#but i have yet to hear of a use for it that make it sound like it's worth the environmental damage

[1d1195]

Pucking Rookie Extra II

Read Pucking Rookie here | ~4.6k words

From me: I probs should have made this two parts but I felt like Harry was suffering at the end of where I wanted to cut it off and I think you'll see that he's suffered enough.

Warnings: angsty and fluffy

Summary: Before the season begins, Charlie tells the team his niece is off limits. After they're together, Harry wants to cry because he loves her so much and is all but dying to say it.

*Preseason*

“Look who decided to grace us with his presence!” Charlie could hear Asher’s voice coming from the next room. He shook his head with an eye roll. His players were loud, cheeky, and very forthcoming with their sexual partners toward each other. Charlie ignored most of it...

“Sorry y’can’t find a woman put up with your sorry ass,” Harry called back.

Charlie loved his team. They were like a giant extended family—a set of twenty-something sons. But the boys were in their twenties, just like his niece. And today he took notice of how they talked about women.

To be fair, they never spoke poorly of women. Honestly, there was no question in Charlie’s mind that they adored women.

Especially his star forward, Harry Styles.

But maybe he had ignored it because he hadn’t really had a conversation with his niece in a long while. Maybe he hadn’t thought about his daughter growing up and being the same age as some future hockey star that would make his skin crawl to know she liked. Or maybe, it just wasn’t his concern because since he had been assistant coach, the team and his extended family were mostly separated and the connection didn’t click for him.

But that was before. He had just gotten off the phone with his brother. He had called and asked if he could give his sweet niece a call. It sounded a little ominous and Charlie was ready to battle like the hot-tempered hockey boys in the locker room just outside his office. In fact, at first, he considered asking the boys for help. They would blindly love getting into it with a stranger. Especially on his behalf. There was no question that the team respected Charlie. “Of course I can, is everything alright?”

“She’s not giving me much to work with,” he explained. “Give me a call back if you figure it out.”

Charlie responded to his brother, but he listened in to the conversation happening behind him.

“Maybe if you didn’t sleep with the entire city there would be a woman to put up with him,” Callie answered Harry’s rebuttal on Asher’s behalf.

“S’not the entire city,” Charlie could practically hear Harry’s eye roll.

“Anything more than five may as well be,” Asher grumbled.

Charlie looked at the family portrait on his desk. Himself, his wife, and their two kids: daughter and son. Captured by the lovely niece he was just thinking about. The quality of her photography was unmatched. She called herself an amateur when she sent the pictures over, but they were lovely. There were a couple photos blown up and framed in his house and he couldn’t thank her enough for capturing the love in his family.

It made him more nervous about her call.

“Hi Sweetheart,” he smiled into the receiver.

“Hi Uncle Charlie,” she sighed. Her voice cracked a bit. “Thank you for calling me. I’m sorry to interrupt and I hope I’m not bothering you and your busy schedule.”

He frowned immediately. He remembered the little girl the day she was born and how she didn’t cry the way some newborns did around strangers. She looked around in fascination even if her eyes weren’t developed yet and couldn’t see more than a centimeter in front of her. It was like she was already looking for that perfect angle when she was just hours old. Hoping to find the right moment to capture in her little mind just like the camera she would hold in several years’ time. He adored his older brother and by proxy this little girl was wrapped around his finger. Even after all this time, his niece was one of his favorite people. He loved seeing her, loved hanging out with her, and loved talking hockey with her.

If she didn’t cry coming into this crazy world, Charlie didn’t think she ever would. So, hearing the sadness in her voice made him miserable. Ready to tell the boys to get in their cars and head to wherever she was and make sure whomever made her cry never did it again. “Sweetheart, you’re no bother. Ever. What’s the matter? You sound upset.”

She took a shaky breath and sniffled. “I-I’m sorry.... I-I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “Kael,” she swallowed, her voice breaking on a cry. “I’m sorry,” she took a deep breath trying to steel herself. “Kael and I are over. I’m moving out your way. I’m going to waitress at The Locker Room. Have you heard of it?”

Good riddance, Charlie thought. Kael Crowe was the worst kind of guy for her. Granted he probably would have thought about that for the best guy there was for her. But Kael didn’t appreciate her the way she deserved, that was obvious. But they had been together for years. For them to be over something bad must have happened.

Of course he had heard of The Locker Room. It was the team’s favorite hangout. “Yeah, Sweetheart. It’s a good place. Louis is a good guy.”

“I figured because I dropped your name,” she swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

He chuckled without humor. “That’s what it’s for, Sweetheart. Tell me what happened.”

“I can’t... not right now. But it’s bad,” she took another shaky breath. “But waitressing isn’t going to be enough,” she sniffled. “Do you have any media leads? I’ll do anything. I’ll run the Instagram account. I’ll take pictures of the old jerseys you want to auction off. I just...”

“Of course, sweetheart. I’ll call over right now. You can have whatever you want.”

She took a deep breath and paused. “Thank you, Uncle Charlie. So much. I promise I’ll do whatever you need too. Photos, babysitting, anything.”

“You don’t have to do anything Sweetheart. Promise the guys are going to give you a run for your money.”

“That’s okay,” she laughed dryly. “I’m done with hockey players.”

“You’re jus’ jealous that I can get laid every night and you can’t,” Harry had a shrug in his voice overshadowing the conversation he was having with the girl who would always be a baby in his eyes.

Good. He thought to himself. “Sweetheart,” he said tentatively.

“How your dick hasn’t fallen off I’ll never know.”

“S’jus’ like hockey, practice make perfect,” Harry answered casually making his teammates laugh.

“Yeah?” She asked quietly.

“You know that Kael’s number one rival is on the team,” he reminded her.

“So he is,” she mumbled. “Guess working for you will be two-fold.”

He smiled. “Harry...” he said quietly just in case the boys walked by his office. “He’s a bit... over the top sometimes.”

“I just told you I’m done with hockey players. Especially ones that know they’re the best in the league and are on track to break franchise records in scoring, assists, and fights.”

“You keeping tabs on my players?” He chuckled and was looking forward to adding a picture to his desk of his niece. Couldn’t wait to spend more time with her. He felt awful she was sad, but he was excited to get some quality bonding time.

“I can get laid every night,” Callie countered. “I am also just looking for the one I want to fuck every night.”

“Is that why you hooked up with that hot girl from Seattle? So you could fuck her every night?” Lang chuckled.

“I would love to fuck her every night,” he groaned.

“Me too,” Asher agreed.

“Not with this job,” Harry snorted. Charlie was suddenly and acutely, more aware of the sexuality of his players. Hearing that his beautiful, sweet, kind, and intelligent niece was practically on her way to the clubhouse... he had to give a warning.

He had already warned her of Harry... because it was no secret he enjoyed spending time with women. But the thought of any of his players with his niece made his blood boil. Especially knowing that Kael hurt her in some way that was making her uproot her life.

However, he couldn’t help but notice the tinge of sadness in Harry’s voice. It was overpowered by the idea of murdering his best player if he hurt the sweet girl about to take photos of them all, but he still heard it.

“The boys will love you,” Charlie warned.

“Plenty of people have wives and girlfriends in the league,” Niall reminded his best friend.

“Good for them. M’happy with m’situation,” he affirmed with the same shrug in his voice. “No strings, no heartache, and a whole lot of fun,” he chuckled.

“I’m sure I’ll love them. They probably hate Kael as much as I do,” she sniffled.

He frowned. “Do you need help, Sweetheart? Moving or anything?”

“No... I’m leaving a lot behind. I just have to get out of here.”

“I’m so sorry, Sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” her voice broke again. “It’s for the best.”

“Call me if you need anything. Are you flying?”

“Yes.”

“Have a safe flight, Sweetheart.”

“Thanks Uncle Charlie. Thank Uncle Ray for me as well.”

Charlie pushed back from his desk and headed to the locker room, his hands in his pockets as he watched the players in their various states of dress and undress. He leaned against the wall casually. “Team meeting,” he called.

