’t speak much, just watches—eyes dragging down your face, your hair, the subtle tremor in your shoulders. He doesn’t ask what you need. Doesn’t outright ask what happened anymore, just scolds you playfully for not telling him. Not because he doesn’t care—God, he does—but because it feels too dangerous. Because if he asks, you might tell him, and he’s not sure he’ll survive it.

So he rewrites it all into performance. He slaps his cock against your cheek. The noise is louder than he anticipates in the quiet of the flat, and you flinch. That should have been the moment, but it isn’t.

Something in your expression falters—uncertainty where there should be surrender. But you stay with that tear prickling your eye. It’s such a gorgeous sight Viktor can’t help himself. He cups your face, and slaps you once. Again, he doesn’t stop. It crosses his mind he should ask if you want to.

But he presses back in, and then the second slap lands and he knows already that you are gone. He hears in the way you plea with his name. Then in the way you say, “Stop.” And then, red lands sharp and awful and your voice alone shatters him. The way it lands in the room, like a gunshot through fog. He blinks, as though just now returning to his body. You’re trembling. Not aroused. Not soft. Just… splintered.

And he realises, he’s panicked, trying to stitch together the version of himself that you looked at like a prayer answered, like you trusted it. Trying to make something static out of something inherently alive.

What he’d seen on your knees—open, vulnerable—wasn’t a call to power. It was a call to care. And he missed it. Because the sight of you there made something inside him settle. For the first time in days, his skin had fit again, like the shape of him had returned. He'd felt whole. Drunk on it. And he’d mistaken that relief for balance.

His reaction is instant, yet it feels far too slow. Every movement is thick, underwater. He guides you up gently, though all he wants is to lift you and carry you to bed. The fact that he can’t—because of the crutch, because of the day, because of his body—makes him feel small. What makes him feel worse is when you ask if he’s angry.

You cry so beautifully on his lap, he nearly slips again. Torn between crying with you and soothing you, Viktor settles on a compliment: You are wonderful. Many times already he’s fought back what keeps trying to breach the border of his lips, and he manages to hold it again—barely. Still stunned and ashamed by what happened, he makes a quiet vow: he will never corrode love into something cruel. Not with you. Never with you.

When you're finally in his bed, he leaves only for a moment. To get a towel for you. To steal a breath for himself. He brings back Jayce’s t-shirt and notices sombrely that the marking on your belly is nearly gone.

He’s ready to call it a night. To cradle you through the shame and the silence. But then your hands ghost over his stomach, pleading. And it takes every last ounce of his willpower—and some borrowed from whatever extraterrestrial entity set this whole cruel universe in motion—to refuse you.

But you keep begging. Frustrated, you throw your hands up, and he wishes he could read your mind. And then suddenly—he can.

And Viktor cannot exactly put a pin in the moment it finds him—or rather, the moment he catches up with it. The love that has kind hands, the love that snores, the love that cracks her bones ten thousand times a day, the love that finds shelter in the crease of his thigh and gives, gives, gives—and takes. What he has to shed, she wants. What she gives, he takes and says thank you. When he caught up with it eludes him. But where it found him—he is convinced—it was at the world’s end.

By the time he shakes off the weight of that realisation, you’re already asleep. Curled over him. Breathing warm air against his cock like it’s nothing, like it’s everything. His hand rests on your head, the other clutched to his chest. He says your name, softly, just to be sure. When you don’t stir, he gathers every shard of nerve he has and whispers: “I think I love you.”

Soon after that sleep takes him too. He wakes to the pressing throb of his leg and the weight of your head nestled into the plane of his stomach. One of your arms is draped across his waist, fingers curled possessively into his hip like you’d grown roots there in your sleep. It’s still dark out. His phone buzzes once—4:43 AM—and he grimaces as sensation starts returning in a slow, mean wave down his thigh.

He hates moving you. Every instinct he has screams to let you stay as you are, peaceful and slack-jawed against him, hair tickling his skin with each breath. But he needs to get up. The pressure is unbearable, the stiff ache turning sharp.

Carefully, he shifts—easing your hand from his waist, brushing your cheek. You murmur something into the warmth, not quite words, but when he brushes your shoulder again, your eyes blink open, bleary and unfocused.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “Need the bathroom.”

You nod, half-asleep, and roll away just enough to let him move. He reaches for his crutch, standing slowly with a tight breath, and pads toward the door. When he returns, you're sitting up, barely upright, blanket wrapped loosely around your chest.

“I pinned you,” you say, voice raspy, eyes dragging over the crutch.

“You were warm.” He pauses, settling in beside you again. “I didn’t mind.”

You make a noncommittal sound and tug the blanket tighter. Your eyes are clearer now, more awake, still a bit puffy, watching him as he eases himself back onto the bed. The mood is subdued, but not strained.

You yawn into your sleeve. “Do you think people will notice?”

Viktor blinks. “That you pinned me?”

You give him a look. “At dinner.”

He exhales, amused but wary. “Ah.” It hangs between you for a second. The Soho dinner. Mel’s big revival of her hosting streak. You were both invited—separately—as this is of course still, a very casual secret.

“I mean, we haven’t exactly rehearsed public performances,” you add.

He rubs a hand across his face. “Yes, and I imagine ‘friends of friends’ won’t suffice if I accidentally lick your neck.”

You snort, surprised. “Jesus, Viktor.”

He shrugs, mouth twitching. “I’m not especially discreet.”

“No, you're not.” You draw your knees tighter. “Do we… act normal? Or pretend we don’t know each other?”

“I’d prefer not to pretend,” he says. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I’ll behave.”

There’s a pause, then you ask: “Will it be weird for you?”

He shakes his head. “Not unless you flirt with someone else.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Which you’re free to do,” he adds quickly. “I just… reserve the right to have an internal crisis about it.”

That draws a real laugh out of you. And he’s grateful for it. The air in the room lightens, just enough. “I guess we’ll play it by ear,” you say, softer now. “See how it feels.”

He nods. “We’ll be fine.”

But still, after you settle back beside him, your head near his shoulder, he finds his thoughts wandering—through the dining room in Soho, the faces of your friends, the chance proximity of your knees under the table. The idea of being in a room full of people who don’t know what you are, who assume they know. The ache of not touching. The unbearable sweetness of being near you, and pretending it doesn’t mean anything.

He lets out a long breath and closes his eyes. You’re here. And oh, under Viktor’s lids you are there too, crying into his sleeve. He rolls to his side to face you, brushes hair off your neck, and kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. You giggle, shoulders squirming up.

When he leans in to kiss your mouth, you twist away with a playful groan. “That’s cheating, you cleaned your teeth!”

“I don’t mind,” he mutters, mouth already grazing your jaw. “You can go and brush yours if you wish.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious. “What do you have in mind?”

“It’s very early,” he murmurs, planting a kiss at the curve of your neck, “so we have time for this—” His hands slide down to cup your ass, squeezing firmly. “—and maybe some of this.” Then, shifting closer, Viktor grinds the weight of his cock into the soft apex of your thighs. “And possibly also this,” he purrs, voice dipping low.

You hold back your breath in the hollow of your palm, eyes fluttering shut. Then a beat. You wriggle away. “Wait here.”

“Hurry up,” he groans, flopping dramatically onto his back. “I’ve got places to be.”

“Impossible man,” you mutter from the bathroom, grabbing your toothbrush.

When you come back, he’s splayed on his side, head propped in his hand. You drop onto the bed with theatrical exhaustion and lean over him, exhaling sharply into his face. “See how nice?” you ask, breath fresh and smug.

He chuckles, grinning as he slaps your thigh. “Very nice indeed. Now come here.”

You shift over, kneeling beside him, and Viktor’s hand finds the small of your back. But before things slip further, his gaze lifts to yours, steady and searching. “How are you?” he asks softly. “After last night.”

You hesitate—just for a second—but your fingers trace his sternum with deliberate calm. “I’ll tell you,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Just not now.”

His eyes stay on yours for a moment longer. Reading. Weighing. He nods, and the quiet is warm again. “Alright,” he says.

You bend forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “How’s your leg?”

He scoffs, a little theatrical himself now, trying to dismiss it. “Uncooperative, as always. But I’ll manage.”

You arch a brow. “Well, I want you to last me a long time, so you better not strain yourself.”

That earns you a pleased hum and the faintest flush at his ears. He rolls onto his back with a smirk and props his good leg slightly, one arm behind his head. “Well then,” he says, voice rich with suggestion, “you better get to work, no?”

Your grin flashes bright as you crawl over him, your reply low and teasing: “Yes, sir,” your hands already sliding down his underwear.

He groans as you free him, his cock twitching against his hip. You peel off your t-shirt next, then your knickers, tossing them somewhere off the edge of the bed. Straddling his lap, you settle your hands on his chest, lean down, and kiss him—his mouth, his cheek, the edge of his jaw. You press slow kisses along his neck, over the yellowing bruise your mouth left nights ago. Viktor watches you, breath catching when your lips drift down the plane of his torso.

You take your time. His collarbones, his sternum. The raised edge of a scar. You kiss each wrist, the fingers that gripped your waist last night. When your mouth finds the V of his hips, he jolts—half a gasp, half a plea. You guide your tongue there gently, purposely, and feel him pulse against your cheek.

He’s hard now, fully, his breath uneven as he stares down at you with something like awe and confusion. “What is all this for?” he asks, voice ragged.

You lift your gaze, your lips swollen with affection. “It wasn’t so bad last night,” you say. “I actually feel better today. I want you to know this.”

His brow furrows, mouth parting, but no words come. Then, slowly, he exhales and murmurs, “My girl. Come here.”

You crawl back over him, hips bracketing his, and Viktor wraps one arm around your back, pulling you to his chest. The other hand comes to your face, brushing your temple. “You don’t apologise to me now or make it up in any way, do you understand?” he says, voice low and tender. “I pushed too hard. But I will make it up to you.”

You nod against him, your breath soft where it hits his skin. Viktor exhales through his nose, cradling your jaw with his hand. You are warm under his fingers, pliant, trusting. The weight of you straddling him feels steadying, like gravity remembering its job. He runs his hand down your spine, all the way to your tailbone, and presses you closer.

“You feel so good like this,” he murmurs, lips brushing your hairline.

You hum softly, shifting your hips against his, and Viktor’s cock nudges the slick heat of you. His breath stutters—just a little. He cups your hips, stills you with firm hands. Not yet.

“Lift for me,” he says, voice low.

You rise up on your knees, and he lines himself up with one hand. When you sink down onto him, both of you moan—a sound drawn from the deepest parts. You’re slow with it, careful, and he can feel your thighs trembling already, but today he’s patient. Anchored. One hand slips to your belly, pressing you gently down until he’s fully sheathed inside. Your walls clench around him, and Viktor has to close his eyes for a moment.

“There you are,” he says quietly. “That’s it.” He exhales, relieved. His mind quiets again. He’s home again.

He entwines your fingers in his and stretches his arms over his head, pulling you with him. Your chests touch—Viktor’s ribs pressing gently into the soft parts of your body—and he stretches until his stomach hollows.

You kiss him, first softly—barely a brush. Then again, deeper, as your mouths part and your breaths spill together. He tilts his head, angling into you, and when your tongues meet, it’s with a hum low in his throat. His fingers tighten instinctively in yours.

You taste like mint and heat, like morning and want. His lips part to welcome more of you. The slide of your tongue against his makes his chest flutter, his pulse knocking unevenly beneath your joined hands. When your teeth click softly against his, he huffs a laugh into your mouth, but doesn't pull back.

You kiss like you need him. Like you missed him. He melts into it, into you, mouth open and pliant now, his tongue sweeping yours slowly. The heat of you around him, the weight of you above him—it all swells into something dizzying. He’s not sure what’s better: the lazy rhythm of your hips or the wet, drugging pace of your kiss.

You moan softly against his mouth and Viktor’s hips twitch beneath you. He groans in return, the sound swallowed into your mouth as his hands squeeze yours tighter. You’re both breathless when you pull back just a little—lips red and swollen, a string of saliva connecting you for a heartbeat before it breaks.

He whispers your name, bewildered. His eyes are half-lidded, his body strung taut with pleasure. “You kiss me like you mean it.”

You smile against his mouth. “I do,” you say, and the words go straight through him. Viktor swallows, chest rising beneath yours.

His hand slips free from yours and rises to cradle your face. His thumb brushes your cheekbone, then traces the soft curve of your lower lip. “Good,” he murmurs, “me too.”

You roll your hips, slow and sure, and the breath leaves him. His grip tightens—not to stop you, just to feel it all more.

The rhythm you set is unhurried. Measured. He falls into it like something practiced, like the steps of a dance his body never forgot. It’s you that brings him back—your weight, your warmth, your breath on his face. You ground him. Remind him that he’s not chasing anything now. He’s already here. He doesn’t need to reach or grasp or force. He can just be.

He exhales long and slow, letting himself dissolve into the motion of your bodies meeting, again and again.

There is no urgency in you today, only that devastating tenderness he finds hardest to survive. You ride him like you’re trying to memorise something, to mark it, to hold it without breaking it. And he lets you. No—he offers himself up to be held like this.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispers suddenly, surprising himself. His hands find your hips and he steadies you, pushes up into you just a little, guiding the angle. “It wasn’t long, and I’ve still missed you.”

You lean forward and kiss him—slow and deep again—and he arches into it, gasping softly when your cunt flutters around him.

Everything else falls away. The shame. The mistake. The panic from the night before that had clawed inside his ribs and refused to let go—it's quiet now. Gone, mostly. Or caged well enough that he can breathe again.

“You feel good,” he tells you between kisses, hand sliding from your hip to your thigh. “You always do. But now—” he pauses, groans as your cunt clenches again, “Now it feels—” He doesn’t finish.

You nod against his forehead, your body rocking into his like you understand something too. Like this, slow and deep and raw, is the only thing either of you really knows how to speak in.

And still, Viktor guides you. His hands adjust the angle again, murmuring soft instructions against your skin—“There, like that—yes. Just like that, good girl.”

You whimper as you find a new depth, and Viktor feels your fingers slide through his hair, anchor against his scalp. The next time you grind down, a helpless noise breaks in his throat. He grabs your ass, helps you move, then presses a kiss to your sternum, your throat, your collarbone.

His voice is rough now, soaked in need. “I want to stay like this. Inside you. Under you. Watching your face when you come.”

Your eyes flutter closed, overwhelmed, and he catches your cheek in his palm again. “Don’t hide,” he whispers. “Let me see you.”

You slip your hands to cradle the base of his skull, thumbs pressing into the hinges of his jaw. “Viktor, you feel so good, oh God,” you whisper into his mouth, lips catching. Your brows scrunch above his and Viktor breathes you in deeply through his nose, through his mouth.

"Talk to me, please," you ask him.

Viktor cups your jaw, reverent. His hips lift in time with yours, steady, deep. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice roughened with restraint. “So strong. So soft, taking me so well.”

You whimper, and he kisses you again, slower now. Tongue brushing yours, careful, coaxing. “Děvče moje,” he breathes against your lips. “Podívej se na mě. Look at me.”

Your gaze finds his—eyes glassy, wide—and he almost breaks there. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Show me how good it feels.”

You clench around him—tight, fluttering—and Viktor sees it ripple through you, the way your thighs begin shake, how your rhythm stutters. “That’s it,” he says again, encouraging, barely holding himself back. “You’re close. Come for me, my girl. Just like this. Let me feel you.”

Your whole body tightens and then unravels all at once. Your breath is gone, your mouth opens, but there are no words, only a sound—guttural, cracked, full of something big and raw. Your hands twist into his hair. Your cunt clamps hard around him, again and again.

And Viktor—oh, Viktor is gone.

The wave of your orgasm rolls through him, not just in the way you clench around him, not just in the rhythm of your breath—but in the ache in his chest. The swell behind his ribs. The unbearable beauty of you coming apart on top of him.

His vision blurs as his own climax hits, deep and low in his spine. His hands grab at your hips, hold you still, and he grinds up into you once, twice—moaning through his teeth as he spills inside you.