They all glanced at their head coach’s office. They all knew Ray was tending to business elsewhere, so they were confused about their meeting. They watched with rapt attention, Lang quieted the younger guys with his captain authority and waited for the announcement.

“My niece is coming to be part of the media staff,” he stated.

“Finally,” Callie cheered. “It’s about time we got some pretty motivation around here.”

“Which is exactly why I’m having this conversation, Calloway,” he narrowed his eyes at him. “She is completely off-limits. She’s done with hockey players.”

“She’s got a thing for hockey players?!” Asher perked up excitedly.

“I just said she’s done with you lot.”

“Hit too many times into the boards, Coach,” Callie smiled. “Can’t understand you sometimes.”

“If I find out that any of you, so much as breathe on her when she doesn’t want it, I’ll kill you. Then bench you,” he threatened. “Even Niall,” he added.

The team looked at one another in surprise. Niall was the golden boy. He was their goalie. The sweetest by far on the team.

Coach meant business.

“Didn’t know you had a niece coach,” Lang mumbled. “Everything okay?”

“No,” he said. “We also hate Kael Crowe more.”

“Oh, y’should have led with that, Coach,” Harry rubbed his hands together excitedly. “Can’t wait t’wreck him for two reasons now.”

“Holy shit, this is your niece, Charlie? Thank God your genetics are weak,” Callie grinned holding his phone in front of him.

“Let me see!” Asher crowded nearby and then the rest of the team was itching and moving to huddle around Callie’s phone to get a look at his niece. Charlie snagged his phone from his hand and dropped it in the trash can without so much as a second glance.

“Hey!”

“Off-limits. All of you,” his eyes paused on Harry for an extra second. “Styles, my office.”

“Ooh...” the sound echoed while Callie stuck his head halfway into the trash bin filled with medical tape and discarded Gatorade bottles to retrieve his phone.

Harry sighed, rolled his eyes, and followed Coach. Once inside, he closed the office door. Harry sat in the seat across from his desk. “You can’t fight Kael, not for my niece.”

“T’be fair coach, I was going t’fight him anyway,” he shrugged. “Y’jus’ gave me another reason t’win.”

“You are not to fuck with my family,” he stated next. “Do you understand?”

“Why are you singling me out?” he frowned.

He was right to, but he didn’t really want his coach knowing of that. He looked up to Charlie and he wanted to earn his respect. “Because I know you’re popular with the ladies... and my niece is too sweet and doesn’t deserve her heart to be broken by the two top forwards in the league.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Crowe isn’t even that good.”

Charlie snorted. “Not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“If you hurt my niece, I’ll kill you. Which is bad for the team. I love this team, Harry.”

“M’not gonna hurt her,” he rolled his eyes. “M’very respectful towards women,” he reminded him.

“From the sound of what I hear, you really respect women.”

Harry felt the slightest bit of shame creep up from his chest, up his throat, and a burning sensation filled his cheeks. “I do,” his voice was quiet. Because he meant it. He may have slept with a lot of women, but he respected them first and foremost.

“My niece is off limits.”

“Isn’t she old enough t’make her own decisions?” He asked. See? Respectful. She deserved to decide herself if Harry was worth her time. Harry didn’t even want a girlfriend. He was happy with his life. It made sense. There wasn’t time for a girlfriend. Wasn’t time for love that made his heart stutter. Retirement. That was when he would find a girl and get the family he always dreamed of having. Right now, was for hockey and sex.

“She’s vulnerable, Harry. She’s going through a hard time right now and she doesn’t need you to be... you while she figures things out.”

Harry frowned and glanced away. It felt like he was in trouble at the principal’s office. “M’not going t’do anything,” he mumbled.

“She’s the best, Harry. Literally the best. You cannot hurt her.”

“Jesus Coach, I won’t. Fuck. Y’gonna give Callie this talk?”

“Callie doesn’t have a list of women in every city. Callie doesn’t come telling the locker room his conquests from the previous night.”

Harry could feel his blood boiling. But he was right. “You’re a tremendous young man, Harry,” Coach said gently, and Harry swallowed down the emotion in his throat, he was angry, frustrated, and hurt. It was all his own doing and for what? So, he wouldn’t hit on Coach’s niece? Whatever, he couldn’t date a woman anyway. Not with his schedule. He wasn’t going to fall in love. He didn’t deserve it.

Coach was right. It was bitter and awful to feel. But he was. Harry wasn’t the love and relationship guy. Not right now.

“I just don’t want my niece to get her heart broken again.”

Harry nodded silently. “We’re done here?” He asked.

“Done,” he responded.

Harry practically jumped out of the chair so quickly it tipped a bit before righting itself. He slammed the office door open so hard he was surprised the glass didn’t shatter. Fuming, he headed toward the rink. He punched the wall hard and then growled out a moan as he clutched his hand to his chest and turned toward the trainer’s office hoping he only sprained his finger and not broke the knuckle for the beginning of the season.

*Present*

Harry came home from a grueling day at practice. His body was aching, and he missed the pretty photographer that seemed as much of a fixture of the rink as net or bench. But she wasn’t truly needed for the day, and she was working at The Locker Room that night,so she wanted to get some things done around the house.

Not that Harry didn’t insist that he could hire someone to clean now that it was worth cleaning. When it was just him, he didn’t care much. But now his princess lived with him, and he didn’t want her living in filth.

“Hi, Harry!” She called.

Harry smiled instantly, all the achiness and exhaustion melted off him. Her voice carried from the living room. Michael and Marc were on the sofa playing a video game while she snuggled on the chair with her book. Harry leaned over the back of her chair and kissed the top of her head. “Hi Rookie,” he grinned and gave her shoulder a squeeze.

“Where’s my kiss?” Marc asked.

“Shut up,” Michael rolled his eyes. “You sound desperate, and you have a boyfriend.”

“We both have a mutual understanding about Harry.”

She shook her head, ignoring her friends while she flipped to the next page. “There’s food on the stove; it just finished a little bit ago.”

“It’s delicious,” Marc added. “I didn’t think chickpeas could taste that good but put it with sweet potatoes and veggies and apparently I’m in.”

Harry chuckled to himself and went to the kitchen to make himself a plate.

“We’ll get out of your hair,” Michael said.

“Speak for yourself!” Marc frowned. “I don’t have my study dates anymore.”

Harry brought his plate back to the living room and stood in front of her. She finished her page and looked up with a grin. “Can I help you?”

“Get up,” Harry murmured. She tilted her head at him.

“Why?”

“Jus’ get up,” he sighed. “M’tired, Bunny. Please don’t argue,” he mumbled and yawned as if to prove his point.

She giggled but stood up. Instantly, Harry sat down and with his free hand pulled her down to his lap. She shifted slightly so he could eat comfortably, and she could read without putting too much pressure on his leg or groin. “There’s a whole couch over here you know,” Marc patted the seat beside him with a megawatt grin. He also squished Michael into the other end of the couch at the same time.

“You’re pathetic,” Michael saved his progress and stood. “Thanks for letting us come over, babe,” he squeezed her shoulder as he passed her and headed for the front door. “Marc, let’s get out of their hair.”

He sighed dramatically. “Bye babe,” he mumbled. “Bye Harry,” his voice was flirtier and airy as he spoke to him. Harry smirked around his bite of food.

“Bye Marc. Bye Michael.” Once they heard the door close, she stood from the chair to give Harry some breathing room.

Tried to, anyway.

“Where are y’going?” he grumbled, frowning as he snagged her with one hand and tugged her back almost dropping his yummy food in the process. She sat right back in his lap. She turned, grabbing his plate while he adjusted her so she sat cradled on his legs. She fed him another bite as she spoke.

“I was just giving you space to eat.”

“What ‘bout me says I want space from you?” He questioned, his eyebrows pinching together in the process.

“You’re a fun boyfriend,” she giggled feeding him another bite.