You collapse forward, gasping against his neck, and Viktor just holds you. Hands on your back, one curled protectively at the nape of your neck. His thoughts scatter. All distant now—like fog that’s lifted. There’s only this: you with him, the feel of your heartbeat pounding where your chest meets his.

Viktor closes his eyes, presses a kiss into your hair, and lets his body soften under yours. “Děkuju,” he whispers, and doesn’t realise until after that he’s said it aloud.

“Viktor?” you murmur into his neck after a moment. He hums in response, brushing your hair from your face. “I’m hungry.”

His mouth falls open, incredulous. Then he laughs—an outright undignified cackle. “Impossible. That’s it. From now on, we fuck in the mornings.”

You snort. “Bite me.”

“Gladly.” He shifts, rolling you onto your back, pinning your wrists gently to the mattress before dipping to your throat. His teeth find your skin and nip, just hard enough to make you squeak. He licks over the spot, smug as anything. “There. Breakfast in bed.”

You pinch his side and wriggle free, both of you still warm with the afterglow. He grumbles but lets you go.

You help him up, fingers brushing his ribs as he stretches. He tips his head toward the bathroom, and you go on tiptoe. On the way to the kitchen, you snag the blanket off the bed and wrap yourself in it like a makeshift cloak, your feet and legs bare, hair tousled and glowing.

You interrupt him while he’s cooking—eating pieces of fruit and slices of cheese before they make it into the plate. Viktor swats at you with one hand, then jabs at your hip with the end of his crutch, scolding in half-hearted Czech. You only grin and steal more. And then you have your first real breakfast together.

—

Děvče moje - My girl Podívej se na mě - Look at me Děkuju - Thank you

[whimsicalpolitical]

i feel like you would write such a good moment of matty treating y/n like she’s dumb but in that condescending teasing way where he’s almost amused ya know? like mockingly pouting back at her when she whines 🤭🤭

thanks so much! 18+ mdni, thigh riding because i loveee

it started at dinner.

you knew you were fucked the second he stepped out of the bedroom. his hair still damp from the shower, a cigarette pinched between his teeth, fitted black trousers and a soft blue polo that clung in all the right places. he hadn’t even done the top button. just left it loose like he didn’t know what that would do to you.

he looked dangerous. smug and golden under the restaurant lights, rings catching on his glass of wine, eyes flicking to yours every time you shifted in your seat. his hand was on your thigh almost as soon as you sat down, warm and heavy under the tablecloth, sliding higher every time you spoke. he had the whole night to watch you squirm.

“you need to behave,” he murmured at one point, voice low enough that only you could hear it, thumb pressing just inside your inner thigh.

your legs were shaking and your panties were embarrassingly soaked and you’d stopped listening to anything the table was talking about.

matty had just smirked, leaned in close to kiss your cheek like he hadn’t just dragged his thumb across the dampest part of your knickers. “pathetic.”

—

and now you’re here.

straddling his thigh in the soft flicker of the living room lamp, skirt bunched around your waist, hands braced on his shoulders. he hasn’t touched you since you got home. not really. just sat down, legs spread, and nodded toward his thigh like it was a throne.

“as needy as you were, you only deserve this,” he’d said, lighting up a cigarette with the same casual air he wore at dinner. “if you’re good, i’ll think about fucking you.”

that was- god, that was ages ago now.

you’ve been grinding slow and steady, chasing it with every shaky roll of your hips. the friction of his trousers is maddening, firm beneath your soaked panties, and every time your clit brushes just right, you gasp like it’s the first time. but you still haven’t tipped over. still clenching and whining and panting through your teeth.

“not very efficient, are you?” he drawls, lips twitching into something cruel and fond as he takes another drag. “been at it how long now?”

you whimper, pressing down harder. “matty.”

he pouts at you. mocking. soft little frown like he’s devastated on your behalf. “what is it, darling? can’t get off without me?”

you shake your head, frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. “i can, it’s just- ugh.”

“i disagree with you. i think i spoil you too much.” his free hand lifts, lazy fingers brushing your flushed cheek. “i always give you what you want. always get you off and now you can’t do it yourself.”

your body jolts again, hips stuttering as you find a better angle- just right, almost perfect. it drags a breathy gasp from your throat and matty grins, all teeth and heat. he leans in closer, cigarette hovering behind your back now.

“there you go. clever girl. took you long enough.”

you can’t answer. you’re already too far gone. hips rolling fast now, small broken moans spilling out between your lips as you grind down hard, thighs trembling.

his voice is a quiet hum beneath you, “making such a mess on my trousers now, look at you.”

but it slips. it slips. just as your muscles start to seize, just as your breath catches in that perfect little inhale, it fades like smoke, like it was never really there. and you let out a noise that’s all frustration and disbelief, dropping your forehead to his shoulder.

“no, no no no-“

matty laughs.

you want to cry.

“oh, baby,” he coos, pulling back to look at you. “you really are pathetic tonight.”

“shut up,” you hiccup, still trying, still grinding, even though your rhythm’s broken now. messy and too fast. it’s not working. it’s never going to work.

“s’not very nice, that.” he blows smoke over your shoulder, tuts softly. “m’bein’ generous. lettin’ you use me like this. and all i get in return is whining?”

you make another little sound, high and broken. he hasn’t touched you properly in hours and you’re aching with it. cunt fluttering uselessly against his thigh, thighs shaking, eyes wet.

matty leans in close, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “gonna cry ‘cos you can’t come, darling? is that where we’re at?”

you nod. miserably.

he hums, hands finally finding your hips, holding you down firm as he shifts his leg just a little. enough to make you feel it again.

“tell me what you need.”

“you,” you gasp, falling forward, nose brushing the curve of his throat. “need you, matty, please, i can’t do it without you-“

“no, you can’t,” he says, “s’what i’ve been saying, love.“

you’re still panting against his throat, hips twitching like your body doesn’t know whether to keep going or give up entirely. your lip’s still caught between your teeth trembling now and matty’s got this look in his eye that makes your belly flip.

“please,” you whisper, barely there. “matty, please-“

he hums. not in a way that promises relief, but more like he’s mulling it over. maybe.

“please what, darling?” his thumb traces circles into your hipbone. “what exactly is it you want me to do?”

you whine. slump forward. it’s humiliating how little pride you’ve got left. “help me- just help me, i, please,” you huff the last beg.

matty clicks his tongue softly, and his hands tighten. one at your waist, the other sliding lower, slow and deliberate, fingers pressing into the crease of your thigh. “i’ll help you, then,” he says, “but you are gonna finish what you started.”

and then he shifts his leg, presses you down hard, not enough to hurt, just enough to feel, deep and blunt and perfect. you gasp out loud, hips jerking, the shock of it so good it almost knocks the breath from your lungs.

“there you go,” matty murmurs, lips dragging slow along your jaw as his hands guide you. “just like that. see? not so hard, is it?”

he’s barely moving you, really. just small pushes, coaxing your hips into that same rhythm again. but it’s enough. it’s better than enough. your thighs are shaking already and it’s barely been a minute.

you moan and his smile turns sharp against your cheek.

“keep goin’,” he says, and then his hands fall away.

just like that.

gone.

your body stutters. almost freezes up. like you don’t know how to move without him holding you there. but he doesn’t correct it, doesn’t reach back for you, just leans back into the couch, one arm thrown over the backrest like he’s settling in for a film.

“c’mon, love,” he tuts, watching you with a lazy grin. “don’t give up now.”

you try. you do. force your hips to keep rolling, fists curled in the fabric of his shirt. but it’s not right anymore. you can feel it slipping again, the angle too shallow, the pace off, the ache building without relief.

matty doesn’t miss a thing.

his eyes flicker down to your mouth, and then his thumb is brushing over your bottom lip.

“you’re so cute, baby,” he murmurs, half-laughing. “i absolutely ruined you.”

your breath hitches. you press your cheek into his palm.

“can’t just give you what you want though, can i?” he goes on, “cos that would prove my point.”

“i don’t fucking care about your point,” you snap or try to, but your voice cracks halfway through and it comes out choked. “just- please, please-”

matty laughs. full-body, delighted. you hate him.

“god, i love you like this,” he says, “you sound wrecked. so desperate to come.”

you glare at him, eyes glossy. your thighs are trembling from holding yourself up, and you don’t think you can take much more of the teasing. every nerve in your body is on fire, too close to the edge to even think straight.

matty sees it and finally, finally, he leans forward again.

his hand cups the back of your neck, fingers slipping into your hair as he pulls you in close. “alright,” he whispers, brushing his lips over your ear. “i’ve got you.”

and then his thigh shifts again, a sharp, perfect nudge, and his other hand finds your hips, pulling you down just right. you sob.

“there she is,” he breathes. “good girl. go on. take what you need.”

your hips fall back into it like they never stopped, rutting fast now, sloppier by the second. you’re so close it hurts, moaning into his throat, chasing every inch of pressure.

“fuck, fuck- matty, i’m-”

“you’re so easy. really? that’s all it takes for you?,” he murmurs, stroking down your spine, voice so low it’s almost a growl. “come on my thigh then. make a fucking scene about it.”

you do.

you come with a gasp that rips out of your chest, full-body and overwhelming, shaking and twitching through it while matty holds you down firm, coaxing every last pulse out of you.

when it’s over, you collapse in his lap like you’ve got nothing left. head on his shoulder, lips parted, body limp.

he kisses your temple, smiling.

“there we are,” he says. “finally stopped whining.”

[angel-writes-here]

Pinky Promise

G-Dragon x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: A date gone wrong, a best friend who harbors secret feelings, and a girl who's oblivious to it. Warnings: SMUT, unprotected p in v (Plz be safe!), a little angst, fluff. Attempted sexual assault, not heavily detailed but enough to trigger. Please read at your own discretion. A/N: Thank you for the requests, I promise I'm getting to them, it's just taking time. I appreciate every single of one of you! Please comment if you'd like to be added to my tag list!

“So,” you sing as you walk into the living room, sitting down on the couch next to Jiyong.

“So,”  he asks not looking up from his phone.

“I have a date tonight,” you squeal quietly and his eyes lock on you.

“A date? With who?”

“Remember that guy from the coffee shop I told you about a few weeks ago, Jungin?”

“Yeah,” his brow is quirked.

“Well, he asked me out on a date and I said yes!”

“Oh, congratulations.” Jiyong puts on the best plastic smile he can.

“Will you help me pick out an outfit?” He nods his head.

“Sure.”

“Great, let’s go shopping!”

-

At the mall Jiyong watches carefully, with obvious security around as you start picking out pieces and holding them up, Jiyong shaking his head yes or no to the options.

“How about this,” he holds up a black sleeveless top and a pair of jeans.

“Cute, and we could add a gold necklace!” you say as you spot one near the counter. Jiyong’s heart softly aches in his chest, he’s loved you for a long time, but he also knows what the fame does to people’s significant others. It can change them for the worse and Jiyong didn’t want that to happen to you. He cherished your naturally bubbly self.

“Go try it on!” He smiles as he walks with you to the changing area. You pop out with a smile on your face.

“It’s perfect!” you squeal coming out. Jiyong’s heart races in his chest.

“You look beautiful,” he smiles.

He finds a leopard print clutch for you to complete the outfit, along with some cute wedged heels.

You get up to the counter, ready to place your card to the machine when Jiyong beats you to it.

“Ji, no I just wanted your advice, not your money.”

“My treat, you shouldn’t be paying for this, as a matter of fact take my card tonight, in case he tries to stick you with a portion of the bill.” You roll your eyes.

“Thank you, and no I have money for that, I’m not worried about it.” The lady hands you the bags and you walk out.

“You may, but it’s a date, and if he’s not man enough to pay for your meal, then I am. Take it.” His resolve is strong and you realize if you don’t just take the card, he’ll find a way to sneak it in your wallet and, as he’s done in times past, take your cash out holding it hostage till you come home.

-

“Tada!” You smile as you walk out, turning in a small circle for Jiyong to show off the outfit.

“You look great, y/n,” he smiles. He walks up to you taking your hands in his. The moment is charged, but you’re not exactly sure with what as you peer into each other's eyes, silently.

“I um, here,” he says breaking the tension as he pulls out his wallet. You sigh but except the card.

“Fine, but,”

“No buts, I’ll be here waiting for you so I can hear all about it. And I’ll have my phone,” a knock on the door interrupts him.

“Send me your location just in case you need me, ok?”

“I’ll be fine, but ok.” You roll your eyes playfully. Jiyong was like this about every date you went on. Always so protective. It makes your heart happy that he cares so much.

-

Dinner goes well, the guy really seems interested in you, asking about your hobbies, friends and family.

“Wait, the G-Dragon is your friend? That’s so cool!” he smiles and you nod hoping it doesn’t turn into a whole thing.

“Yeah, he’s really sweet. A great friend.”

“That all he is?” Your date quirks a brow while he takes a swig of his drink.

“Well, yeah, I mean, he’s my best friend really. We’re constantly together when he’s home. Always buying me stuff, I swear the man dotes over me,” you giggle but your date doesn’t seem impressed.

“Hmm,” he nods his head, lips pursed.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just when a guy is close with a girl, especially the way you’ve described him it’s usually not without a small crush.”  The waiter brings your food over and you both smile at him.

“What? No, Ji’s just a good guy. Wants to be sure I’m taken care of.” Your date nods and for a brief moment there’s a bit of awkward tension until he breaks it.

“After dinner, we should go get ice cream,” he suggests and you grin nodding your head.

-

After you two grab ice cream, he drives you to the park where the two of you can sit and talk. The radio is on, and when you get parked you send Jiyong a message letting him know you’ll be late and where you’re at.

As you finish your ice cream you notice he’s moved closer to you. The front seat has no middle console so it’s easy to maneuver. He leans in to connect your lips and you reciprocate.

His hands begin to roam and you tense up.

“I don’t do that sort of thing on a first date,” you try to lightly push him away but he’s got you pinned against the door.

“Come on, I spent all that money on you, the least you can do is give me a little,” he smirks before forcing another kiss onto you. Your heart thrums in your ears as your realize what he’s doing.

“Get off me,” you try to push him, but he’s too strong and pushes back. You’re barely able to get your phone out of your pocket and text Jiyong a single word.

Help

Jiyong’s phone buzzes and he see’s the singular word, his heart rate increasing rapidly. He jumps up, grabbing his car keys and speeds out the door.

Jungin’s hands are now on your jeans, trying to unbutton them as you struggle.

“If you’d give in, you’d enjoy it!” he says through gritted teeth.

“Get the fuck off me!” your strength is no match for his. He’s determined to get what he wants.

He gets your jeans undone, and just as he’s about to shove his hand down your pants, the car door opens and he’s snatched out.

Jiyong.

He pulls Jungin to the ground, landing a few punches to the guys face before your crawling out, tears now escaping as the terror is over.

“Ji let’s just go,” you try to pull him off and he looks up at you, noticing your fragile state. Something in him snaps, he lands one final blow, knocking the guy out cold before taking your hand and leading you to his car.

The car ride is silent, but Jiyong holds your trembling hand the whole way home.

“Thank you,” is all you can muster. He squeezes your hand in response. You walk into your apartment and Jiyong shuts the door behind you.

As if the floodgates open, you feel your body tremble as you process the events. Tears stream down your face, and you feel him come in behind you, hesitantly putting his arms around you.

“I can leave if you want to be alone,” he mumbles in your ear.

“No!” you almost shout as you turn around in his arms, clinging to him for dear life.

“Please don’t leave me,” you sob.

“Ok, ok, I’m here.” His arms wrap around you protectively.

“I’m not going anywhere."

His heart aches for you.

The rest of the night you’re glued to his side, Jiyong being the only place you feel safe.

“Would you stay the night, I don’t know if he’ll try to find me, and if it wasn’t for you I would’ve been,” you shutter at the thought and he just hugs you to his side, kissing the top of your head.

“There’s no where else I’d rather be.”