He rolled his eyes. “M-hmm. Why’s it so cold in here?” He asked, taking another forkful of his food. She wiped her thumb on the corner of his mouth as she shrugged.

“To save money. It was just me for most of the day.”

He frowned. His heart aching for her. “Kitten, y’don’t need t’save money on heat. I don’t want you t’be cold. Y’don’t live in your apartment anymore,” he reminded her.

“I know, but still...it seems...wasteful.”

“S’not. Nothing ‘bout you is wasteful, Rookie,” he promised gently and kissed her cheek. “S’cold at the rink, want t’come home t’a warm house with a warm girlfriend.”

She tucked her face into his neck and Harry squeezed his arm around her waist sympathetically. He leaned forward to set the plate on the coffee table and pulled her closer to him and rocked her gently for a moment in his lap. “I suppose m’partial to this though,” he practically moaned kissing her neck. The need to say I love you was so prominent. It was aching to leave his mouth. She felt so good in his arms. He wanted her to melt into his body so they could meld into one person, and he would never have to leave her. “Missed you,” he mumbled instead.

“Oh, thank God. I missed you too. I thought I was insane. It wasn’t that long but I missed you anyway.”

He practically groaned. “Don’t go to work, Bunny...”

“Harry!” She giggled. “I have to,�� she rubbed his back and pulled his face from her throat so she could read his eyes. “You don’t have to come out—”

“Of course, m’going t’come out. Jus’ because we’re dating doesn’t mean m’gonna change everything. I just get to fuck you now,” he cupped her jaw and parted her lips with his own. He had that boyish smile pressed against her mouth as she laughed into the kiss.

“You had a long day though, you should stay—”

“I can’t be away from y’for this long, Rookie. I’ll go insane.”

She opened her mouth to say something but at that moment her phone rang. “I’m sorry I have to take this,” she sighed. “Hello...? This is she. Thank you for getting back to me,” she listened closely, and he could see her thinking actively as she listened, calculating, and questioning something that was said. “I just don’t understand how that’s possible. I’ve had this policy for years. Since I first got my license. I’ve been such a loyal customer and—”

Harry’s lips parted. “Oh, shit,” he whispered.

She looked up at him and realization colored her face as well as his own. She put together that Harry knew exactly what happened with his quiet expletive. “I’m so sorry, can you please hold on one second?” She pulled her phone from her ear and muted it. “What?”

“Is that your car insurance?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah, I got a notice that my policy was terminated and I—”

Harry sucked his lip into his mouth and sighed. “That’s my fault.”

She stared at him. “Why?” She asked.

“Well... I figured y’were driving m’car it would be easier t’have you on m’insurance. So... I jus’ kinda told them y’lived here and...”

“How did you get my information?” She asked her eyebrows pinched together. She didn’t seem mad.

“Well... I really only needed your birthday—”

She gasped as the understanding came over her in an instant. “Is that why you asked about my birthday the first time I came over?” She whispered. Her eyes watered almost instantly, and Harry frowned.

He asked for her birthday months ago. He put her on his car insurance months ago. They weren’t even a thing. Not even in the way the rest of the team insinuated when they were at the airport, or when she wore Niall’s jersey.

“Yes,” he nodded and brushed his thumb beneath her eye even though no tear had fallen. “S’when I gave you my car t’borrow,” he shrugged. “I didn’t want you t’have t’worry ‘bout anything—”

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she dropped her eyes to her lap. She put the phone back to her ear after unmuting. “Sorry about that, I figured out what happened... I’m sorry for the confusion, everything is all set. Thank you for the help,” she hung up and she looked at Harry, her face pouting so cutely Harry wanted to take a picture of her himself. Honestly, he wanted to capture every emotion that crossed her pretty face on film so he could look at it when he missed her. Even if she was only gone for a few hours. “Harry,” she said seriously, her voice catching as she said his name. It practically broke his heart to hear her say it with so much admiration. He didn’t deserve it. She was perfect and she deserved so much better than a hot-tempered hockey player who was busy seven months out of the year.

“Yeah?” He asked tentatively. Maybe she was upset. An overreach yet again. But he wanted her to have the best of everything. Car insurance to make her safer. A car that wasn’t going to break down at a moment’s notice. An art gallery displaying beautiful photos of the sports world she loved perhaps as much as he did if not more.

“How did you get the reputation you did?” She began and Harry felt his stomach nearly fall out from him. She was in his arms, unmoving, but he was so scared she was going to bolt. Why wouldn’t she? He overstepped a lot. He was clingy and he was gone so much. He had never been so in love with someone, and he couldn’t even tell her. Somehow, he offended her, and he couldn’t help but think about when coach had told him she was off limits. Harry didn’t deserve love because of his schedule and who he was. Top player in more than one way. No wonder coach threatened him. Here he was not enough once more and now she realized it.

“No one has ever been as kind to me as you. Or as thoughtful. I feel so adored—so seen by you,” Harry’s heartbeat flew.

He was wrong. She wasn’t upset. He felt his throat tighten on his vocal cords as he tried to say something to stop her so he could beat her to the punch. But she left him speechless. Utterly stunned that she was going to say it before him. “I love you so much I can’t keep it in any longer,” she held his gaze as she said it, only blurred slightly by her own unshed tears. “You don’t have to say it if I’m too soon or if—”

Harry crushed her to his chest and buried his face in her hair against her neck once more. He tried to work his jaw to loosen his vocal cords, but the ache wouldn’t go away. Then he sniffled unwillingly. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You weren’t supposed t’say it first, Bunny. I wanted t’say it after our first real night together,” he croaked. “I love you so much, I’ve waited m’whole life for you, Rookie. I don’t deserve you or—”

“Harry,” she cooed. “Baby,” she frowned cupping his face. “Of course I deserve you. You’ve been taking care of me from the moment you caught me from slipping on the ice the first day I met you,” she reminded him. “You have cared for me in ways no one ever has. You could have said it, baby,” she peppered kisses along his hairline so sweetly it made him want to cry harder.

Perhaps he was hiding all these years about how badly he wanted this kind of love. How much he wanted to love someone. All the women he had been with were lovely in their own way. Served a purpose, but it wasn’t real. They couldn’t be. It never would have worked. Now that he knew what this felt like with the beautiful woman who took pictures of his team, it seemed so obvious.

“I love you so, so much,” she whispered in his ear and clutched to him despite the fact she knew she probably turned his leg numb from holding her for so long. “I’m sorry I pushed you away, baby. You didn’t deserve that... I don’t deserve you. You’re perfect in every way. I wouldn’t change a second of our relationship or an ounce of your personality. I know we joke, but I was right: any girl would be lucky to have you and I’m the luckiest there is.”

Harry was hopeful the guys never found out that he burst into tears over the pretty girl on his lap telling him she loved him for the first time.

But even if they did, he wouldn’t mind. He was too in love to care.

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[harmonyrae]

Thank you @tofufairy for asking if I'll write a blurb for Caleb on this one! The fact it took me 30 seconds to figure out what he'd do... I think I have a soft spot for the possessive puppy.

🎶You make me wanna make you fall in love...🎶

It's rare that you get the apartment to yourself on days Caleb was in town. Caleb moving in was not part of your plan honestly, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. It was only part-time since he still lived in Sky Haven a majority of the time. Like hell you'd let your boyfriend stay in a hotel when he visits! But when you did have the place to yourself, you made the most of it.

Volume? All the way up. Luxury bath soaps? Out. You had to keep them hidden since Caleb would use them up in a single use, that giant ass man... Good thing you love him. Now was your chance to slap on a hair mask, a face mask, a foot mask, all the masks! A thorough shave was needed, not that Caleb complained, but you loved feeling his face when he... OH! Your song is on!

You've had this song on repeat the whole week leading up to Caleb arriving. And it's totally not because your co-worker just had a baby and you're suffering from baby fever... You don't want kids, at least not yet, but it has made you think about how adorable Caleb would be as a dad. And those thoughts... are dangerous... for your pussy...

You sit on the side of your tub, your face covered in a bright pink "pore minimizing" mask, your hair slicked back with coconut oil and pinned up, your skin raw from the grapefruit exfoliant you just used - fuck, being a girl is a full-time job. You prop your leg up beside you, your razor making careful swipes, the faucet pouring out boiling hot water - just how you like it. You order Alexa to turn up the volume. She promptly replies it is at maximum volume, so you improvise.

Oh, I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno! Caleb sneaks through the front door, still a sweaty mess from his gym session with Gideon. He drops the bouquet of hydrangeas on the kitchen counter and crouches to look for a vase under the sink. He heard the muffled instrumental of your music when he came in. It was familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He figured you were in the bathroom and he'd have to wait to take his shower, so he got to work on making lunch.

As the lyrics picked up, even muffled, he immediately knew the song. You little tease. Lunch will have to wait. Caleb pulls his tank top off as he walks through your room. He shoots it into the hamper before carefully twisting the handle to open your bathroom door.

The tub sits opposite the door, so your back is to him. He bites his lip to stop himself from moaning at the sight of your bare back. Your plump ass perched on the edge of the tub just begging to be grabbed. His brows pinch together as he watches you sing along while hunched forward in a very awkward position. What were you... oh... He covers his mouth with his hand.

You know, I just might let you lock me down tonight One of me is cute, but two, though? Give it to me, baby!!

"YOU MAKE ME WANNA MAKE YOU FALL IN LOVE!"

You scream and fall forward into the tub, splashing water everywhere. Hearing Caleb sing along with you - at the top of his fucking lunges - had 100% given you a heart attack. You look over your shoulder, mortified by the sight of your boyfriend holding onto the doorframe to avoid falling over from laughing so hard.

"Asshole! Oh my god..."

Caleb holds his stomach, his abs tensing as he laughs harder. You put your razor on the tray beside the tub and give yourself a once over to make sure you didn't accidentally cut yourself. When you feel Caleb's warm palms on your shoulders you jolt once again and he chuckles.

"Sorry I interrupted your private concert Pipsqueak. You sounded lovely by the way."

"Shut up! I thought you'd be out for another hour!"

Caleb sits on the edge of the tub and leans back enough to look down at you.

"Gideon got a call and had to head out. Thought I'd come home early and make you lunch. Little did I know I'd be walkin into a spa."

You suddenly remember the state you're in. It's not like Caleb has never seen you in full on spa-mode, but not since you started officially dating. A wave of embarrassment washes over you. Covering your face with your hand, you search for a towel with the other. He stops you.

"Pips, what're you doin'?"

"You weren't supposed to see this..."

"See what? You, painting your face with... what is that... strawberry frosting?" He leans in and sniffs. "Smells like it!"

He coaxes your hand away from your face and holds it, massaging your palm. You instinctively relax and let your head rest on the edge of the tub next to his thigh. You watch him give you a once over, your heart fluttering as his ears turn red.

"Alexa pause!"

The music shuts off, your favorite song had looped and you didn't need Caleb singing to you again. Your heart couldn't take it.

"Wait... how did you know this song?"

"Pips..." He glares at you.

You sit up and tilt your head, genuine confusion overtaking your embarrassment. He pouts and places one of his hands on his hips like he's about to lecture you.

"Did you forget we have our Spotify's linked?! You've had this song on repeat all week!"

If you didn't have a face mask on, your face would be the same color - bright fucking pink. You most certainly had forgotten. Caleb starts to laugh again and you grimace.

"So, will you?"

You slowly lift your gaze as he brings your hand to his lips, a soft kiss graces your knuckles and you can't hide your smile.

"Will I what?" You ask quietly.

He leans down, his hand dropping to trace your lips before snaking around the back of your neck. You shiver at the way his skin feels against yours.

"Let me lock you down tonight?"

Oh, he'll be the death of you... 🍎✈︎💕

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22 @letharue @silverbrain @alastor-simp @drama-trauma @0tterteeth @mysticcollectionvoid @godzillaglitter @godoffuckedupcats @klmpun @ariallaisawesome @spidy-spider01 @m00nchildwrites @plsdonttakemyname @hauntedbysmut @withering-dream @lostwingz2236 @simpfortheseven @bubbleteakittyy @freddy-2002-blog @sylus-hunter

Let You Make Me Juno

Synopsis: There’s a song you just can’t get out of your head. You just wanted to dance and sing along every time it came on. Which is exactly what you do and the boys have a very intense reaction to some of the lyrics.

AN: I hadn’t heard Juno by Sabrina Carpenter in its entirety until literally yesterday and I’ve been on a writing kick so… This happened. Smile. ENJOY!

Content Warnings: Heavy on the innuendos, also heavy on the implied activities, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, breeding kink (if you squint), the boys are shook & horny, 18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.1k

Whatever report Zayne is working on must be a hefty one, he’s been consistently typing for nearly an hour. You circle behind him and top off his coffee. He doesn’t look up, but hums as you pour - a silent thank you. You head back into the kitchen and continue making breakfast. 

It was rare that Zayne didn’t have to head to work early and the Association had given all Hunters a long weekend to celebrate the previous month. Only two injuries and no major incidents. You had both slept in and you were making pancakes. Usually Zayne would lecture you about “making sure you got protein and complex carbs” to start your day, but you promised to make chocolate chip pancakes and he stopped arguing. His sweet tooth won over in the end. 

You continue mixing the batter, swaying your hips to your playlist. Your “feel good” playlist, it always made you want to dance. You hum along while you wait for the pan to heat up. That’s when you hear the beginning notes of the song you’re obsessed with. 

“Zayne! Can you turn the music up?”

You look over your shoulder to see him nod, never taking his eyes off the screen. The music swells through the bluetooth speakers and you start bouncing in excitement. You immediately start singing along.

Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing Oh yeah, you just get it 

Finally, Zayne peels his eyes away from his report. He didn’t get a chance to write up the surgery debrief after getting home last night. He intended to stay up to finish it, but when he got home you were dressed in the black nightgown that drove him crazy. He spent his night doing something equally as important, but now he was rushing to get it completed. But when you started singing, he immediately took notice.

You usually didn’t sing out loud, preferring to hum along. And the way you bounced back and forth, your hips swaying seductively, was very distracting. You wore your satin sleep shorts and his dress shirt buttoned halfway, just a hint of your delicious cleavage peeking over the collar. Zayne straightens his back and tries to refocus.

Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh

He blinks rapidly before taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. He turns to look at you fully. Watching you dance and stir the pancake batter. You turn to look over at him, not expecting to see him looking at you. You see the tips of his ears have turned red and you giggle, continuing your dance while maintaining eye contact with him. 

You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah Wanna try on my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Zayne’s eyes widen and you can’t help but let out a loud laugh. The blush spread across his cheeks and down his neck. You set down the bowl and approach him, singing and dancing along the way. 

I know you want my touch for life If you love me right, then who knows? I might let you make me Juno

He finally stands, placing his hands on your hips. He doesn’t stop you from dancing, just holds you and feels you sway. You spot a smile creeping onto his face. You reach up and hold onto his shoulders. He leans down and starts placing open mouth kisses to the exposed skin of your chest. You close your eyes and feel his warm breath on your ear as he whispers.

“Isn’t ‘Juno’ that movie we watched a few weeks ago?”

You hum in agreement and Zayne doesn’t hesitate to pick you up, moving your legs to wrap around him. He squeezes your ass before he trails a hand under the back of your shirt. You shiver at his touch and cling to him. He turns and walks into the kitchen to turn off the stove.

“Don’t you want pancakes?”

Zayne smiles and his eyes sparkle with something you rarely see when you’re with him. 

“Oh, I’m still having cake for breakfast.”

How did you get roped into this? Tara is so damn persuasive. Or maybe you’ve had a few too many drinks? The little umbrellas make them seem so harmless though…

Xavier had tried to intercept and make sure you didn’t feel forced. But after Tara whispered what song she had picked for karaoke you were completely on board. Plus, you didn’t wear your favorite dress and heels for nothing. 