-

The two of you are laying in bed, finally calming down from the events earlier in the evening. Your head is on Jiyong’s chest and he’s playing with your fingers. The air between you is calm and easy.

You peer up at him, marveling at facial structure when he peers down at you.

“What?” he asks suddenly feeling a tinge of shyness.

“Nothing, I’m just thinking about how lucky I am to have you. I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you in my life.” You smile as you hug his waist, Jiyong’s heart swelling and yet, breaking all at once.

-

A month goes by since that night, and Jiyong decides he can’t wait anymore. The media be damned, the fans, true fans, will be happy for him, and he knew he’d do whatever it took to protect you.

He’s over at your apartment, the two of you having one of your regularly scheduled movie nights when Jiyong’s arm drapes over your shoulder. You lean into him, head on his chest and you hear his heart beat erratically.

“Everything ok?” you ask without taking your eyes off the tv.”

“Yeah,” he breathes but decides it's time, “Actually no,” you look up at him, those sweet eyes of yours that he can’t resist.

“What’s the matter?”

“I need to be honest with you, because if I’m not then I won’t forgive myself. But I need you to promise me something,” he begins and you give him your undivided attention with a single nod. You sit cross legged, your knees touching each other.

“Promise we’ll always be friends.”

You hold out your pinky, Jiyong playfully rolling his eyes, the tension temporarily subsiding.

“Kwon Jiyong I have never broken a pinky swear. So,” you say defiantly as you shake your pinky at him.

Jiyong links his pinky with yours and before you can pull away, he takes the opportunity to gently pull you forward, his lips crashing into yours. Your eyebrows raise as your eyes widen for a brief moment.

His lips are smooth, he tastes of mint and a hint of a cigarette, the taste intoxicating as your pinkies stay interlocked between you.

He pulls back, slowly.

“Fuck, I’m sorry I just didn’t know how to tell you, I get it, you don’t feel the same way, I’m so-,” you cut him off by leaning back in, lips connecting for a deep kiss. He makes a simple noise of surprise, but he kisses you back.

The movie is long forgotten as he pulls you into his lap. You caress his face as your tongues glide against one another, exploring each other’s mouths. Soft moans are swallowed up between you.

His hands go to your thighs, rubbing them up and down. You test the waters by grinding down on him, but he immediately stops your hips.

“Don’t do that,” he breathes out, head spinning.

“You don’t want me,” you begin to ask but he stops you.

“’s not that,” he chuckles to himself.

“I do, but, I don’t want you to do something because you think I want it. I want you to want it too,” he explains and the care and devotion of this moment sends a thrill of excitement through you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you,” you whisper and you feel his cock start to become hard beneath you.

“Y/n,” he starts, but you interrupt him.

“Ji, I never thought you liked me that way, so I brushed it off, but I want you. All of you,” you lean in whispering in his ear, “inside me, filling me up and making me forget everything but your name.” He moans at your words as you kiss just below his ear. Your teeth nip and graze his sweet, soft skin.

“I want you to ruin me,” you mumble against him and you feel his cock growing harder by the second.

“Make me cum so hard I’m seeing stars,” you kiss his jawline on the way back to his lips.

He puts his hands underneath you to stand up, walking you to your bedroom.

“Careful what you wish for baby.”

He removes your top, mouth attaching to your hardened nipple flicking it with his wet tongue. Your head tilts back as you sit in his lap, your fingers curling into his hair. He switches sides, giving the other the same attention, the pulse between your legs now prominent.

“Ji, I need you,” you whine as your hips grind down on him.

Your arousal is dripping, causing a wet spot in your panties. You move your self off him so he can remove his clothes.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself as you see his cock spring out, the tip leaking. You moan in response before you can help it, your cheeks heating up when he smirks.

He pulls you back to him, your own bottoms and panties being discarded.

You hover over him, cock brushing your wet folds, you whimper as it brushes your clit.

“I want you to make a mess all over my cock,” he mumbles in your ear as he guides your hips down. Your eyes flutter closed as your mouth hangs open at the feeling of him inside you. Your head drops to his shoulder as you get used to the stretched feeling.

“You ok, baby?” You can hear the slight smirk in his voice.

“Mhm,” is all you can whimper out as you shift your hips, causing both of you to groan.

You start to bounce up and down slowly, the tip of his cock reaching the spot that causes pleasure to course through your body, Jiyong’s grip on your hips tightening to the point of bruising.

Your head tilts back as you feel his mouth come up and attach to your neck.

“God you’re taking my cock so well, such a good girl for me,” he whispers into your ear, causing your walls to clench around him. He chokes out a moan at the feeling.

“Me praising you gets you off, huh? You like being my good girl, hmm? Keep riding me, you can do it,” he encourages as once again your walls clamp down, but this time you whine out as the coil in your stomach starts to form.

“God you’re beautiful," he says as he forces your head down to capture your lips, his hips bucking up to yours now. You gasp as you hold him close, eyes screwed shut as you feel it.

Your orgasm is on its brink.

“Come on, be a good girl and make a mess, cum for me,” he huffs out. Heat engulfs your body as your bodies collide harder, your cunt tightening around his cock.

You whine as you feel your muscles lock, your orgasm taking control of your body, pleasure consuming you head to toe.

Jiyong continues pounding into you, hips never slowing down until his own orgasm hits, hips sputtering as your walls clench around him still.

“Oh fuck,” his head tilts back with his face scrunched as his own orgasm wrecks him.

You ride it out, letting him fill you up with every last drop. He huffs, catching his breath and you stare down at him, a fucked out look in your eyes as you bring your lips to his.

Your bodies are covered in a layer of sweat and for a moment the two of you stay connected. Immersing yourselves in one another before, with Jiyong’s help, you slowly raise up off him and fall beside him.

“I told you I never break a pinky promise,” you joke and he smiles kissing your forehead.

“So, we’re still good?”

“Better than good.” You smile at him.

“No more dating other guys?”

“Not as long as you take me on dates from now on.” You smirk.

“With pleasure,” he giggles as he gives you a chaste kiss on the lips.

“You want to hop in the shower with me?” He asks and you nod with a wide grin gracing your face.

Tags: @breakmeoff @thelovelybireader

Please do not repost my work

Love notes, comments and requests are appreciated!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Quiet Ones 11

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 dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. 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: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

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 <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The morning comes but not relief. Despite the breeze wafting in from the open balcony, you swelter until the sun rises. Even then, you’re not free. Lloyd remains, snoring, latched on. 

When he stirs, it’s only the promise of what’s to come. This is the day. A day you never dreamed of. A day you never longed for. A day he will make sure happens exactly as he wills. Just as he has forced on you every single other desire in his twisted brain. 

You let the hours past, hoping deep down he sleeps through it all. The sun continues its lazy ascent, shifting through shades of coral, gold, and yellow. The smell of the ocean flows through with the noise of the waves. 

His hand slides up from your stomach to your chest. He squeezes and growls, rolling his hips as he nibbles your ear. You stare at the blurry coastline through the large glass doors across the balcony. You hold back a sigh. 

“Morning, bean,” he rasps. “Mm, it’s our special day.” 

He kneads your chest. It takes everything in you not to stop him. His palm against your naked flesh, the pebble of your nipple pressing into his hand, the goosebumps across your skin. The sensations are enough to have you paralysed. 

“If I could marry you right here in this bed, I would,” he hums. “Straight from the vows to the... well.” He snickers and wiggles his hips again. “Ah, jelly bean. I’m so happy.” 

You stay still and silent. He kisses your hair and pushes himself away from you. You let a sliver of tension loose as the bed bounces under him. The empty bed would be paradise if not for him. 

“Alright, well, we still got some time to go,” he struts to the coffee bar, his ass out shamelessly. He pops a pod in the machine and snaps the lid down. “Stylist will be here later and your dress is on its way. I’ll call down for some breakfast first. Oh, my suit.” He taps the button and turns to face you. You pull the blanket over your face so you can’t see his erection. “You take your time though. Need to rest up for tonight.” 

He pushes off the coffee bar, his feet slapping the floor as he strides across the suite. There’s a brief pause before the trickle of his piss hits the toilet water. It gets louder as he lets the stream free. You grimace beneath the blanket. 

If someone asked you at any point in life what hell is, you couldn’t think of anything worse than this. 

He comes back out. The cup clinks on the tray and he slurps loudly. He goes to the balcony and pushes the glass door all the way open. He steps out, naked, and sighs up at the sky. 

“Bean, you gotta come see this.” 

You don’t move. You touch the mattress and close your eyes. Please, just make me a part of the bed. Turn me to spring and cushion. I would much rather be a gel top cooling pad. 

He calls you again. You cringe and push yourself up. You slump and slide off the bed. You grab the robe and wrap it around yourself. 

You drag your feet to the doors. You stare out in dread. He leans on the railing and drinks his coffee. You shuffle up beside him. It is beautiful. You can’t deny that. 

Your old life was dull and boring. You never even bothered of dreaming of a place like this. You wouldn’t ever be able to afford it. 

“I’m gonna fuck you out here. Tonight,” he slips his hand along your lower back. “In the tub. On the bed. Against the wall.” His finger swirls against the robe. “But I think out here will be my favourite.” 

You grip the railing as stare at the sun. Your eyes water until you’re forced to look away. It burns but not as much as your fate. You can’t stop him as much as you can’t stop time. Lloyd Hansen is as inevitable as a ticking clock. 

🩷

You don’t feel like yourself. It’s for more than your circumstance. It isn’t just that Lloyd ripped you out of every familiarity in your life. It’s the dress, the hair, the makeup, the shoes... 

The woman responsible for it all leaves. She never gave a name. She didn’t say more than she needed to. You respect that. You’re less than equipped to pretend. You’ve never been very good at that and you need to save your energy. 

You stand by the balcony doors and stare out at the azure waves. The sleek ivory satin sheath tickles your skin. It’s simple. Thin enough for you to bear the Hawaiian sun. There’s a ribbon around your wrist with a corsage of orange hibiscus. 

The door opens and closes. You don’t react as your eyes stick into the distance. You think of walking into the tides and just not stopping. 

“Jelly bean?” Lloyd’s voice brings your vision into focus. 

You face him. His expression shifts. His blue eyes dilate and his jaw ticks. His lips part. 

“Wow,” he wisps and touches his chest. 

He wears a pair of powder blue slacks. His shirt is satin, a silvery blue with a pattern of garish chains printed into the fabric. It’s tacky. There’s a peak of a real chain around his neck, shining gold, matching the buckles on his ivory loafers. The same orange hibiscus is pinned by his left lapel. 

“My oh my, jelly bean. My favourite candy,” he crosses the room and extends his arms to you, “the sweetest I know.” 

You clasp your hand around your other wrist. Your body locks up as he grazes his palms along your arms. He pulls you to him and hums. 

“I don’t wanna ruin all this,” he drags his touch up your shoulder and along your neck. “Not yet.” 

You gulp. The hopelessness swells over. That anger that kept you awake, that kept you from cracking the day before, it dissipates into tepid acceptance. Your lip quivers and you force it still as you bite the inside of your cheeks. 

“Come on. Can’t be late to true love.” he grabs your hand and turns. He struts to the door and tugs you through. 

The shoes are wedges, not too high. You’re thankful for nothing but that. As you come out in the hall, he re-arranges himself next to you and loops his arm through yours. 

It’s a death march. The type you’ve only read about or seen on TV. The accused queen walking on the spite of her maddened husband; the rival cousin swept up in fears of treason; the unfortunate captive of a lost battle facing the noose. All you can do is put one foot in front of the last. 

Outside, the warmth stuns you. It is a scalding contrast to the ice in your veins. Lloyd doesn’t relent, doesn’t hesitate. You could plant your feet and fold in on yourself. Yet, you keep going. 

Days of desolation, a night of smoke, a flurry of chaos... all of it melds in your mind, stirring to a disorienting cacophony. Even ground turns to pebble and softens to silt and sand. 

You look around as if only just awaking. He leads you around a jutted cliff and down a winding path. The salt of the ocean laces the air, the lapping of waves rolls softly. You come in sight of the sun as your chunked wedges sink into the grains below. 

The water sparkles, the sky softens but does not dim, and the horizon ripples like golden thread. It’s immaculate. 

You have no choice but to lean into Lloyd as he guides you. It’s like wading through quicksand but that’s more than just the terrain. Your limps are stiff and stubborn. Go back, go back, go back. 

There’s a man and a woman. He’s in a white shirt and white pants. There’s a scarf or something around his shoulders. There’s silver crosses sewn into it, another hung from his neck with beads. You’re not religious. Once you thought you were. There’s a reason that changed. 

The woman is the same that came to the room to arrange your hair and paint your face. She is patiently silent as she stands to the side. You never thought of being married but this is far from anything you would imagine. 

He smiles expectantly as he watches you approach. Lloyd stops you across from the man and greets him, “father.” 

The man opens the book in his hands. “Shall we begin?” 

“Yes,” Lloyd turns to face you and takes your hands in his. “I’ve never been more ready.” 

You’ve never been less. 

You stare at his upper lip. That bristly line of hair. That questionable choice. It explains all you could ever wonder about the man. It’s tacky, defiant, and odd. 

Lloyd squeezes your hands as the priest clears his throat. You shiver despite the balmy heat. Your feet sink deeper in the sand. 

“Do you stand her and vow yourself before the Lord with no reason 

"Miss, repeat after me. ‘I, solemnly swear, to take this man in holy matrimony. As my husband to keep, to cherish, and love.’” 

The waves crash into the shore. It’s deafening. Your forehead trickles with sweat and the nape of your neck is on fire. Your hands shake in Lloyds’s. 

You squeak. 

“She’s nervous,” Lloyd chuckles. “Go slow.” 

The priest repeats himself; just the first few words. You eke out an echo. He continues until you get to that last word. ‘Love’. 

Then it’s Lloyd’s turn. He says it easily. As if he knows it already. His thumbs rub your knuckles. Your legs quake. 

“Before the Lord, and your witness, I declare you, husband and wife. Through sickness and health, until death do you part.” The priest declares. “You may kiss your bride.” 

Lloyd obeys before the pact is sealed. His lips are on yours, his hand on the back of your head, his other on small of your back. You’re breathless as he devours you. Your audience is unaffected by his hunger. It’s all very surreal. 

He draws back, keeping you in his arms. He grins and winks at you. “All mine, jelly bean.” 

“Sir,” The priest approaches, “the papers.” 

“Ah, almost forgot,” Lloyd lets you go. “Pen.” 

The priest reaches in his front pocket and slides out a black pen. He gives it to Lloyd. Under the bible cover, there’s a slip of paper. There’s a golden seal in the corner. The priest shows him wear to sign then you get the pen. You scribble on the paper, your hand numb, then the woman takes the pen and signs the third space. 

“Well, father,” Lloyd leans in to look at the paper, his hand under the priests as he cradles the bible. “Looks like we’re all set.” 

He closes his hand around the bible and the priest’s fingers. The holy man flinches as Lloyd reaches behind himself. He slides something free of his belt. 

You step back as a twinge plucks in your chest. Something’s wrong! 

The silver pistol flashes in the setting sunlight. The host is silent. A dark hole appears in the priest’s forehead as the gun recoils in Lloyd’s grip. He’s quick. He aims it at the woman. The bullet pierces above her cheekbone. She falls as quickly as the priest. 

You raise your hands in shock and step back. You trip as your skirt flutters in the breeze wafting in off the waves. You blink as Lloyd lowers the barrel. 

Calmly, he tucks the gun away. He slides the paper free of the book and drops the bible beside the dead man. Your lashes flick furiously and your heart hammers. 

You lunge forward. You stagger in the dirt as you pump your arms. You want to scream but you can’t. You just run, lungs burning, head spinning. You race away from the smell of blood and gun powder. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away. 

You hit the waves as a force throws you off your feet. Lloyd lands atop you with a grunt and you thrash in the ebb and flow. He hushes you as you flail and whine. 