The fitted baby blue dress hugged your curves, but the tiered ruffles on the skirt made you feel like a ballerina when you twirled. The square neckline flattering your defined collarbone, while hiding a hickey on your shoulder. You tapped your sparkly heels along with your favorite song. Tara and you harmonized seamlessly.

Let you lock me down tonight One of me is cute, but two, though? Give it to me, baby You make me wanna make you fall in love

Xavier had been checked out for most of the night, he was just happy to spend time with you. And the other hunters he worked with - since this was a Hunter’s Appreciation party. But getting to watch you dress up and hold you close while dancing in the dimly lit club, yeah, that made the socializing worth it. 

His brain had finally registered the lyrics and he almost choked on his drink. He coughed quietly and looked up at you. Your cheeks flushed from the alcohol, your tits bouncing while you dance with Tara. He tries to keep his eyes locked on yours, but his eyes can’t help but wander. Two? Imagining a miniature version of you made Xavier’s heart pound against his ribcage.

I showed my friends, then we high-fived  Sorry if you feel objectified 

Xavier’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped his drink. He sets it down on the bar with a shaky hand. He tilts his head at you, as if asking what exactly did you show. He shook his head, surely not. It was just a song. But then again, you could “show” and he knew that. 

Xavier never asked you to send him nudes, but you were so easily turned on by him you spent weeks trying to figure out a way to level the playing field. Sure enough, sending him a picture from the shower did the trick. Of course, he matched your energy and offered to send his own. Which you didn’t reject. He definitely didn’t hold back after that. You’d send pictures and videos back and forth regularly. You could absolutely show Tara and you had zero doubts she would, indeed, high-five you.

Can't help myself, hormones are high Give me more than just some butterflies

You surprised yourself with how well you hit each note, your confidence growing. Your slightly hooded eyes stay locked on Xavier the whole song. You could feel the tension in the room grow. The hunger in Xavier’s eyes was evident. You watched as he slowly made his way to the side of the stage where you eventually climbed down.

Jeremiah was standing next to him, his cheeks flushed. Tara begged Xavier to invite him and after the performance - both you and Xavier finally figured out why. She launched herself into his arms, giggling. His whispered praises were almost lost in the club's noise. Xavier grabbed your waist and pulled you to him immediately. He leaned over to Jeremiah and whispered something before pulling you towards the exit. 

“Xavier! What about –”

“They’ll get a cab, we’re leaving.”

His tone was firm and his expression calm. You were almost concerned he was angry with you. Once outside, you expected to stop at the edge of the sidewalk to hail a cab, but Xavier took a sharp turn, heading into an alley behind the club.

“What are we –”

You couldn’t even finish speaking before Xavier’s lips captured yours. His hand reaches down to pull up your dress, his fingers swiftly pulling your panties aside to press against your clit. He presses you against the wall and his kiss turns frantic. You barely have a moment to moan, you breathe heavily, your hands wrapping around him and taking fistfuls of his sweater. 

Right as your legs start to shake, he pulls back and presses his forehead against yours.

“I need to get you home for this conversation.”

You scrunch your nose and look at him, confused. He nips at your bottom lip pulling another breathy moan from you.

“You are definitely cute, but two? That’d be exquisite.”

“No no no, higher!”

You pointed at the couch, urging Rafayel to get in the right spot to start recording. He huffed and crossed his arms.

“What about my artistic vision? Just because it’s a TikTok doesn’t mean it should look like shit. Let me work my magic!”

You put your hands on your hips and let him adjust the brightness of the overhead lights and try out different angles. You smile, knowing exactly what you’re up to. He’ll feel silly in about 15 minutes. 

You run a hand over your shorts and matching cropped hoodie, smoothing out the wrinkles from practicing. The pink color almost matches the blush on your cheeks - which was not just from practicing. You might be a bit nervous. 

You tighten your ponytail and press your lips, nibbling the corner of your mouth as you tap your foot impatiently. Rafayel finally looks up at you and rolls his eyes. 

“Sorry cutie, I know your best angles and it’ll be worth the wait.” 

He finally climbs up on the couch and looks at you through your phone. His brows knit together. He’s just now realizing you were right about where he needed to stand. You giggle while he puffs out a breath, his dusty purple fringe fluttering upwards. 

“Okay, are you ready?”

You nod enthusiastically before hopping over to your starting spot. 

“So you know what to do, right?”

“Why are you asking me that? Of course I know! I’m not a boomer.” 

You roll your eyes and grab your hairbrush, the best option you had for a makeshift microphone. You could have asked Rafayel to get you a real one but you didn’t want to ask him to put too much effort into this little video. A video you didn’t really plan on posting. 

Rafayel holds up three fingers and counts down before pointing at you. You smile and sway your hips, lip syncing to your latest obsession.

You make me wanna make you fall in love Oh, late at night, I'm thinkin' 'bout you, ah, ah-ah Wanna try out some freaky positions?

You swiftly lie down on your stomach and bend your knees, pulling your ankles up as close to your head as possible. You reach back and lock your fingers behind your ankles. You look at the camera and smile with a flush.

Have you ever tried this one?

Rafayel almost drops your phone. He ends the recording and stares at you. His ears turned bright red and his eyes darken, turning an even deeper shade of purple. 

“I didn’t realize you were doing this trend…”

You roll over and cross your legs in front of you, resting your hands on your knees. You raise a brow and glare at him. 

“How many videos of this trend have you watched, Rafayel?”

His eyes widen and he coughs, straightening his back before hopping off the couch in one swift motion. He crosses his arms and looks down at you, his mouth settled into that adorably irritating pout. 

“I just know of the trend, not -- I don’t watch them like –”

You interrupt him, your voice a tad more raspy than you intended.

“Do you think the position isn’t worth it?”

The blush travels across his cheeks and he twists his nose, trying his best to look upset.

“That’s not what I said.” 

“Cause I have a few I could try. You know… for the video.”

Rafayel’s eyes narrow and his eyes drop to your exposed midriff and bare legs. He clears his throat and drops his hands to his hips before turning to walk away. You exhale sharply - he’s being dense. Time to be more direct. 

“Like this one?”

He turns his head and watches you shift to face him. You lie back and kick your legs up. Your shoulders remain planted on the floor while your midsection is straight up, your hands planted on your back, your elbows braced against the floor to hold you up. Your legs tip over and your toes touch the floor. You keep your legs straight and spread them as wide as you are comfortable. Your shorts sink into your ass, the curve and shape now on full display. 

You hear a sharp intake of breath and a shuffling of feet. You try to lower to the ground once more, but feel his hands on the backs of your thighs. When you look up you see Rafayel lean over to look down at you.

“Did you really do this trend for the trend, or did you have other intentions?”

You smile up at him, your smug expression clear as day. He runs his hands over your ass and places his hands at either side of your nearly exposed pussy. You gasp quietly. 

“Yeah, you’re not uploading that video, but we are definitely trying these positions.”

He runs his thumbs across your center. You know he can feel how wet you are, doing those positions in front of him - positions you’ve desperately wanted to try with him - really got you going. He grinds against you, his cock digging into your ass, pulling a moan from you.

“Right fucking now.”

You didn’t even hear the front door to your apartment open, your music was turned up way too loud. And you were enjoying the mini concert you were putting on in the bathroom. 

You held the curling iron loosely and rocked your hips side to side. You could never stop yourself from dancing and singing along to this song. You were so excited when Tara told you she got tickets for Sabrina’s concert next month. You were listening to all of her albums on repeat to prepare. 

But tonight, you were going out with Sylus for a very special occasion - your one year anniversary. Well, it’s been over a year since you met him, but you both agreed not to celebrate when you actually met because it wasn’t exactly the best memory. 

Sylus gave you his black card to get pampered all day while he worked and you made the most of it. Getting your nails done, a facial, shopping and basically a full body wax. You spent extra time on your makeup since you had a few new products to try out. Your new red lipstick compliments your skin tone perfectly, its staying power would be tested later. 