“Lloyd!” You shriek at last, your fear boiling over. 

“Jelly bean, you don’t get it,” he wrestles with you in the wet sand. “I’m a dangerous man.” He pins you on your back beneath him. “I can’t have anyone knowing about you. Didn’t I make a promise just now? To always protect you?” 

“You- you—you--” you sputter. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he pets your face with his wet hand. “I fucking love you.” 

[savyindeepspace]

Colonel’s Return✈️

Tags: fem reader x Caleb, couple, angst, romance, smut, mentions of death and being experimented on, slow burn, praise, aftercare

Description: Caleb has been away on a mission and you haven’t heard from him in months. What awaits you when he finally comes home?

•••••••••••••••••••••••

You were beginning to forget how his chest felt against your back while you were sleeping, that is if you slept at all. The warmth of his arms around you fully evaporated from your skin and you felt…incomplete. Days felt like years, minutes like hours, just waiting for him to call or write. Hunting wasn’t distracting you anymore and completing missions felt less rewarding. Caleb left with the Farspace Fleet for an assignment five months ago with no formal details about his plans to return. Millions of questions ruminated in your mind. Was he safe? What was he looking for, or whom? More importantly, when was he coming back? Every phone call or text you received was met with disappointment when it was anyone other than his contact. But you would wait for Caleb, you always did. Your reunion with him all those years ago when you infiltrated the Fleet finally brought him back to you and that wasn’t about to change.

•••

After several heavy work weeks, you came home and decided to treat yourself to a long soak in the tub. Caleb always had the best epsom salts, candles and aroma therapy stocked for you and tonight you were taking advantage of it. Your muscles ached and head throbbed, it was the least you could do for yourself. Sinking into the milk and honey scented basin, you felt your tense body soften. The temperature was hot enough to ease the pain you felt from head to toe. You sank deeper and deeper until your head floated above the surface. Just as your eyelids grew heavy, you heard the doorbell echo from the other room. Who could be here at this hour? You reluctantly climbed out of the warm sanctuary of the bath, threw on a robe and went to the living room. Peaking through the bottom of the door was the corner of an envelope. You bent down and slid the rest of it inside. It was addressed: “Pipsqueak”, and your heart plunged to your stomach. You frantically tore the paper to get what was inside. It was a letter from Caleb.

•••

“Hey, Sweetheart. I know I’ve been gone for a while now…just give me a few more days to sort all this out. I promise, I’ll be home soon. There’s just…some things that need to be handled that I can’t get into right now, but don’t worry. I’m safe. I’m alive and kickin’. Most importantly, I love you. -Caleb” Your grip on the letter was tight, making the skin on your knuckles taught and pale. He even sprayed the inside of the envelope with cologne, what torture. But this was something, an answer you had been so desperately waiting for. A few days, he said, you hoped he’d keep his word. You knew he was investigating Ever for what felt like ages and worry loomed over you like a storm cloud. He said he was safe, don’t assume the worst, you thought. Sealing the letter away, you sighed and hid it safely in a desk drawer. If you had a way to write him back you would in a heartbeat, but for now you felt reassured. Just a few more days.

•••

The end of the week was nearing and your anxiety only got worse. Staring at the monitor at work, each line of text began to blur as you zoned in and out of focus. “Hey, are you alright?,” Tara’s mousy voice rang in your ear. “I’m just a little distracted since receiving Caleb’s letter the other day, I’m sorry,” you admit, slowly rubbing your temples. Tara’s light touch warmed your shoulder, “please, don’t apologize. I don’t know how you still make it in here every morning. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.” You mustered a smile, “thank you, I really should finish these reports though, it’ll keep my mind busy.” She nodded and patted your back, “don’t work too hard, okay?” You hummed in agreement. The sound of clicking keys rattled in your ears as you finished each document and eventually you press send. The day was finally over.

•••

Your drive home was quiet, even the radio wasn’t appealing at this point. The thoughts in your head provided plenty of noise. You pulled into the driveway slowly and parked, retrieving the key from the ignition. A deep gust of wind blew from your lips as you prepared to return to an empty house. The keypad to the front door was glowing green, did you leave the door unlocked all day? Your hand hesitated over the doorknob before you twist it open and step inside. All the lights were on and you saw a tall figure with their back turned. Were your eyes deceiving you? Was the dark uniform the one Caleb always wore staring back at you? “C-Caleb?,” you choked, a lump rising in your throat. He finally turned to face you, his eyes were grim and his lips were pulled into a forced smile. “I told you I’d be back.” Everything fell from your hands and you ran to him, slamming into his tight embrace. He held you as close to his chest as possible, quieting your muffled sobs. “It’s okay…I’m here…I’m right here,” Caleb soothed, lightly petting your hair. Even while digging your fingers into the rough fabric of his Fleet uniform, you couldn’t discern if this was a dream or reality. Finally, your eyes meet. His deep amethyst irises bored into you with blown out pupils. “When did you get back?,” you whisper. Caleb swept the tears off your cheeks, “The Fleet dropped me off here maybe thirty minutes ago.” You withdraw from each other but Caleb takes both of your hands, gently stroking them with his thumbs. His leather gloves were cold against your skin. He smiles again, this time it was warm and genuine, “you hungry, Pips?”

•••

Before you speak, he was already in the kitchen, scanning the fridge for ingredients. For now, you just wanted to enjoy a meal together, so you’d save any questions for later. Caleb made your favorite braised chicken wings that you’d tried to replicate while he was away. It didn’t matter how closely you followed his recipe, Caleb had the magic touch. After dinner you made your way to the living room. The colonel reclined on the couch and let out a deep sigh. You laid on top of him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest. Your heartbeats began to match paces and you felt whole again. “Caleb…,” you murmured. “Mhmm?,” he hummed quietly. Lifting yourself on your forearms, you looked into his eyes and leaned forward. You stared at him for a moment, studying his features to make sure he was real. His gaze fell to your lips, they were just barely touching his before he gave in. Electricity surged through your body as you kissed. Caleb sat up and leaned against the back of the couch, pulling you into his lap by your waist. Your hands traveled up his chest, tugging away at his jacket. It made an audible thump when it hit the carpet. You hated that uniform, the Fleet and this unnecessary time apart. All you wanted was Caleb to yourself, without any interference from the entities trying to harm him. His breath grew uneven as the kiss deepened. Your tongues tangled between parted lips and you began grinding against Caleb’s crotch.

•••

“I hated being away from you, I need you…right now,” he rasped, digging his fingertips into the flesh of your thighs. You laced your arms around him, “then take me...” Caleb’s arms tucked under your legs and he lifted you off the couch with ease. You grazed your lips down his neck, then sank your teeth into the flesh as he made his way to the bedroom. The soft mattress sunk in as he laid you down, caging your body between his arms. Desperation painted your face and your legs began to part. Touching yourself became a tiresome task after the first month of Caleb being gone. It had been so long since you felt his hands wander over your curves, pausing occasionally to grope your breasts or ass. He put his gloved hands to your mouth and you pulled them off with your teeth. You gasped when you felt two deft fingers move your panties and press into your pussy. “As wet as I remembered,” he exhaled, rubbing your soaked folds. Eagerly he dove inside, pumping in and out as he warmed you up. “Mmm…Caleb,” you whined. He quieted your pleasured moans with a kiss, “Sssh I’m right here.” In one swift movement, your skirt and panties were pulled off and tossed to the floor. You reached for the zipper on the front of your top and the teeth buzzed as it ripped downward.

•••

Caleb’s eyes flickered at the sight of your breasts spilling over your black lacy bra. He unhooked the clasp and they bounced upon release. His mouth ghosted over your hardened nipple and you writhe impatiently. “Please,” you beg. The sensation of his wet tongue gliding over the peak made your back arch off the bed. “You like that, don’t you?,” he teased. “Y-yes, w-want more,” the words tumbled clumsily from your mouth. Caleb chuckled before pressing his lips against your stomach, then both hips and inner thighs. “It’s been so long since I’ve tasted you, let me refresh my memory,” he groaned, burying his nose into your warmth. “Mm!,” your fingers tangled in his hair “don’t stop.” His mouth enveloped your clit and gave it a harsh suck, leaving the nerves vibrating from stimulation. He dragged his tongue through one last time before pulling away. “Do you remember how amazing you taste? I think I should jog your memory,” he said before you tasted yourself off his lips. Caleb stripped away the remains of his uniform, his muscles glistened with sweat. You traced his abs with your fingertips, curling them into the waistline of his briefs. Your eyes found his in the dimly lit room, they glowed with anticipation as you pulled down on the elastic, releasing him fully. He hissed through gritted teeth when your hand feathered over his cock. “I missed him…,” you cooed, tightening your grip. Caleb groaned as you began to stroke, his breath coming out in ragged huffs.

•••

Caleb lowered his hips and lined up with your entrance, gliding his cock through your folds. “Fuck…,” he whispered. Sinking in inch by inch, he gifted you with the fullness you’d been longing for. Your eyes rolled back when he bottomed out and your core pulled him in eagerly.“Goddamn,” he moaned “she missed me, didn’t she?” Blush crept across your face, but he was right, your pussy welcomed him deeper just from the sound of his voice alone. Caleb started to rock his hips into you, the languid dragging of his dick made your toes curl. “Feels….s’good,” you panted, clawing at the muscles on his back. Whimpers and moans fell from your lips as he dug into you. “I missed those pretty sounds you make,” Caleb whined. You could only hum in response. Your mind felt like putty trying to focus on anything but how each roll of his hips sent you into a spiral. “Why didn’t you–mmm..call me? I was so–ah… worried,” you confessed, digging your heels into his lower back. “I’m so…,” thrust “sorry,” thrust “for making you ah–wait,” thrust thrust thrust. The way he laid into you made your mouth fall slack, broken moans and squeals burst from your throat. Heat began to pool between your legs as your climax approached. “Mmmyes right there,” you keened, pulling him in as deep as your core would allow. Caleb cradled your head in his hand, violet eyes boring into you with desire. His strokes were spaced out but heavy and the bed frame creaked under the weight. “I’ll never leave you again,” thrust…thrust “I promise,” he whimpered. Desperate lips crashed into yours leaving you gasping for breath. The tight coil in your gut could hold no longer, “Caleb–I’m…I’m..” “Do it for me, baby, please. Make a mess all over my dick. I missed you. I need you. I love you so much,” his ramblings brought you over the edge and you came, hard. Your release ran fluidly down his abdomen, leaving a puddle on the sheets and a mess where you were connected.

•••

Caleb’s resolve began to fade at the sight of you, skin flushed and damp with sweat, breasts heaving deeply and the look in your eyes begged for more. Your walls clamped down around his length, begging for friction, movement. He knew your body well and spent years memorizing every reaction you gave to his touch. His thrusts grew faster and more erratic. The way you ached and throbbed around him made Caleb never want to leave you again. He fell apart as he came, his muscles trembled trying to hold his body upright. Overwhelmed by the pulsing sensation inside you, a second orgasm rippled through your body. “Yes, just like that, I love it when you cum with me,” Caleb praised. He smoothed his thumb across your cheek and leaned in to kiss you. His soft lips swept over yours slowly, bringing the energy to a calm stop. You still felt him move, but it was steady, just enough to emulate slight tingles down your legs. When he pulled out the emptiness made you wince. Caleb held you in a close embrace, the feeling of his skin against yours again was something you worried about losing forever. It was like he could hear your thoughts and sense the unease in your muscles. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” he murmured into the crook of your neck. “Okay…,” you breathed.

•••

Caleb carried you to the bathroom and sat behind you on the edge of the tub. He gently brushed the tangles out of your hair, occasionally stopping to plant kisses along your shoulders. Torrid bath water surrounded your intertwined figures. You leaned into Caleb as he massaged shampoo into your scalp. The colonel always served you like a goddess, taking his time to worship every curve, scar and dimple on your body. “You’re perfect,” he whispered low in your ear. Your pulse fluttered as his hands smoothed over your skin with a washcloth. “Don’t leave me for that long ever again,” you playfully demanded. A laugh shook Caleb’s frame, “you’re so bossy, Pips.” He pressed a kiss to your temple, letting his lips linger for a moment. “I won’t.”

•••

The answers you wanted didn’t come easily. Every detail about Caleb’s voyage was classified to Fleet personnel only. “It’s complicated, Pips, but I promise I’ll tell you everything once I get to the bottom of this. I won’t let them hurt you again,” his voice was clear and direct. You wanted to trust him, but there were too many things he’d kept hidden, “who is them?” A pained sound caught in Caleb’s throat, “Ever.” A chill ran down your spine. Ever had been quiet for a while now, but that wasn’t a good sign. Their obsessive research and inhumane experiments in regard to immortality were getting out of hand. So much so that the Farspace Fleet’s authority over the cause far surpassed yours as a Hunter. “If they so much as touch one hair in your head, I’ll kill them all,” his threat sounded more like a promise when he spoke. His clenched fists loosened from your touch, “I won’t get hurt—,” “you don’t know that,” he interrupted. Caleb exhaled sharply from his nose, “I’m sorry, I just…can’t watch you die in front of me anymore.” Memories from the lab were never clear in your mind, you could only remember fragments at a time, but seeing the look on Caleb’s face confirmed enough. You cupped his cheeks with both hands, “I know you’ll always keep me safe. I’m not going anywhere.” He nuzzled into your palm and you felt a strain in your heart when you noticed his wet eyes. “Let’s just focus on right now. You’ve come back to me and that’s what matters.” Caleb meets your gaze with a smile and nods. You wipe his tear-stained cheeks and pull him into your embrace. “Kiss me, Caleb.” He did, taking his time as to not forget the shape of your lips. Again and again and again…

*~*~*~*

End.

Readers note: thank you so much for reading! This one is a little more angsty but I love where the ending leaves off. Hope you enjoyed. :)

Edit: fixed the text size

[cherrikii]

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐄𝐒 : 박성훈

─── 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶, 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯’𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱

( ❤︎︎ ) 𝒢．oneshot / drabble　 𝒫．bf!sunghoon x f!reader 　 𝒞𝒲．established relationship, comfort, kisses, skinship, pet names, reader is insecure, hoonie’s a sweetheart (let me know if i anything ><) — 𝓁ibrary !

— YOU’D JUST WOKEN UP FROM YOUR SLUMBER, rubbing your eyes and stretching out of your bed. it was a bright saturday morning, the sun peeking out from your curtains.

suddenly you hear the door squeak open, “good morning my love..” sunghoon makes his way over to you, sleepily watching him.

when sunghoon entered your shared bedroom, he came in wearing a chic and flashy outfit. you had no clue what his intentions were, but you did know that he looked so good.

he kisses your forehead gently, engulfing you in his warm embrace. “did you sleep well princess?” he asks, running his fingers through your bedhead hair.

“mm..” you hum in response, nodding slightly before resting your head on his chest.

he chuckles softly out of his nostrils, “i wanna take you somewhere today. you’ve been working so hard lately, especially with exams around the corner. let me treat you today.”

removing your head from his shoulder, you look up happily. “really hoonie?”

“really, baby.” — 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐮𝐭!

he gets up from the bed, pulling you up with him. “is that why you’re dressed so nicely?” you say, tugging at the collar of his polo tee.

“well yes, but don’t worry. take your time, we’ll leave whenever you’re ready princess,” he caresses your cheek so gently, his touch sends shivers down your spine. “i’ll be waiting downstairs,” he says, kissing you before getting up and heading down to the living room.

you sigh lovingly at the closing door, inhaling the trail of cologne that follows him. you get up and start your day with a shower and some basic hygiene. shaving your legs down to compliment the skirt you picked out prior to your shower, brushing your teeth, and brushing your hair.

you sit down to start on your makeup when you notice that your eyes seem more off center today and one eyebrow is looking more like a distant relative than a sister. small nitpicky imperfections. you begin to whimper, trying to hold back your tears, but it was no use. it didn’t help that your period was coming next week too.

“baby?” sunghoon enters the room hearing your cries. he approaches you softly and looks at you in the mirror asking, “what’s going on love?”