The dress you picked was relatively simple, but god, did you feel sexy. The black bodice was fitted, hitting mid-thigh. The chest was very structured and pushed your girls up, giving the illusion of more cleavage than you actually had. Your favorite part though, were the sleeves. Black lace from shoulder to fingertip, the bell sleeves almost completely covering your hands. You paired the dress with new red pumps, which were still in the box on your bed.

Your hair was actually curling nicely and wasn’t falling flat immediately, so you felt on top of the world. You danced and sang at the top of your lungs. 

You had no idea, Sylus had already let himself into your apartment. A bouquet of red roses in his hand and a mechanical crow with glowing yellow eyes sitting on his shoulder. Sylus couldn’t wait to introduce you to Lilith. He had built her himself specifically for you. He knew it would only mean you’d send her to spy on him like he had Mephisto spy on you, but he could tell how much you started to love seeing his little metal companion. 

He heard the music immediately when he walked in. He closed the door quietly and dropped his suit jacket on the arm of the couch. He pointed to his jacket and Lilith flew over, settling on the fabric. He put the flowers on the coffee table and silently made his way to the door of your bathroom. A smile breaking out across his face as he realized you were singing. 

Adore me, hold me, and explore me Mark your territory Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one

His heart skipped a beat. Not only was your voice hypnotizing, but the lyrics… He had heard this song before, but couldn’t remember where. Probably on one of your drives with him, he tended to give you control of the music while he drove. It meant you were more likely to sing. He leaned against the doorframe just out of view. He could see you in the mirror, swaying your hips while you wrapped a strand of hair around the curling iron.

Adore me, hold me, and explore me I'm so fuckin' horny Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one

And that’s when Sylus’s willpower broke. He pushed the bathroom door open, still leaning against the door frame. He racked his eyes down your body, taking in your new dress.

“Sylus! Oh my god, you fucking scared me! When did you get here?”

Sylus lifted his gaze to meet yours. He smirked before reaching up to grab the door frame above him. He looked so much taller like this, staring at you with those eyes. 

“I was just enjoying the show, kitten.”

You put down the curling iron and turned it off. You fluffed your hair, letting the curls fall into loose waves. You tried not to stare at Sylus in the mirror. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and you could see his chest rising and falling faster and faster.

“I like the song. I am curious though… When you sing along, do you think of anyone?”

Your cheeks flush and you stare at him. You bite your lip as you smile. He lets go of the doorframe and pushes off to walk towards you. His hands wrap around your waist and he pulls you close. Your back flush against his chest, you could feel his erection press against your ass. 

“You know the answer to that question, Sy…” 

He smiled and leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

“Well, I’d say I’ve completed adoring and holding you, that just leaves exploring.”

“Sylus! We –”

He spins you around and grabs your waist. He leans down to kiss your neck, before dipping down to bite at the fullness of your chest. You arch your back and let your head fall back as you groan. Your hands reach out to hold onto his waist, while his wrap around to grab your ass.

“But you’re so fuckin' horny, sweetie. And I live to serve my one and only.”

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer @lilyadora @crowskitten22

[moon-fics]

Some Nights

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: During the day, the tower is filled with laughter and banter. It's a warm feeling. Until night comes and the silence is too much.

Warnings: none

A/N: This came to me during a class lecture. I physically cannot make myself write angst for him. I've tried and I just can't.

There's never a quiet moment during the day. Everyone has gotten close enough to talk regularly. There are conversations started on complete nonsense, and then there are ones about past traumas. Over time, it became natural to hear laughter or yelling every once in a while.

There'd be banging of pots and pans while Walker tried cooking. Alexei would be trying to start a dance party while everyone rolled their eyes. There were too many examples, and yet you treasured them all. It was a family you never thought you could have.

It's almost perfect. Until the night comes crawling, and suddenly the tower is dead silent. Everyone is asleep way before you. It's impossible to sleep when you're now being watched by media outlets and citizens. It's nerve-wracking to not know whether they'll accept you as Earth's heroes.

Sometimes it's unbearable to be left alone with your thoughts. However, you eventually find a solution.

-

One night, you're sneaking out of your room for some food. It's nearly 4am, and you know you should be sleeping. You convince yourself that one snack will be enough and then you can go back to bed.

You slowly open your door, and you almost expect a comically loud creak. Instead, you're met with Bob standing outside the door. His hands are playing with the hem of his shirt, and he looks like he's about to say something.

"I wasn't trying to be weird. I just saw the light under your door," He says while nodding. He has that goofy, closed smile on his lips as if that explains everything. The way your heart skips a beat is almost enough of an answer. "I was trying to gather the courage to knock."

"So, you just stood outside my door in hopes I wouldn't open it?" You ask. You raise an eyebrow at him and wonder how long he's been standing here. You didn't even hear him approach your door.

"Well, no," He starts, but cuts himself off. "Yeah. Yeah, I was just standing here." He admits with a nervous chuckle.

"Do you need something, or were you just paying a late-night visit?" You ask in hopes he'll give a better explanation. Bob isn't the best at giving details or talking about how he's feeling. It's why you often have to ask multiple questions to form a full story.

"Oh, right! I was going to ask if you wanted to hang out!" He perks up.

"It's like 4 in the morning, Bob." You say with confusion. Why was he asking to hang out this late? There's nothing they could do besides sit in her room. "You should be in bed."

You don't mean to sound harsh. You'd honestly love to spend time with him, but it's at an ungodly hour. You aren't sure if pulling an all-nighter is smart. However, you see the way his eyes soften and the corner of his lips dip down for just a second. Your snack will have to wait because he's in no state to be alone.

"Get in here," You sigh. You grab his arm and practically drag him into your room. There's not much to look at, but he still examines it as if there is. "I found an old projector that we can watch a movie on."

You were planning on watching romcoms on it, but maybe it'll have a better use with him. You carefully aim the lens at your ceiling in the center of your bed. It gives a large projection of whatever it's hooked up to. Luckily for you, you know how to get free movies and shows on your laptop.

That's how you two spend the night. Watching movies that he's never seen or comfort movies you enjoy. It becomes a regular thing, and after a few nights, you two end up falling asleep tangled in each other. It was an accident at first. You woke up with his arms around you and didn't have the heart or willpower to pull away. Eventually, you two just accepted that it was inevitable.

You have to admit, you enjoyed feeling his breathing and hearing his body. His skin was soft and lacked the scars most of the others had. It was refreshing to hold someone and understand them completely.

-

It's the second time you've chosen to watch your favorite movie. It brings a deep comfort inside you that you cannot explain. Watching it next to Bob is even better.

You're both lying on your backs while staring at the projected movie on the ceiling. There's a calm silence between you two that creates a tension that you cannot deny. Every once in a while, you'll glance over at him. His eyes are lit up by the movie, and it makes your heart swell.

At some point, he catches you staring and immediately assumes something is on his face. After clarifying that there isn't he asks why you're staring.

"I don't know. You just look happy," You explain. It's the truth, he's been looking happier. Ever since you've invited him to stay the night and relax with you, he's been brighter. The nights are no longer as hard. "I like seeing you like that."

"You make me happy." He blurts out. It's sudden, and his eyes widen. He sits up and turns from you as if he's just spilled a dirty secret. You're frozen in place, wondering what that truly meant.

"Hey, don't shy away from me." You sit up and turn to him. You can't help but let out a laugh at how he's practically shunned himself. You place your hand on his shoulder and pull him towards you. "Come on." You coo.

When he finally faces you, he's beet red. You have another round of laughter before composing yourself. Your eyes land on him, and he's frowning. He looks humiliated, and it crushes you.

"You don't need to laugh. It was stupid of me to say," He mumbles while unable to hold eye contact. His words make your skin crawl at the idea of hurting him. He thinks you're rejecting him or mocking him at least.