“i’m sorry hoon.. i don’t.. know what’s come over me..” you whine out, turning in your chair and clinging to him.

“hey, hey, shhh.. it’s okay baby.” he lets you cry it out on his abdomen, tracing patterns along your back.

your cries die down a little, enough to tell sunghoon how you’re feeling.

“i was just fine.. then i looked in the mirror..” you say, turning back to look in the mirror.

sunghoon’s face twists in confusion, soon realizing what you meant. “looked in the mirror and saw what? all i see is a beautiful girl with the brightest smile and the prettiest eyes.”

hearing sunghoon compliment you that way made you tear up even more, bursting back into your sob. he was such a sweetheart to you.

you turned around and hugged him tightly, accidentally damping his shirt with your tears, but sunghoon didn’t mind.

“look at me hun,” he says tilting your chin up, “don’t doubt your beauty for a second. you’re my pretty girl, yeah?”

he leans down to close the space between you two with a slow, genuine kiss. his thumb brushing your cheek in soft strokes. he always knew what to say when you were upset, and you loved that about him.

“cheer up baby. do you want me stay here with you until you finish?” he asked, twirling a strand of your hair with his finger.

you nodded, needing his warm presence there to comfort you. with him around, everything felt okay.

“i love you ynie,” he stays, kissing your head before sitting down on your shared bed.

you muster a smile and wipes your tears, looking back at him lovingly, “i love you too hoonie.”

𝓉ags : @itjengirl (send an ask/comment here to be added !)

[rafeovermorals]

sucker— rafe cameron

rafe always keeps a jar of lollipops in his room, just for you.

the first time he ever saw you eating one, you were laid out by the tannyhill pool with sarah— skin peached and freckled from hours in the sun. your hair was pushed back with heart shaped sunglasses and you wore a cherry print bikini. you were beautiful.

but he couldn’t focus much on that. not when your glossy, red tinted lips were wrapped around a lolly as you looked up at him— the faint sound of you sucking on the treat. he was standing over you, blocking the sun from your face and chest.

“rafe! you’re going to ruin my tan!” you whined, voice muffled with the stick still in your mouth.

he ignored you. “what flavor is that?”

“huh?”

he took it from you, putting it into his own mouth with a hum— a sugary, fruity blend flowing to his tastebuds. you lingered there in the aftertaste, almost sweeter than the candy itself. “cherry, my favorite.”

you scoffed in annoyance, sitting up on your arms. “are you serious?! i wasn’t finished with that.”

he smirked, swirling it in his mouth for a few seconds before pulling it out and crouching above you. “you still can, doll.”

rafe brushed the lolly over your parted lips, beckoning you to take it back. “here, go on.” you closed down on it, his spit mixing with yours.

since that day, he would call you sucker. and that you were.

not only because of the lollipop, but because of how pathetic you were. it was easy to please you, after all.

it started off by grabbing you a lollipop or two from the gas station— whenever he’d drive you and sarah home from school.

“i know you like these, or whatever.” he’d say casually, throwing them into your lap as you rode in the back seat of his truck. you couldn’t help but blush at the gesture.

“thank you, rafey.”

“you’re welcome, sucker.”

but eventually those two turned into four, then six, then eight, and at that point he realized it was cheaper to just buy a whole bag. as if he was worried about the price.

you told him you preferred dum dums over any other brand. fitting, he thought.

he came to notice that the flavor you chose depended on the occasion.

when you were in a good mood, you’d pick watermelon or strawberry. you’d have cotton candy or mango for dessert, and give the butterscotches to rafe since you didn’t like them. bubble gum was your favorite, so you’d save them for last.

for your birthday, he placed a special order for a huge pack of only bubble gum lollys— enough to last you for at least a year. he became your boyfriend soon after.

you had one between your teeth at all times. he was surprised they hadn’t rotted from the sugar by now, but he loved it. your lips were always so sweet of whichever flavor you’d just had, sometimes making him guess as he kissed you.

“hmm, is it pineapple?” he swiped his tongue across your bottom lip again, causing you to giggle. “nope, try again.” he kissed you deeper, slower, until he got it right.

rafe realized that he could use them to control you, too.

he bought some sour lollipops to punish you with. if you stepped out of line while you guys were in public, he’d get one from his pocket and force it into your mouth.

“suck it, and don’t you dare spit it out. i want you to think about what you’ve done while it burns, then maybe i’ll give you a good one after if you behave.”

if you stepped out of line while you guys were at home, he’d use his cock instead.

“good girl, sucker. taking me so well.”

quick drabble! feedback is loved and appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[heartsforjh]

okay sooo this is actually a post for Willys birthday, but i feel very sick again so it’s late. so sorry ☹️ nevertheless, hope you love it! 🫶 happy birthday to Willy!

main masterlist | willy masterlist

Willy doesn’t enjoy his birthdays. That’s perfectly clear to you. You’ve been together for almost 2 years now. He’s always expressed that he hates his own birthdays, but you didn’t understand fully until last year when he turned twenty-eight, and he seemed miserable. 

Today, Willy is in a terrible mood. It hurts your heart to see. He doesn’t even want to acknowledge that it’s a special occasion in any way. You’re determined that this birthday is going to be different. That’s why… you planned a surprise party for him! Surely, this’ll give him the excitement he deserves to experience. So, you begin your plan. 

Step One: Get him out of the house somehow. 

“Willy, I don’t feel good,” you whine, trying to make this convincing. 

“Well, get over here,” he frowns, motioning for you to come over. You sit next to him on the couch, and he feels your head. “Yeah, you’re kind of warm. You take any medicine?” 

“I have, but it’s not kicked in yet. It’s bothering me because I still haven’t even finished my errands for today,” you say, really topping it off with a disheartened sigh at the end. 

Willy moves his hand to stroke your cheek. “What are they? I’ll do them for you. Just stay here and get some rest.” 

You smile. You knew he’d take the bait. He’s too sweet not to. 

“It’s only two things, don’t worry,” you start. 

He stops you right there. “I wasn’t worrying. I’ll do whatever you need me to a million times if it’ll help you feel better.” 

You’re caught off guard by the random pledge to take care of you, but of course, it’s welcomed. 

You smile. “That’s very sweet. Thank you, babe. It’s just getting eggs, milk, and bread from the grocery store, and cashing that check from earlier.” 

“That’s easy,” he says, immediately getting up and grabbing his keys. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and strokes your hair. “You gonna be alright while I’m out?” 

You nod. “Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m probably just gonna take a nap.” 

“Good. Call me if you need anything. I’ll be right back,” and with that, he’s out the door. 

Step Two: Call for backup. 

You grab your phone and send a quick text to the group chat you’ve made with Willy’s teammates and friends. 

“okay guys you’re good to come over now” 

Admittedly, in any other context, that seems weird. However, you absolutely will not be able to decorate this house on your own. 

Step Three: Prepare. 

You start the process of making the house more festive, and only stop when you let each person in. By the time everyone is at your place, there’s a system going. Everyone is helping with different jobs, and it’s all going by quickly. 

Once everything is done, you thank everyone for helping. Joseph Woll, a teammate of Willy’s, comes to you with a question. “Are we gonna hide and yell ‘surprise’ at him?!” 

“That’s corny,” his other teammate, Aston, chimes in. 

You shoot him a glare. “Hey! I think that’s a great idea, actually. We’ll all hide before he gets here!” 

Joseph smirks over at Auston after he was proved wrong. The next hour and a half consists of you watching William’s location like a hawk. His car finally begins to turn onto the long street to your house and you yell for everybody to hide. 

You run to turn off the lights in the kitchen and living room, before hiding behind the kitchen island where all the little treats you’ve set out are. You can see Mitch and Auston across the way, under the dining room table—somehow both fitting under there. They laugh and whisper to each other the entire time that everyone else’s hearts are beating, waiting for Willy to come in. 

The moment the door starts to click it goes silent. 

Step 4: Party. 

William opens the door and flicks the light switch, calling out. “Babe?” 

“Surprise!” the room erupts with loud voices. 

He flinches, stumbling back with a terrified look on his face until he realizes he’s not being ambushed. His expression changes to a smile. Then, he begins to laugh. If he decided he didn’t really want a party, you’d be satisfied just because of that reaction right there. 

“What are you guys doing?!” he asks, still surprised, and still laughing. 

You smile almost just as big, and wrap him up in a hug. “Surprising you! Thought that would’ve been pretty obvious by now, honey.” 

“Oh, yeah. Very funny,” he jokes back. 

After a bit, everyone starts to get settled. People are chatting, people are chilling, people are eating, and you walk up to Willy when he finishes up talking to one of his buddies. 

“Hi. Do you like the party?” you ask. It’s a simple question, yet his answer means the world to you. You hope you didn’t overstep, or make him uncomfortable in some way. 

Willy takes a deep breath in and exhales, your smile immediately dropping. “I love it. Usually, I don’t like people to make a big deal of it, but this is… I love this. 

It’s your turn to exhale now, letting out a relieved breath you didn’t know you were holding in. “Don’t scare me like that! I’m glad you love it, though. That makes me very happy.” 

“Yeah, you did good. This is actually fun for me,” he says with a big smile, surprised himself. 

You just nod. You could watch him smile and laugh for hours and never get tired of it. “Opinion on birthdays turned around, or do I have to throw some crazy, extravagant parties still?” 

“Definitely changed my opinion,” he chuckles. “My birthdays don’t seem so useless anymore.” 

A grown immediately grows on your face. “Useless? Why would they be useless?” 

“Just not really anything special, I guess,” he shrugs. 

Him saying that breaks your heart. “It’s the day you were born! That’s something that should be celebrated. You get to reflect on how far you’ve come, and… you should be proud of yourself.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, a hint of cockiness in his tone. He seems nonchalant about the whole thing when in reality, he’s touched. He’s never had anyone do something this thoughtful for him before. More times than not, they see he’s not a fan of his own birthday and don’t think twice about it. No ones tried to change that.  You press a kiss to his lips, mirroring his smile. “Yeah.”

tags: @nic0-hischier

join the taglist here! :)

[0deathpainting0]

third date

choso x f!reader

first date   second date

summary: a home date w choso leads to sharing more kisses and feelings

warnings: 16+ idk they kiss a lot -> to making out -> to dry humping, cumming in their pants and being embarrassed abt it, swearing, overly cute and soft ofc! 

a/n: literally have no timeline planned for this 🧎🏼‍♀️ i wanna say we’ll at least get two more ‘chapters’ at some point :,)

w/c: 4.7k im sorry???

                                        ≽^•⩊•^≼

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

“Soooo what’re you guys gonna do today?” Yuji pokes his head into Choso’s room. 

“She said she wants me to come over and watch movies.” Choso glances at him before pulling a hoodie over his head. “New rules? No rules?” 

“No, no, no, always rules.” he pushes his way into the room and flops back on his bed. 

“Well what rules then?” Choso’s eyebrows knit together.

“Compliment her.” 

“Of course, always.” Choso nods. 

“Pay if she wants to order in.” Yuji props himself up. 

“Mhm.” 

“Wear a condom.” Yuji shrugs his shoulders and he giggles watching Choso’s eyes widen. 

“Why would I need to wear a condom to watch a movie?” he shakes his head. 

“Cause when she takes you to her cuddly bed and is all over you and-

“Stop.” Choso gasps. “No. That’s not happening.” he shakes his head again. “We’re just watching movies. I’ll be home later.” he grabs his keys and walks out of his room. 

“I was just kidding, Cho.” Yuji calls after him. 

“Mm.” he shrugs him off and walks out the front door. He starts down the block and groans when he hears his phone ding. 

yuji: most important rule is to respect all her plushies like they’re ppl and got their own feelings and stuff 

He shakes his head and shoves his phone back in his pocket. He hasn’t even thought about sex with you. Well.. He has.. but not that it was happening anytime soon. But now all he can think about is that. Is that what you want today? No. You want to watch movies and give him his fourth kiss. A new kind of kiss you said. Not just a small peck. 

But oh how he cherished those three pecks you offered him. Your lip gloss was so sweet and your lips were so soft. You scent surrounding him, your warmth. He shakes his head trying to get those thoughts out of his head. When he looks up his feet have him stopped in front of your building. He grabs his phone out to text you and the wind is knocked from his chest when you wrap your arms around him. 

“How are you?” you look up at him as he wraps his arms around you. 

“I’m good.” he nods. 

“Are you ready to watch some movies?” you offer him another squeeze before grabbing his hand. 

“Yeah.” he offers you a small smile and you start to tug him into your building. 

“What were your rules today?” you chew your lip as you both wait for the elevator. “Any new ones?” you watch his cheeks flush. 

“I um.. Yeah.” he clears his throat. “I’m supposed to treat your plushies with respect.” he hears your small giggle as you pull him into the elevator doors. 

“You should.” you purse your lips up at him. “They’re all very soft and sweet.” 

“Just like you.” the words slip out of his mouth before he can stop them. 

“So are you.” you hum and reach up to pinch his cheek. “So cute.” the elevator door opens and you lead him to your door. He’s suddenly struck with nerves at being truly alone with you. Yuji should’ve neve- “You coming in?” you tilt your head at him. 

“Yeah, I‘m sorry.” he nods and walks over to you but you block the doorway. 

“I have a rule of my own.” you blink up at him. 

“What is it?” his voice unsteady. 

“No more unnecessary apologies.” you smile watching him form a small smile. 

“I’ll try.” he nods and steps closer. 

You step aside and let him inside and watch him look around. The smell of you slams into him and he has to steady his feet. Your sweetness wraps around his senses like a warm hug as he walks deeper into your apartment. You glide past him into the living room and he watches the way your hips swish a little too long and the way your shorts- if he could even call them that, ride higher with each step before shaking his head to clear his mind. He follows after you and his eyes widen when he sees the spread you have laid out for today. Drinks and snacks on the table, the plush couch coated in blankets and pillows with the lights dimmed just perfectly to make it comfy and warm. 

“Should I have brought something?” he looks at you suddenly nervous. 

“All I wanted you to bring was yourself.” you grab his hand and lead him over to the couch. You have him settle on the couch and hold back your giggle as he looks up at you lost. “Just relax, Cho.” you brush his hair back and he groans as your nails scrape over his scalp. “Do you want something to drink?” 

“Please.” he looks up at you with lidded eyes. 

You turn and pick a drink and offer it to him with a warm smile. You grab the remote and blanket and plop down on the couch next to him. He watches you get comfortable and his eyes slightly widen when you lean against him. You pull a blanket over yourself and spread it over him cocooning you two together. Once the tv is turned on you glance up at him and see that he’s still sitting up straight and staring ahead. 

“Is it okay that I’m cuddling you?” you lean back suddenly nervous that you’re overstepping. 

“Yeah, I just.. I dunno how you want me to hold you. What if I do a bad job?” he furrows his brows. 

“Then I’ll kick you out.” his eyes widen. “I’m kidding.” you giggle. “Just lean back and get comfy.” you nod and he starts to relax more into your couch. “Now I‘m gonna lean back against you and you’re gonna wrap your arm around me. Kinda like a hug.” you nod, scooting closer and hum as his arm wraps around you. 

“Like this?” he can feel how fast his heart his beating and all he can think about is how his hand is resting on your waist and the small patch of skin his fingers brushed against. 

“Yeah.” you scoot even closer. “You smell good.” you let your eyes shut abandoning the tv for a moment. 

“Thank you.” he squeezes your side softly. 

“What do you wanna watch?” you’re still entranced with his warmth and cologne. 

“Anything you want.” he peeks down at you curled against him. 

You hum and start to flip through different apps looking for a movie. You smile and click play on one of your favorites before curling back against him. You pull the blanket closer and blink up at him waiting for him to wrap his arm around you. Choso slowly wraps his arm back around you and tries his best to remain calm as his fingers rest against your skin. 

He’s been able to relax more and get more comfortable as you both scoot closer to one another. You look up at him every so often to see if he’s enjoying the movie and you smile when you find his eyes glued to the screen. You lean back against him and he offers you a soft squeeze. Your cheeks start to flush when he starts to rub his thumb against you and you lose all focus on the movie too absorbed in his soft touch. When the movie comes to an end and you start to pull back but his arm tightens around you.

“Was just gonna get a snack.” you turn your head and place your lips against his chest and his heart stops. 

“I‘m sorry.” he’s embarrassed by his actions. 

“What did I say?” you squish his cheeks together and his eyes widen. 

“I..” he looks at you with round eyes. 

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” you press your lips to his quickly before standing up. 

His cheeks flush as you brush his hair back. He doesn’t know what to say so he just looks up at you and can’t help but glance at your lips. He wants another kiss but he doesn’t know how to ask. 

“Do you want something?” you whisper feeling the need pouring off of him. 

“Another.” his voice borderline a whine.

“Another kiss?” you step closer to him. 

“Yes.” he nods up at you. 

“A new kind?” he nods his head again. “Can I get closer?” you tilt your head. 

“Yeah.” he freezes when you start to crawl into his lap. 

“This okay?” he tilts his chin up to look at you. 

“Mhm.” he fists the blankets at his side. 

“I’m gonna use my tongue.” you whisper letting your lips brush against his. “Okay?” you smile hearing him gasp before quickly nodding his head. “Close your eyes.” he lets his eyes flutter shut. 

You press your lips to his and when your tongue swipes against his lower lip he gasps again allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth. His hands fly to your waist and you press closer to him. He feels like he’s on fire as you deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangle in his hair and he moans into your mouth. His tongue slides against yours and you smile scooting closer as his fingers dig into your skin. You both stay connected for minutes, neither one wanting to let go. 

“Fuck.” he groans, when you roll your hips.

“Did you like the new kiss?” you pull back take in his swollen lips and pink cheeks. 

“Yeah,” he squeezes his fingers and realizes how hard he’s holding you. “I‘m sorry I didn’t mean to hold you like that.” he hopes he didn’t hurt you. 

“Stop apologizing.” you smile. “You can hold me like that.” you nod. “I like it.” he locks his eyes to yours. 

“Can I kiss you again before we start another movie?” his low words seep over your skin as he squeezes your waist. 

“Yeah.” you nod. 

You squeak when he leans up and presses his lips to yours. He slowly pushes his tongue into your mouth trying to replicate your moves. He likes the small sounds you’re making and he pulls you closer. You absentmindedly rock your hips and his fingers dig into your hips. His heart races at the feeling and he can’t stop the low groan that comes from him. He pulls back and grips your hips to halt you and looks at you with lidded eyes and a heaving chest. 

“We should watch a movie.” you nod your head at his words. 

You slowly scoot off of his lap and stand once more to grab a snack from the table. He lifts the blanket for you and you curl into his side once more and share your snack with him. You pick another movie and smile that he’s comfortable enough to wrap his arm around you and hold you closer than before. He hears you let out a small noise when he starts rubbing little circles into your exposed waist. He’s watching the movie but all that’s playing through his mind is the way you were pressed against him. Your small sounds and how warm you were. 

“Why are you blushing, Choso?” you nibble your lip as you blink up at him. 

“I‘m not.” he shakes his head, willing his cheeks to cool. “You should be watching the movie, not me.” your eyes widen at his tone. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so firm.” you smile up at him. “Now you’re blushing even more.” you giggle and he tosses his head back. “And now I can’t even see your face.” you sigh. 

“You’re supposed to be watching the movie anyway.” he squeezes your side. 

“So are you.” you pout. 

“I’m trying to but you’re teasing me.” he lifts his head up to peek at you. 

“I‘m not.” you purse your lips. “I think you look so cute with your pink cheeks.” you get up to kneel to get a better look. “Loooook at you.” you coo cupping his cheeks. He groans and goes to cover his face but you lean in and press your lips to his. “Want me to stop?” you mumble against his lips. 

“No.” he presses his lips back to yours. 

“Just feel like I'm kissing you a lot today.” you hum as you start to press kisses up his jaw. 

“I..” he pants. “I‘m not complaining.” he grabs your waist as you start to crawl into his lap again. “I don’t want you to feel like-“ he can’t stop the whine that comes from his mouth when you press your lips to his neck. “Like you have to kiss me.” he breathes out quickly. 

“I think I could kiss you all day.” you whisper against his neck. “And it still wouldn’t be enough.” you trace a small heart on his heated skin with your tongue.

The moment your tongue touches his skin he melts into your couch. You smile as you continue to place open mouthed kisses on his skin listening to his strained noises. You pull back and take in his heavy lids and press your lips to his once more. He pulls you closer and pushes his tongue past your lips. His touch is much more possessive than it has ever been and it’s exciting you to no end. 

His hands have your shirt bunched up just enough for him to squeeze your bare waist. He groans at how soft your skin is and decides he wants to kiss more than just your lips too. He kisses the side of your mouth and you tilt your head to the side as he starts to press his lips up your jaw. The sound that comes from your mouth when he presses his lips to your neck has him prepared to sit here and kiss you in the same spot for hours.. days.. 

He keeps exploring the soft skin of your neck and finds himself moving towards your throat. You melt even more when one of his hands leaves your waist to tilt your head to the other side so he can kiss across the other side. He can hear how heavy you’re breathing along with your little gasps that send him reeling. Your hands are tangled into the hair at the nape of his neck and you offer them soft tugs when he lets his tongue slip out against your heated skin. 

“Choso,” you let out the breathiest whine of his name he’s ever heard.

“You okay?” he pulls back and looks over your flushed face. “Fuck, the movie ended.” he glances past you as the credits roll.

“That’s okay.” you nod as you brush your fingers through the hair you’ve been tugging. “Still wanna meet my plushies?” you watch him still staring at your lips but he nods anyway. “C’mon.” you scoot off of his lap and grab his hand. 

He lets you tug him off the couch leaving the warm blanket and glow of the tv behind. His heart starts to thunder as you lead him down the hall and you pull him into your room. He looks around at all of your things and tries his best to avoid looking at your bed. When he finally allows himself to look at it you’re climbing onto it and waving him over. He takes a deep breath to collect himself and walks over to you.

“You can sit here.” you pat the side of the bed. “I already decided this could be your side.” you nod up at him with a smile. “I keep your hoodie here and everything.” he looks down and sure enough his hoodie is tucked next to your pillows and plushies. “Or..” he watches you furrow your brows. “Is that weird? You gotta tell me if I’m overbearing.” 

“You’re not.” he shakes his head, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I would do the same thing if I had a piece of your clothing.” both of your cheeks flush at his words. 

“Then I’ll send you home with something.” you nod. “But scooch up.” you pull his arm and he sits further back on the bed. 

“I don’t wanna squish them.” he looks at your plushies. 

You move them out of his way and he finally settles back against your headboard. You begin to show him different plushies and offer them to him. He pats their head and sets them next to him waiting patiently for you to show him another. After you go through all of them you sit in front of him and watch the pink dust on his cheeks again. You scoot closer until your knees are touching and you see his fingers tapping against the sheets. 

“What’re you thinking about?” you blink up at him. 

“How cute and perfect you are.” he watches your cheeks flush. 

“Choso you keep being sweet like that and I’m gonna keep kissing you.” he glances at your lips at your words. 

“You’re so soft and smell so good.” your eyes lock on his. “Your bed and plushies are so much cuter in person. The picture you sent me doesn’t do any of you justice but I still look at it everytime I touch my phone.” he likes watching you be the one flustered for once. “You’re so patient with me.” he grabs your hands. “And I wanna kiss you a lot.” he whispers. 

You straddle his legs the next moment and smash your lips to his. His hands find their new home on your waist and you whine into his mouth as he starts to squeeze. You press yourself against him and one of his hands on your waist moves to your back to hold you even closer. He doesn’t want to let you go and has no plans to do so anytime soon. You softly start to rock your hips and he feels like his body is going to catch on fire. 

“Think I‘m gonna die if you keep doing that.” he mumbles before pressing his lips back to yours. 

“Does it hurt?” you pull back worried. 

“No.” he answers quickly. “Feels so fucking good.” his raspy words go straight to your core.

“Know what you mean.” you nod your head and roll your hips.

You scoot closer and squeak when you feel him hardening. His tongue caresses yours as you softly rock your hips against his. Your shorts are bunched in just the right place and with each roll of your hips you’re whining into his mouth. He can feel how hard he is but he can’t bring himself to stop or ask you to stop, instead his fingers tighten on your hips and grind you against him. The moan that falls from your mouth has him pulling back and searching your eyes.

“I‘m sorry.” he takes his hands off you. 

“Please Choso,” you grab his hands and put them back on your waist. “Just wanna kiss you and be close. S’okay.” you nod, letting out a small whimper when he squeezes you again. 

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” he presses his lips to yours. 

“You’re not.” you scoot closer and rock against him again. “You’re making me feel so good.” you nod. “Are you feeling good?” 

“Yeah,” he mumbles into your mouth and you gasp when he jerks his hips up. 

“I‘m sorry.” he pants. “Can’t help it.” he pulls back to look at you with lidded eyes. “I just.. I like you so much.” you watch his cheeks become even more red. 

“I like you too.” you smile at him. 

“Yeah but I want you to know that I‘m not here to hook up with you.” he tilts his head. “Like I like you more than just that.” he nods and watches your cheeks redden even more. “I want..” he pinches his brows. “I want you to be mine. My girlfriend.” he searches your eyes. 

“And you’ll be mine?” you start to smile. 

“I’m already yours.” he softly squeezes your waist. 

“Then I‘ll be yours.” you nod and he swears his heart stops at your words. 

“Really?” he searches your eyes. “Mine?” 

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Can I kiss you again?” he’s already leaning up. 

You nod quickly and he presses his lips to yours. His hands trail up your back and hold you against him. You start to rock against him again and you both moan into each other's mouth. You start to move faster and his hands on your waist help you move you with him. Your body’s been buzzing with pleasure for some time now and you feel it finally rushing towards you. Each jerk of his hips is sending you closer and from the sounds coming from his mouth he’s right there with you. 

He’s been pushing off his pleasure and trying to focus on kissing you but the sounds coming from you have his head becoming hazy. He sloppily kisses against your neck again earning him even louder gasps and moans. Your fingers tangle in his hair and hold him closer as you feel yourself slipping closer to the edge. 

“I‘m- I,” he sucks in a sharp breath feeling his stomach coil. 

“Should I— mmm,” you gasp. “Cho,” you whimper, tossing your head back as you continue to hump against him.

“Keep going, please,” he whines. “Feels so good.” he squeezes your waist. 

“Choso,” you gasp as your orgasm slams through causing you to fall forward against him. “Yes, I- please,” 

His hands keep rocking you against his hips and you bury your head deeper into his neck. All of your sounds are pouring into his ear as your breath fans across his neck. His breath catches and he stills you, letting out a low groan that has you pressing closer to him. His mind is over taken with you as he fills his pants. His hips are still softly jerking into yours pulling whines from both of you. You both sit there still clinging to each other slowly coming down. 

“I um.. I need to go to the bathroom.” Choso whispers, feeling his face start to burn. “I..” 

“S’okay, I gotta change.” you start to scoot off of him with cheeks equally as flushed. “Oh.” you gasp when you see the wet patch you left behind. “I‘m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen. Fuck,” you you close your eyes willing the spot to go away. 

“It’ll dry.” he rubs your arms. “Gotta clean the inside of em anyway.” you peek your eyes open and see his shy smile. 

“Okay.” you nod knowing your embarrassment won’t go away anytime soon. “I’m sorry.” you frown and look at the spot again. 

“I see why you don’t like unnecessary apologies.” your eyes flick up to his at his widening smile. “I’m kinda surprised I could make you feel that good.” 

“Go to the bathroom so I can change.” he chuckles at your pout. “The bathroom is down the hall on your left.” 

He scoots off the bed and you watch him walk to the door. You scrunch your brows as he turns back to you and walks over to you. You squeak when he tilts your chin and places a soft kiss on your lips before walking back out to the hall and clicking your door shut. Your heart thunders as you sit there staring at the closed door. You shake your head as you walk to your closet and start to change, feeling your cheeks getting hotter by the second at what just happened. You start to walk back to the bed when you hear soft knocks on your door. 

“You can come in.” you smile at him when he comes back in. “I think I’m gonna give you a plushie to take home instead.” your turn and purse your lips looking at the options on your bed. “Are there any you liked specifically?” you turn to him with a raised brow. 

“No.” he shakes his head quickly. “I think they’re all great.”

“Hmm..” you look from your bed back to Choso trying to figure out which one fits him the best. “What about this one?” you turn to him with a smile. 

“I think she- 

“He.” you correct. 

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” his cheeks flush.

“Shush.” you walk him over the plushie and push it into his hands. “Ohhh I think you both look so cute.” you look up at him. “Take him home with you.” you nod.

“Are you sure?” his brows slightly furrow. 

“Very sure. And I want you to send me a picture with him when you get home.” you smile. “When you’re all cuddled in bed and warm. With your pink cheeeks.” you cup his face as he flushes.

“We can do that for you.” he leans into your touch. 

“And maybe we can stay at your place next time?” you brush your thumb on his cheek. 

“We can but I do have an annoying brother.” his mind starts to race about having you over. 

“That’s okay. I think I wanna see big brother Choso.” you smile up at him. “Or if you don’t want to introduce me to him we could do something else.” you nod hoping you weren’t overstepping again. 

“No, I want you to come over.” he answers quickly. “Yuji will be happy to have proof that you’re not ai generated.” you chuckle at his words. 

You two continue to talk and giggle for a couple more minutes before you both migrate back out to your living room. He insists on helping you clean up the nonexistent mess but you accepted the excuse quickly to spend more time with him. You both linger not quite ready to be separated but it’s getting late. You pout as you wait for the elevator with him and when you both step in you curl against him and he holds you and the plushie close. You drag your feet as you cross the lobby of your building and whine when he starts to let go. 

“Text me when you get home.” you frown up at him. 

“Of course.” he nods once. 

“And send me a picture with the plushie.” you step closer and he nods again. “And give me another kiss before you leave.” you watch as he softly smiles. 

“I suppose I could do that for my girlfriend.” he leans down and presses his lips to yours. “I think I’ll have another.” his arm wraps around your back, holding you closer. “Maybe just one more for my walk.” he mumbles against your lips and all you do is make small noises in approval. 

After a couple more minutes you both separate and you watch as he walks down the steps. Choso can’t wipe the grin from his face as he walks down the sidewalk. He doesn’t care if he looks ridiculous with his wide smile and plushie in hand. You’re his girlfriend and you actually like him. He doesn’t know he got so lucky with you but he’s thankful. By the time he walks into the front door he’s still smiling ear to ear. 

“Your new plushie got you smiling that big?” Yuji looks at him from the couch with raised brows. 

“She gave it to me.” he looks down at the plushie in his hands. 

“Like one of her own?” Yuji turns his full attention to Choso. 

“Yeah.” he nods. “From her bed and everything.” 

“She likes you a lot dude.” he smirks watching Choso’s cheeks flush. 

“We’re dating.” he groans, watching Yuji’s grin widen. 

“Like officially?” 

“Yeah.” he nods and starts walking to his room. “She wants to come over.” he tosses over his shoulder. 

“Can I meet her??” Yuji is trailing after him. 

“If you don’t embarrass me.” he shuts the door in his brother's face and walks over to his bed to place the plushie next to his pillows. 

He sighs in relief when he takes off his pants and puts on a clean pair of briefs. He takes off his shirt and finally collapses back into bed with his lingering smile. He grabs your plushie and hugs it tightly, feeling giddy at your lingering scent. He grabs his phone and takes a couple of pictures for you before sending them all your way. 

choso: *sent pictures* 

choso: we’re home and we miss you

you: i think im dying

you: you are so fucking cute 

choso: don’t die cuz i’ll miss you and ig my brother wants to meet you 

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

                                      masterlist

[riamaple]

Life on Your Line (Ch. 10)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Cursed to sacrifice your life to save another, you were never able to connect with others, always meant to drift before you could belong. Death was all you knew. Then, one day in Brooklyn, you saved a young man, and for some reason, you kept seeing him again. And again. And again. No matter where you went, across decades, you always found your way back to him.