"No, no, I'm glad you said it." You grab his chin to force him to look at you. "You make me happy, too." You keep your voice down. It feels more intimate to say in softly than to rush it out.

His eyes brighten once again. There's uncertainty within him because for all he knows, this could mean two different things.

"Yeah, but, uhm, I feel a 'I want to kiss you' happy," He stumbles over his words while trying to explain himself. "N-not like a 'I enjoy your friendship' happy." He speaks quickly as if he's running out of time. Your hand moves from his chin to cup his cheek.

"So, kiss me," You suggest. You try to play it cool, but deep down your heart is pounding. You want more than anything for him to actually kiss you, but when he pulls away an inch, that hope flies away. "Or not. I mean, it's whatever you're comfortable with-"

You're cut off by the harsh crash of his lips against yours. It's sloppy at first, and it feels like kissing for the first time. After a few seconds, it slows down and softens. It becomes natural, and you don't want to pull away. His hands wrap around the top of your neck and reach your jaw. His fingers curl around the base of your hair as he pulls you in closer.

His lips are chapped, but they aren't rough. You can sense his need to be closer, and it's intoxicating.

He's the first to end the kiss to get air. His hands never leave their place.

"Like that?" He asks nervously. His puppy eyes are too much to bear. He's so anxious about doing it right that it only makes the moment more special.

"That was perfect." You assure him. Right after you pull him back into another kiss.

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Let them see [B. R.]

Bob Reynolds x fem!reader

wc: 3.3k

summary: you and Bob are forced to attend an event hosted by Valentina, where more is revealed than you would have liked.

masterlist

warnings: established relationship (kinda) mentions of comic characters like Norman Osborn (Green Goblin), Wilson Fisk (Kingpin) and Danny Rand (Iron Fist), some kissing and I think that's it!

Now that you were The heroes who would protect the earth and Valentina held a high position in the government, it was a prerequisite for the team to appear in public. You all knew it was like a huge, manipulative, and fake publicity campaign, but if it saved your ass, you didn't really care much.

Strangely, you had the most experience speaking to the press and with political figures, from whom Miss de Fontaine wanted to profit. So it wasn't a surprise when she said she wanted all of you at a charity dinner, where, at the same time, she would try to convince various businessmen to finance some of your projects.

You had to cover as much ground as possible, so she would arrange for you to be seated at different tables and, in addition, assign you a partner for that. She didn't ask your opinion, she never did, and you knew where you'd be until she handed you a small map with your assigned seats.

"I had to sit down with the owner of Oscorp Industries."

"Wilson Grant Fisk. Sounds important, doesn't it?"

Your friends were arguing and bragging about who they'd been assigned to sit with at dinner. You glanced at the names on your map, realizing none of them really interested you. Only one was familiar.

"Hey, Bob, we'll sit together."

The boy checked his own piece of paper, frowning to read it, and smiled widely when he checked what you said. You two had been trying to be a thing for a few months, though no one knew it yet. While they suspected it, you had been careful enough to make sure there weren't any incidents. So the coincidence made both of you happy.

"Huh, that's right. Valentina told me to tell you that you can't change your partners because every fire has its extinguisher, whatever that means."

“What are you talking about?”

"Every couple has one person who could break political relations if they don't keep their mouth shut, and another who turns out to be more cautious or diplomatic."

"No surprise my partner is Ava," Walker murmured, suddenly "No offense."

"No, it's okay. I'm used to hearing your bullshit, I'll probably know how to help you avoid it."

While they argued, you tried to guess the other combinations. Bucky and Yelena went together, obviously. They were like the team leaders, after all. Only Alexei remained, whom Valentina had probably paired with herself to prevent any mishaps.

"So you're the fire or the extinguisher?"

"Oh, I don't think that applies to us," you laughed, looking softly at Bob. "I think he just put us together so you don't have to interact too much. You know, the shyest one on the team whom I could talk myself into."

Your partner—would boyfriend be the correct term? No, perhaps lover, in any case—and you shared an amused expression, more pleased than the others with the arrangement your boss had made.

Bucky announced that Valentina would send some stylists who would take care of getting you suitable clothes, makeup, and a good hairdo—yes, the event was that important—and then the matter was settled.

At night, you could see that they had done a good job. Yelena was radiant, Ava looked like a supermodel, and the men didn't look ugly at all. Although, of course, for you, the most pretty was Bob. He was wearing a brown suit, with a nice striped tie, and shoes that gleamed in the light. His hair had been trimmed and was slicked back, but it didn't look stiff, just sleek; a wavy lock fell over his forehead, as if it had been intentional.

"I want all of you to rave about this project," Valentina warned you before walking through the door into the living room. "Make friends, chat with businessmen, tell them jokes, just be yourselves! Okay, a little more charming and less psycho, okay? Have fun!"

The entire group looked like a school classroom that had been forced to go on a field trip, but most of them managed to hide it. As you were entering and the camera spotlights began to flash, you took advantage of the chaos to approach Bob and grab his arm.

"You look handsome," you whispered to him. With your heels, it was easier to reach his ear.

"I feel weird. I was never a big fan of formal wear."

"Well, I say it looks great on you, darling."

A shy smile spread across his face, and although you couldn't see it, your eyes radiated tenderness and love; as if you were bewitched by him. Once you found your table, you took your place and were disappointed to see that you were at opposite ends of the circular table. You would have liked to sit next to him, but the seats were already labeled with each name.

You didn't know how the rest of your friends were doing, but apparently at yours, all the businessmen seemed pleased. It was probably because you were pretty—and wore a tight dress—or because their wives were smitten with Bob, pestering him with questions like seagulls around bread crumbs.

At one point in the evening, billionaire Danny Rand demanded your full attention. He wanted to talk to you about other charitable efforts his company was involved in that The New Avengers could join. He didn't seem as flirtatious or pushy as the regular millionaires, but you knew that if he tried to cross a line, you'd have to hold yourself back to avoid dislocating his shoulder or breaking his wrist.

"You know, now that I'm CEO of Rand Enterprises, I want us to be a more… how should I put it? Humanitarian, maybe. I want to help people, just like you."

"You're quite the philanthropist, I see."

"I'm trying to use my family's fortune to do more than build glass towers. Many people don't have a voice. I want Rand Enterprises to amplify it, not drown it out."

"And you repeat that idealistic speech at every gala?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Danny laughed softly, not offended.

"You know," Danny said, turning the glass between his fingers, "all this… the galas, the donations, the campaigns… it's all good. But if people don't reconnect with themselves, it's all a band-aid. You can't heal a broken system if you don't first heal those within it."

You crossed your arms, listening to him with a barely raised eyebrow. He spoke calmly, without a trace of ego. There was something genuine in his voice, though it wasn't exactly the kind of speech you expected to hear from someone with such an obscene bank account.

"Are you telling me that what the world needs is... meditation?"

"I'm saying we need silence. Inner silence. That people are afraid to be alone with themselves because they don't like what they're going to find. And if they don't confront that, no social change will be sustainable."

"Deep," you murmured, taking a short sip from your glass. "Maybe even a little depressing."

"Not if you think of it as an opportunity. The internal work is the most difficult, but also the most necessary. If every entrepreneur in this room took half the time they spend planning tax evasion and took an honest look at themselves, the world would be different."

"You have surprising faith in these people's capacity for introspection," you replied, amused.

Danny smiled at you. Not like someone trying to win you over, but like someone who truly believed what he was saying.

And then you felt it. That look. Subtle but piercing. You barely turned your face and saw him. He didn't do anything, he didn't say anything, but his expression was enough to understand. It wasn't explosive jealousy, but that kind of sad insecurity, as if he were afraid he wasn't in the same league as a man like Daniel Rand.

Without missing a beat or a smile, you looked him in the eye and winked graciously. A quick, playful gesture, like a secret password: I'm in control. This is all for the cause.

Bob looked away, but the tense line around his mouth softened. You tried to ignore the fact that his cheeks had turned red.