He was forced to live to destroy, you were forced to die to save—bound together in ways neither of you could understand.

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending). Death and Dying. Self-Sacrifice (Immortality / Resurrection). Canon-Typical Violence / Description of Wounds. Suicidal Thoughts. Implications and References to Child Death, Suicide, Self-Destructive Behavior / Self-Harm.

HEAVY Warning(s) for the REST OF THE STORY: Frequent Discussion of Suicide/Suicide Attempts, Suicidal Thoughts, and Self-Harm/Self-Destruction Behavior — The reader is going through a rough time starting now. There will be no graphic descriptions of Suicide/Suicidal Attempts or Self-Harm unless I put a warning otherwise. Please read the rest of the story with caution.

< PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Word Count: 7.3k

CHAPTER 10: April 2014 - November 2023

April 19, 2014. 9:01 AM

I miss James, but what else is new?

It’s been two weeks since I woke up and I can’t help but wonder where he is. I keep hearing his voice when I close my eyes — the way it shook when I had to leave him that day. We were both so afraid, but I've never been more certain to walk away.

I hope he’s doing okay now.

I keep forgetting that I don’t have my locket anymore. I’d reach for it and touch my skin instead. Every time, I feel a little sad to not have it, but also happy that it’s with the man I love most.

Maybe it was something I needed to let go of for a bit. Besides, when I see him next, I’m sure he’ll try to give it back to me.

When I go to bed, I imagine him next to me. For once, we’d be lying down together, looking at each other. It wouldn’t be him holding me or me holding him because one of us was dying. We’d just go to sleep together.

Did I mention James gives great hugs?

I know I did, but it’s true. For someone who’s been trained to kill for so many decades, he sure knows how to embrace someone.

I want that someone to always be me.

I’m leaving DC soon. I should have the moment I woke up, but I couldn’t help but wonder if James was still around. Maybe he was waiting for me to come back, even though I never told him it would take a month for it to happen. But I’d like to think he’d wait as long as he could for me. I walked through crowds to see if I could spot him.

I haven’t yet.

Yet.

I’ll keep waiting for him to come back to me — or when I go to him. Hopefully, the next time we meet, it won’t be because I have to die.

I just want one day where I don’t have to worry about that.  

I miss him so much, and I wonder if he misses me.

I know he misses me too.

<><><>

April 25, 2014. 9:03 PM

I moved back to Brooklyn yesterday. I haven’t lived here in 65 years, but I figured it was time I came back home.

I knew Brooklyn changed a lot — I watched it evolve through the screen — but seeing it in person is nerve-wracking. My history is still here, but it’s like someone spilled coffee onto the pages, making it antique and forever stained by a mistake.

Everything is so much busier. I remember those days when I could walk down the streets alone, but now there isn’t a chance to do that. The apartment I found is mostly away from the noise, thankfully. There are a lot of cracks and it smells like dust — it needs a lot of work.

For the first time in decades, I decided to give it a lot of work.

Maybe I don’t have to treat every one of my places like a temporary shelter anymore. For once, I could treat it like a home, decorated with paintings and bright curtains and maybe a plant. Something I could protect while I wait for James.

Brooklyn is huge. I don’t imagine I’d have to move anytime soon. Even if I have to, maybe I can bring home with me.

I also got a bookstore. I saw online that this old man was giving up his — a bookstore that sells new and used books at a discounted price — so I quickly snatched it up. He was grateful that someone else was passionate enough to take over, saying that people need books to survive. That stories shouldn’t be thrown away.

He’s not wrong. 

The store could use a lot of new updates and changes, but it still feels cozy. It won’t be long until I can get this place up and running to its fullest again.

I thought I was going to start today, but instead...I visited my baby.

I haven’t been to her grave since I left Brooklyn. And I cried. Fuck, I cried so much. I don’t remember what it feels like to hold her or the sound of her giggle. I missed her when I lost her, but I miss her even more now that her name in stone is all I have.

I brought all of my journals with me. All of my stories that share who I was and who I am. Who I try to be, and who I lost and loved. I hid them all by her grave.

My baby girl can keep my stories safe. She was always good at sharing stories.

<><><>

August 4, 2014. 10:38 PM

There’s still no news of James. Seems like he disappeared without a trace. That’s good — it means he’s hidden, but it also means I have no idea where he is.

God, I miss him. I miss him so much.

I wonder if he thinks about me as much as I think about him. When I walk by certain people who look like him — items that remind me of him — I have to stop and think. Does he do the same? Does he look at roses and think about me? Or jewelry and hold onto my locket?

Does he stop and look behind himself, hoping to see me? Because I do.

I used to think this curse meant I’d never belong to anyone — that I couldn’t have anything permanent — that I was always meant to lose, whether it’d be losing my life, my joy, or myself. When I tried to hold onto something, it’d slip away. Hope for the better, and it’d be the opposite.

I tried to pretend I didn’t want anything. Bu t…I want James.

I want to live with him. I want us.

A life where we don’t have to scramble — where I can just grab his hand and know I can do it again the next day.

Is it foolish to hope after everything I went through? Of course, it is. But maybe, after more than 100 years of being a vessel of this curse, I deserve something other than survival.

I deserve James, and I can’t wait to see him again.

<><><>

May 28, 2015. 5:23 PM

I think about James every day.

Not in a hurtful way, like during those days when he was under HYDRA’s control and I begged for him to escape. I think about him now over simple things.

I walked by an elderly couple sitting outside a cafe, feeding each other pastries and laughing. I started to think about that kind of life with James. I’d love to have breakfast with him with coffee, maybe with juice as well. Learn if he’s a savory or sweet guy. I’d like to think he’s a sweet guy.  

I want to know how much he has figured himself out so far. If he prefers dogs or cats — if he hums while he cooks, if he even cooks — if he leaves dishes in the sink instead of washing them right away. There’s so much about James I don’t know, but that makes me love him even more. I don’t want us to hide anymore.

I’d love to run with him, not because there’s a threat.

I’d love to hold hands with him, not because one of us is dying.

I’d love to hug him, not because we have to say goodbye, but because we’re happy to say hello.

That's what I want, James, and I hope you want the same.

<><><>

June 23rd, 2016. 11:30 PM

The news lies.

We already knew that, but this time they’re really lying. I refuse to believe that James bombed the United Nations — that he killed the King of Wakanda.

There was a photo of his face from the security footage, but I know that’s not him. I don’t care what anyone says — I know what he looks like and that’s not him. We’ve stared into each other’s faces enough for me to know that he’s been framed.

But they’re calling him a terrorist. A murderer and a threat to the nation, but that’s not who he is.

James, I know you. You didn’t do this.

I lived long enough to know that the world lies all the time — make you believe you can have something good, only to take it away. You’re a good person, James, and the world is trying to take that narrative from you. I wish I could find you and tell you you’re not who they say you are.

You’re not a monster, James.

You’re mine.

<><><>

December 25th, 2016. 9:14 PM

I cried today.

I decided to walk around the city because I knew the streets were going to be emptier than usual. No stores were open for the holidays and everyone was inside, celebrating and spending time together. It’s not the first time I walked around during this time of year because, I mean, I don’t have anyone at home waiting for me.

But then I came across this family — a lovely couple with their baby in their stroller.

I started to cry because I suddenly imagined myself and James as that couple, with my daughter as the baby.

She would’ve loved James. Definitely would’ve called him Bucky because she’d think that nickname is silly. I wonder if James wants kids — if he’d be the kind of parent kids dream of having.

I don’t think I am. If I was, then my baby wouldn’t have died so young.

James is still missing. He disappeared with Steve a few days after he was framed. And yes — he was framed by some asshole named Zemo or whatever. Even then, they still labeled James and Steve as fugitives — traitors to the nation. They cleared James for the bombing, but still want him to answer for his crimes as a brainwashed assassin.

Fuck them. It must be so easy, huh? To let others take the fall and point fingers at them. People don’t understand what it’s like to lose control of everything.

Fuck those entitled assholes.

I’m just grateful that Steve is with James — the Falcon and Black Widow too. It sucks to see them on the run, but they’re protecting James. Someone other than me is finally looking out for him.

I do wish that Steve came to find me though — that James told him about me and brought me along with them. 

I don’t need much. I just want to hug James and tell him that I’m here.

I miss him so much that it hurts. I hope he doesn’t miss me as much — he doesn’t deserve any more pain.

I hope you’re having a better holiday than me, James. I look forward to the day when we can celebrate together.

<><><>

January 18th, 2017. 3:12 PM

I almost lost James 13 years ago today.

I still feel sick when I think about it. How he bled so much from his stomach while that HYDRA agent laughed at us.

But what horrified me more was that when I thought about that day, I realized that right now, I want to be sent to him.

I’m so selfish. I can’t believe I wished something was happening so that I could see him. That’s fucked up. Asking for the worst to happen to him so that I could be his little savior.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I love him and miss him. I really, really miss him. It's been almost 3 years since I last saw him. I know that means he’s safe (or at least just alive), but I can’t handle not knowing where he is now. Did he get caught? Is he trapped somewhere? Does he need my help?

I wish I could get sent to him without either one of us having to die.

Or, if we have to, I’d get to hold him before death comes for me again.

God. I’m really in love with this man, huh?

<><><>

June 3, 2018. 1:58 AM

Fuck you. Actually fuck you. Do you think this is funny? It’s so fucking funny, huh?

Kill half of the universe but leave me alive.

Fuck you.

I can’t believe you didn’t let me save anyone this time. You put me near Times Square when everyone started to vanish, letting chaos wreck us. I kept waiting for you to tell me to save someone — for my heart to get pulled — but all I did was watch people disappear while others get injured by moving cars and falling helicopters.

You didn’t even let me save a child. I watched a fucking child die again while I survived.

Just let me die. Let me see my family. I just want to hold my daughter again. I’m so tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Taking on so many different fake names and pretending that I wasn’t buried next to my baby in 1904.

Let me go. Let me fucking go. What more do you want from me? Why can’t you give me the satisfaction of death? After more than a century of this bullshit, you could at least let me die.

Instead, you made me fucking watch a child die. The boy didn’t even vanish — he fucking died from an accident.

Then I watched the news and fucking hell — you erased half of the population in the universe? The whole fucking universe? All of them are gone, but I’m still here.

I didn’t ask for this damn life. I never wanted this curse, but you thought I was the perfect person for it. What is it about me that you found so fitting? Because all I see in the mirror is a pathetic human being.

You gave me nothing but pain and empty years, when all I want is my family. I want to hold my daughter again, but you won’t let me go to do that.

Genuinely, fuck you.

<><><>

December 17, 2018. 1:01 PM

They announced that they’re almost done with the memorial in Greenwich Village — the one for all of the heroes who were snapped after they fought for us. It’s supposed to be open to the public next month.

I know James is fine, but I have to check.

Even though James went into hiding again, there's a part of me that knows he was involved in the fight. There’s another part of me — the part I hate — that is nervous that he’s gone because he hasn’t shown up. I haven’t seen him at all on the news. A few of them have popped up to talk to the press — mainly Steve and Natasha Romanoff. But I’m just hanging onto the idea that James doesn’t want to talk to the public. Why would he after everything they called him?

I’m 100% certain that he’s okay. After everything I did for him, he has to be alive. I know he’s fine, but I still have to check for the sake of my mind.

<><><>

January 29, 2019. 1:13 PM

I can’t do thi

<><><>

February 20, 2019. 6:19 PM.

I tried to end it all.

I know I can’t die, but I couldn’t help it. I just want it to end. Everything hurts and I want it to stop. I tried to stop it, but I keep on coming back. My body is on the verge of failing, but it keeps holding on. I tried to leave and I just come back the next day.

Stop. STOP

STOP

Why won’t you let me die? I have nothing left now — it’s the perfect time to let me go. I had something until you took him away. Why the fuck would you do that? Of all people who deserved to live life just a little bit, you fucking killed him.

You could’ve at least let him live. I didn’t mind being here anymore because I had something to protect. But you didn’t send me to him when he needed me. I told him — I told him that I’d be there when he needed me.

You fucking piece of shit. You made me a sacrifice, but a liar too? James died probably thinking I’d come save him, but I didn’t.

Did I do the same thing to him that you do to me? Give him hope, only for it to rip it away at the last second? I’ve been in love with this man for decades and you take him away from me. Do you like to see me suffer?

Let me die. LET ME FUCKING DIE

I gave you everything and you took away my everything. The one person who still cared about me — who didn’t let me face you alone — gone. GONE

I SHOULDN’T BE HERE I should be dead and he should be alive. It should’ve been ME. Why wasn't it me? Why do you have to hurt me? What did I do to you that made you want to hurt me like this? How fucking dare you take the love of my life? How dare you do this when I finally allowed myself to dream and hope and think about the life I’ve wanted for so long? You piece of shit. Fuck you. FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT I HATE YOU

I want to see my family. Let me hold my baby again. Let me hold James. I want to see everyone. I want to be with them.

I want to die. I don’t want to be here. Everything hurts. It fucking hurts let me GO YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT FUCK YOU FUCK YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU

LET ME GO

<><><>

March 18, 2019. 10:28 PM.

I give up. You win.

You won’t let me leave. I tried too many times. In every imaginable way, I tried.

I lost count of how many times I died and woke up. Felt death at my fingertips, but watched it walk away while I couldn’t move my body.

Couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. I can’t even dream anymore.

I’m constantly drowning, unable to swim to the surface no matter how close it is. I don’t know if the surface I’m looking for is life or death, but I just want to breathe again. But you make me let go of my breath, and throw me back into the water. You’re making me drown.

I tried to stop the pain, but you just gave me more. I’ve died in so many ways but this is the worst I’ve ever felt. Who knew physical pain hurts less than losing the love of your life?

The pain won’t stop. I tried to make it stop.

But it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore.

I never mattered, anyway.

I spent my whole life running away from my feelings. I fought against them because I knew they’d hurt me. When I finally took the chance — finally allowed myself to imagine a beautiful life for myself — it killed me.

You’re right. I don’t deserve love. I don’t deserve hope or happiness or joy or

I don’t know. I don’t deserve anything. If I did, I would’ve gotten what I wanted decades ago.

I wanted someone to love me back and I let myself believe that with James. Believe that when he and I finally meet again, we could be happy together. Walk through the city during the holidays, our hands together while we shiver from the cold.

But his body is gone and I’m the only one shivering.

I don’t want to shiver. I want to be still. Dead.

I’ll never see James again. Soon, I’ll forget what he sounds like, how he feels, how he moves, just like everyone else. I don’t remember how Henry sounded when he laughed. How my parents smiled. How Minnie hugged me. How my baby girl ran around. 

I don’t even remember the day my baby girl took her first steps. All of those memories. Gone.

James will become a faded memory too. I don’t want to forget him, but it’ll happen.

I begged you to make me a memory, but you won’t listen. Of course you won’t — you never did what I asked.

I don’t care anymore.

You win. I’ll do my job and save someone else. Hope you’re happy.

<><><>

May 28, 2019. 8:20 PM

It’s a wonder how I’ve been able to keep my bookstore open during this time. 

I thought that my store would’ve closed after the Snap, but I think people just need some form of normalcy in their lives. That’s the whole point of stories, anyway — to go into a different world and forget about the one you’re actually in for a moment. But I don’t know how I managed to even stay active. I’ve been more fatigued lately — I think the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on in the past few months made me tired. But still, here I am, running a bookstore in Brooklyn.

Talk about the past, huh?

Something unexpected happened today, though.

I was working, tidying up the store when a young lady walked in. It was that teenager from 2014. Mandy. And she looked at me like she knew me.

Because she did.

She told me she remembered me. Other than James, I never had anyone come up to me and say they recognized me. Of course, I always try to avoid getting recognized by people I saved, but I also think you make it easier for me.

So for her to say she knew me? What the fuck.

She said she just graduated from college. She got a degree in English and is looking to be a writer. I tried to pretend I didn’t know her, but she refused to leave me alone. She said that you can never forget the face of the person who saved your life.

That’s a lie. No one but James had ever recognized me.

I tried to say she got the wrong person, but man, she’s persistent. She reminded me a little bit of Minnie, who was bubbly but also stubborn, but in a good way. She kept saying I’m the reason she’s still alive.

That hit me harder than I thought it would. More than a century of dying had gone by, and no one — except for James — was ever appreciative of my sacrifice. I felt this kindness from her — gratefulness — that I don’t deserve. So I still tried to lie, saying that if I died, how could I still be right here?

She said if we can live in a world where an alien erased half of the universe, then we can live in a world where people can come back from the dead.

Can’t argue with that.

Then she said she wanted to work for me. She was looking for a job while continuing to write for herself, so working at a bookstore would be perfect for her, right? I mean, I have been more fatigued lately, so it’d be nice to have extra help.

But I was hesitant.

I didn’t want to let anyone into my life again. Why would I after everything I went through? I said no, but she asked again. When I went to say no again, I couldn’t. She looked at me like a hero, even though I’m not one. But most of all, she looked at me like a person.

Not a ghost. Not a memory. A real fucking person.

I really wanted to say no. I promised myself I wouldn’t tell anyone of my curse.

But I think losing the one person who did know…it hurt me more than I realized. Even if James didn’t know who I truly was, it was nice to be seen.

God, it was so nice.

I told Mandy to come back tomorrow.

<><><>

September 10, 2019. 5:29 AM

Something’s wrong. 

Something is seriously wrong.

I saved a woman on August 10 and I can’t move my arm.

I can’t move my fucking arm.

I was in Queens when the car crash happened. I went there to go to the Museum of the Moving Image. I just wanted to give myself something nice to do. A little…bit of fun, I guess. But then I felt the pull and pushed this woman out of the way, and I got hit instead. My arm was pinned underneath the car as I died.

I can’t even have a good day anymore.

I woke up an hour ago and I’m still horrified, because my body hurts more than it usually would and I can’t move my arm. 

This never happened before. I’ve died in ways that made it difficult for me to move around when I wake up, but never this much and I’ve never been paralyzed before. I’ve been trying to shake it awake but it won’t wake up.

It took all of my strength for me to go to the bathroom and figure out why this is happening, and when I examined my heavy arm in the mirror, I found a scar.

A scar.

It’s on the back of my forearm and it doesn’t look great. It starts at my wrist and goes to my elbow. I never had any proof of my deaths on my body before. Never had a scar when I woke up, or felt this exhausted, or lost all feelings in a limb.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Am I dying? Or are you punishing me for some reason? What did I do?

I don’t know if I’m going to feel my arm again. Fuck, I hope this isn’t permanent. I don’t need proof of my death. I already know I died.

I died a long time ago.

<><><>

May 30, 2020. 6:59 AM

I can’t speak.

I can’t fucking speak. Fuck, I’m so scared right now.

I was stabbed in the neck on April 30 and now I can’t speak.

The last time I died, my arm was numb, but after a day, I was able to move it again. If it’s the same now, I should be able to talk tomorrow or maybe by tonight. But holy shit — my body hurts so much too. I only got stabbed, but the rest of my body is still screaming as if it also got harmed. It’s almost painful to move around — like when your foot falls asleep and it’s difficult to shift your muscles around.

When I looked in the mirror, I found another scar. It’s on the right side of my neck, exactly where I was stabbed. I have to cover it up somehow, whether it’s with my hair or wearing a scarf, because it’s not gonna go away.

The scar on my arm never went away.

I think I know why you’re punishing me. 

It’s because I tried to leave, isn’t it? For trying to die when I’m people’s chances to keep on living. 

Or maybe I did it to myself — I pushed my body too much in such a short period of time that it’s now just…failing. 

The pain I feel now is just as bad to how I felt when I failed to save someone. Did you increase the amount of pain I feel? Stop me from screaming when all I want is release?

I feel so trapped and I can’t even ask anyone for help. No one knows how to help me — fuck, I don’t know how to help myself.

Mandy wanted to figure it out, but I said not to. If we tried again, I’d just feel hopeful that there would be an answer.

I can’t feel hope again.

<><><>

December 19, 2020. 8:10 AM

I think I actually ruined my body when I tried to kill myself.

I saved a man on November 19 and I feel like my stomach is empty. I was shot in the guts and now it feels like I’m on an empty stomach. It’s not hunger — it just feels hollow there and it hurts.

There’s a bullet scar next to my belly button.

I’m not supposed to have these. All of these scars — they shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t even be here.

My body is becoming a weak, fragile mess and I hate it. This is all I have and you have to hurt it too. I know I tried to push my body to the limit, but it’s you who won’t let me go past it. Let me cross the finish line and hug my loved ones again.

You’re making me feel the weight of my actions. I feel like I’m constantly getting pulled underwater, unable to move to the surface. I’m just sinking to the endless bottom.

I’d drown, but even then you wouldn’t let me go.

I just want it to be over, but you just had to remind me how empty I feel.

Literally.

<><><>

July 27, 2021. 4:03 PM

I’m so fucking scared.

I failed to save a woman today.

I failed.

I don’t want to be punished. If saving someone still means I’d feel pained, I don’t know how much agony I’ll feel tomorrow for failing. I’m so scared.

Please. Just end it if you’re just going to make me go through hell.

Please.

<><><>

July 29, 2021. 10:28 PM

Mandy stopped by yesterday and today and took care of me.

I was on the verge of death but was unable to pass.

I managed to text Mandy that I was still around. I didn’t expect her to show up and make sure I was eating and resting well. I scared her — she didn’t expect me to not be able to move a muscle.

I didn’t know that would happen either.

Breathing also hurt. It was like my lungs didn’t want to work, and I was forcing them to. The pain overall was just as bad as when I first tried to kill myself… 

I don’t even know how much it’d hurt now if I tried to end it again.

Mandy took care of me when I didn’t ask. Helped me sit up and literally fed me. I felt so pathetic, but she said not to worry about it.

For someone who’s so energetic and bold, she was very gentle. Somehow, she also made me laugh too.

She’s also really smart — we finally have each other’s locations now on our phones because she said when I disappear, there’s a chance my phone could also vanish, so she’d know if I’m gone or not. She said she’d have a better time knowing if she needs to run my store or not then.

I told her she could just close my store while I’m gone, but she said everyone needs a good book available for them at all times. Stories can help people, she said.

She’s so sweet. I don’t deserve her kindness, but she just offers it to me.

Maybe it’s good that someone knows about my curse.

<><><>

January 3, 2023. 4:10 PM.

I feel terrible. 

I hurt Mandy yesterday.

I wasn’t expecting her to visit me. She went to DC to celebrate the holidays with her family. She told me I should join her, but I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone else into my life — tell people about myself because everything I’d say would be a lie.

Spending the holidays alone isn’t new, but it was so much harder this time. I made the mistake of walking around again — I saw a young couple laughing in the park. I started to imagine me and him like that, and I ended up running back home. But when I came back, my apartment felt emptier, more lonely. Even my TV couldn’t make me feel like I wasn’t alone.

I was just so alone. I wanted to be held again, but he’s not here.

Mandy stopped by last night without letting me know first. She brought snacks and said she wanted to watch a movie with me — spend some time with me. Again, I don’t deserve that, but I still let her in because how could I refuse her?

I was setting up some bowls for the snacks when she went to the bathroom, and then she suddenly ran up to me. I was so confused — she grabbed onto me and was looking for something with big eyes.

I didn’t realize I left the blades by my bathroom sink.

I made Mandy cry.

Fuck. I didn’t mean to. I swear, I didn’t mean to hurt her. I swear.

She was checking for wounds. Looked at my wrists and arms and found nothing. I told her I wasn’t going to do it. 

She didn’t believe me. She didn’t fucking believe me.

I started to cry. I just broke down and said I wasn’t lying. I’m not a liar. With her, I’m not. I’ve been lying my whole life, but I swear I would never lie to her. I really wasn’t going to do it. I thought about it, but I chose not to do it because even that wouldn’t get rid of the pain.

I told Mandy about James.

For the first time in my life, I told someone else about the man I loved.

I told her about the first time I saved him. Then the war. Then about when he was the Winter Soldier and that day in DC.

I told her everything. I promise I’m not a liar with her.

I told her I love him. He’s gone, but I still love him. I’ve been trying to move on, but I fucking miss him so much. But he’s never coming back. I’m never going to see him again.

Mandy let me hug her and I just cried. I’ve been alive for over a century and she’s just a baby in her 20s, and yet I was sobbing in her arms. I felt so weak and pathetic, but I couldn’t hide it anymore.

I miss James. Fuck, I miss him so much. Sometimes I just want to forget about him so it’s easier to go about my life.

I finally let myself feel happy to be in love and you fucking took him away from me. Is it funny? To watch me suffer so much after everything I’ve done for you? I hope you’re laughing.

When I was more or less done crying, Mandy made me a cup of tea. Then we just sat on the couch. We didn’t watch any movies or eat any snacks — she just let me breathe. It was nice.

Then Mandy made me promise her that I would never try to end my life. I told her that it didn’t matter. I’d still come back. But she still made me promise her I wouldn’t try in the first place.

I said yes, and she ordered us some Chinese food. It was delicious.

I wonder if my daughter would’ve been like her. Caring, smart, energetic.

Lively.

Mandy’s not my daughter, I know that. No one will ever replace my baby, but I can’t help but wonder.

I like to think she’d be like her.

<><><>

October 18, 2023. 10:19 PM

I think you enjoy watching chaos unfold. This isn’t a realization I made recently — I started to suspect it when you cursed me. But I just had to say it.

Yesterday, the Avengers brought back all of those people we lost. I didn’t think it was possible, but I guess we do live in a world where people can come back from the dead.

The people who came back were appalled. Shocked and horrified to see that 5 years went by. It’s scary, isn’t it? Waking up to find out you died — that people mourned for you and said goodbye. But it must be nice to not wake up in pain.

The streets became so overwhelming that I had to close my store so that no one came in. It became too loud too fast. Everything was moving while I’m stuck in place.

I sent Mandy home, told her to go to DC and find her friends and family who disappeared. I sat in the back of my store alone for the whole day. It was easier to feel nothing there.

I guess there’s more people for me to save now. More opportunities for me to wake up in searing pain. To wake up after saving someone whose life is apparently more valuable than mine.

Like James.

God. James is back too.

I 

I thought I’d be happy, but I don’t know how to feel about that.

<><><>

November 3, 2023. 1:15 AM

Mandy asked me about James the other day.

I’ve been thinking about him a lot, but that’s not a surprise. But she asked me if I would go look for him now that he was back. I didn’t respond right away, and she knew something was off.

She said I should, and was just more confused when I didn’t say anything. She asked if I still wanted him.

Of course I do, but do I deserve him anymore?

For so many years, I have thought about James — dreamed of him. And over time, I thought about what he did and didn’t know. Even though I saved him so many times, I realized that he doesn’t even know the full extent of my curse.

Who I get to save — that was never my choice.

Would James be disappointed if he found out? That while I chose to save him every time, I never chose to get sent to him. You sent me to him. I know I went for him myself in DC, but all the other times, it was you.

If James and I were to meet now, would he be disappointed? That I’m just a regular person who was entrusted with a curse without a say. No power other than to perish. Not special.

Not worthy of someone like James.

I let myself believe that I deserve someone like him. Let myself be happy and say I love him. I love him so much. 

James. My James.

You have no idea how much I love you.

I love you so much that I let myself imagine a life with you. Where I could sit next to you with my head on your shoulder, maybe an arm wrapped around your waist. Maybe you have your head on mine while we did something cliche — watch the sunset or some bullshit like that — because our lives have been so unusual that cliches feel like a luxury. I imagine a life where I don’t have to die and you don’t have to survive.

We could just live.

But I’m not allowed to have that.

I went back to my journals and reread my entry about saving you for the first time. Visited all of my stories about saving you. Of those days where I wondered if you even like coffee, or what kind of pet you would have. I'd love to know if you like sweet or savory.

I'd also like to know what your favorite color is, and favorite tunes, and if you’re a morning person or night owl. If you like to read or watch movies or both. If you like to go out or stay home on a lazy day.

I reread the entry from the 40s where I said I would love to sit down and have coffee with you and tell you all about my life.

I don’t think that’s going to happen anymore.

I knew losing you would be hard, but it killed me more than I thought it would. Death wasn’t enough to get rid of that pain. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt to lose you.

I wanted to die when you died.

I did die when you died. My heart stopped with yours.

Losing you was horrible, and that was when I didn’t even know much about you. If I learn about all of these things now, I don’t know if I can handle losing you again. I already couldn’t handle it — I’m afraid I’ll hurt myself somehow if I know more about you.

I’ll still save you. James, I promise I’ll give everything to save you. I know you’ll need me — not because you’re a soldier, but you’re someone who always goes out of their way to protect someone else. You’ll always be in danger, so I’ll be your shield.

I’m sorry. I just don’t want to hurt anymore.

I’m hurting all the time, but this? Having hope for us — letting myself act upon my love for you — that will be taken away.

The world isn’t fair to me, but I can make it be fair to you.

Hey world? Fuck you. Really, fuck you.

Killing James was cruel, but killing him THEN bringing him back to me is the cruelest thing you could’ve done.

James is not the monster. 

You are, and you made me one too.

I’m the kind of monster that would scare children. Zombies who come back from the dead — ghosts who haunt the innocent. I’m sure I’ve haunted James. I mean, when he died, it killed me.

So did it kill him when he watched me die too?

He doesn’t have to watch anymore. He won’t know who I am. He’ll only get glimpses of me, just like before. I’ll continue to save him and love him from a distance like I always have, but he’ll never get to know me. 

I will never tell him my real name. He'll never know anything about me. I’ll just be his sacrifice, as well as everyone else’s. Nothing more, like how it’s supposed to be. I’ll just be the ghost story they tried to make him be.

Rose is dead. She’s been dead for a really long time. I know that. 

After all, I buried her myself.

You closed your journal, and continued to sit on the grass in silence. Your pen dropped to the ground as your shoulders sagged, your eyes glazed over as you stared at a tombstone that was barely lit by your phone flashlight. The air was cold and still, just like you.

You sat there for a long time. The clouds moved over you, blocking the moonlight every now and then while the distant city slightly echoed into the cemetery. 

To anyone, the night would’ve felt peaceful.

But you never knew what peace was.

Quietly, you reached for the metal container, opening it before dropping your last journal into it with the rest of your writings.

No more stories. No more histories.

No more you.

You placed the container next to the tombstone and buried it under the numerous, white rocks you sprinkled around it—an attempt to make the gravesite a bit prettier. Then you picked up a bouquet of flowers and set it on top. You didn’t move again. Silent and still, you did nothing.

Because nothing could be done anymore.

Slowly, you grabbed your jacket and got to your feet. You pulled the sleeves over your arms, hiding the numerous scars that trailed around your skin. You took one last look at the rock hiding your memories before sighing.

Then you glanced at the name on the tombstone, and your hands curled into fists as your eyes quickly watered. Your breath hitched and you turned away, storming off before you made a poor decision of any kind. You vanished from the cemetery, leaving behind the old tombstone that held a name.

A name that saved others, but not the person it belonged to.

A name that brought James peace, even when you couldn't.

A name that had stayed dear to your heart after all these years.

Rose.

NEXT CHAPTER >

General Taglist! @a-century-of-sass @clemicious @fallenxjas @paryl @frog-fans-unite @sebastians-love @buckvoidsyy @recorddust @nj01 @avengersgirllorianna @western-nightss @chonkybonky @weasleyswheezeys 

Thanks for reading :)