"Did I lose your attention for a second?" Danny asked calmly, following your gaze, though without reproach in his tone.

"Just for a moment," you replied with a light smile, settling in naturally. "But don't worry, I'm still listening."

Danny held your gaze for a moment longer... and then followed. His attention slid naturally to the other side of the table, right where Bob Reynolds was pretending to pay attention to an elderly woman chatting. He didn't seem to be looking at you at the moment, but his body betrayed him: his chin tense, his back slightly rigid, his thumb pressing restlessly against the glass of his drink.

"He's part of your team, right?" Danny asked, without malice. It was a simple question, but loaded with insight.

"Yes. It's... complicated," you replied, staying on neutral ground.

Danny nodded slowly, with that calm that always surrounded him.

"He has the look of someone holding something very heavy," she commented, without looking away. "As if he were standing in the middle of a chaos he doesn't know how to calm."

"Your reading is not bad," you murmured, somewhat surprised by the clarity of his perception.

"I don't judge," Danny added, finally looking back at you. "Some have to survive here, amidst the noise of the world”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the two of you. He didn't press. He didn't probe. He just offered you a sincere, almost compassionate, unpretentious look.

"Sometimes," he added gently, "the true act of spirituality isn't meditating or helping others. Sometimes it's knowing when not to take someone else's place."

You looked at him, this time without pretense. Because in that moment, you understood that Danny wasn't trying to steal attention or gain your sympathy. He was speaking honestly. And he'd also seen more than you expected.

"You are much more perceptive than you seem."

He smiled barely.

"I try"

You remained silent for a few seconds, observing Bob more closely. His shoulders were still somewhat tense, but now he was pretending to be engrossed in a conversation with a woman who was talking more than he seemed to want to listen.

"He doesn't like these places," you commented, your voice barely above a whisper. "He's not exactly a fan of galas. He barely tolerates protocol, and the idea of having to smile for strangers seems like torture. He's… shy. It's hard for him. Much more than people imagine."

Danny nodded gently, without a hint of mockery. Only understanding.

"But he's here," he said. "For you, isn't he?"

"For the team, actually."

"He seems like a nice guy," Danny added honestly. "If you want, I can go talk to him for a while. That way he won't feel so out of place... and I'd have the perfect excuse to stop talking to businessmen who only want photo ops and tax breaks."

You let out a short, grateful laugh as you looked back at Bob. This time, you gave him a clear signal, a gesture with your fingers that said, "Come here."

Bob seemed to hesitate. Not because he didn't want to, but because he seemed unsure about interrupting. But you held his gaze pointedly, and that was enough. He apologized to whoever he was talking to, then walked toward you with a measured stride, as if trying not to inconvenience you.

When he reached your side, you smiled.

"Daniel, meet Robert Reynolds," you said naturally. "He's a fundamental part of our team."

Danny calmly extended his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Robert. I've heard good things."

Bob nodded as he shook hands, a little tense, but polite.

"Nice to meet you"

"How about you two chat for a while? I can sit where you were before and deal with the ladies for you."

Bob tried to stifle a laugh, but he couldn't. He was amused to think that his annoyance had been so obvious.

"Alright"

You took advantage of the moment to lean toward Bob and place a soft kiss on his cheek, taking him by surprise. Nothing exaggerated. Nothing over the top—just a brief, deliberate show of affection. Enough to calm him… and claim him.

"Be nice to him, Mr. Rand. Besides being a key part of the team, I'd say he's also the most handsome male member"

Both men laughed at your joke and then Bob sat down, a little calmer than before.

The gala continued with the calculated elegance of any event funded by millionaires with a socially responsible attitude. The glasses kept refilling, the music became a constant background, and you did what you did best: reading the room, smiling intelligently, leading conversations without seeming to. Bob, after his conversation with Danny, seemed more relaxed. Not extroverted, of course. But at least he wasn't on the verge of collapse anymore.

A couple of hours passed. You exchanged greetings with politicians, activists, and heirs. Until then, amidst the hustle and bustle, you felt a familiar presence at your side. Bob.

"Do you have a moment?"

You nodded at his request and then excused yourself to the guests. Bob took your hand in a gesture so casual it almost seemed unconscious, but there was a restrained urgency in his movements. He gently led you to a secluded corner of the room, a refuge between columns and shadows where the noise and curious glances couldn't reach you.

He stopped and looked at you, his deep, dark eyes filled with a mixture of nervousness and a determination that made your pulse race.

"Are you okay? Did something happen?" you asked, trying to soften the moment, searching for a connection that went beyond words.

Bob inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling slowly.

"I'm fine," he replied sincerely. "But I needed a break… a moment away from all of this. Being with you helps me catch my breath."

You smiled, almost without thinking, and reached out to gently straighten his tie. Your fingers brushed the skin of his neck and you felt that invisible electricity that connected you, like a silent magnet that couldn't be avoided.

"Sometimes everything is so overwhelming, right?"

"I've wanted to leave since we got here," he confessed, making you smile.

One of his hands went to your waist, holding you gently and moving his thumb up and down, as if with that he could calm your anxiety.

"Hold on a little longer, just a little bit."

"And you? Are you okay?"

"Wonderful"

"I haven't told you that you look beautiful, have I?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, you look gorgeous."

At his compliment you smiled softly, and caught his gaze slipping to your lips. You knew what he wanted. Or what would make him feel better, anyway.

"Do you think they'll notice we've been gone for a few minutes?" you asked, tilting your head. Bob smiled back, the sweet, mischievous glint in his eyes only deepening what you already felt for him.

"Maybe," he said in a low voice, "but what does it matter?"

Without further warning, Bob brought his face closer to yours with restrained patience, as if he wanted to record every second before giving in. His other hand rested firmly on your cheek, while his lips sought yours with an intensity that took your breath away.

The kiss started slow and uncertain, but within seconds, passion erupted. His lips pressed against yours with a mixture of desire and tenderness that left you speechless. The hand that had previously been on your waist slid purposefully down your back, pulling you closer, melting into that small space that was now yours.

The world disappeared. Nothing mattered more than that burning touch, that electric brush that made you feel alive and yearned for. At some point, he lowered his hand to your thigh, and you lifted your leg, letting him caress your skin.

You continued for a while, and when you finally broke apart, Bob leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily, a satisfied smile curling his lips.

"I guess you feel more relaxed now, huh?"

"Definitely," he exclaimed.

His hand gently released your leg until it was back in place, and then you both took a step back. You tried to smooth your dress, and Bob tried to fix his suit, hoping to look as natural as possible. A giggle escaped you when you noticed Bob had traces of your lipstick on, which you tried your best to remove.

To avoid suspicion, you left first, and a few minutes later he did. Just in case.

That was the calm. And then—the storm.

The next morning, well into the day, you woke up intending to find something for breakfast. The sight of all your friends gathered at the bar made you frown, thinking the worst. Most of them looked shocked. Bob, on the other hand, was completely pale.

"Good morning, young lady."

"Is something wrong?"

"Haven't you seen your phone?"

Everyone was focused on you while you tried to remember where you'd left off. You were barely awake yet, and you already had to deal with them.

"It's dead. I couldn't find my charger last night," you explained simply.

Yelena, still in her pajamas, reached out to give you hers. On the screen, there was a conversation, apparently from your group chat.

Mel: Valentina wants to know what this means.

Accompanying the message was a link to a compilation of headlines and photos from various digital media outlets. They all featured the same images: Bob and you arriving at the gala together, walking arm in arm with the ease of a long-established couple. But not only that: someone had captured on camera the fleeting, secret moment when you were secretly kissing in a corner, the intimacy of the moment glimmering in the shadows. The most scandalous outlets had added the obscene moment when you had your leg raised against his side.

"Fuck…"

"At least now we'll talk about the gala, right? That's what Valentina wanted."

"I think that you were more like firewood and fire than an extinguisher and fire."

"Yelena, will you shut the fuck up?"

"What? I'm just saying. Some articles say you look like you were about to take off your clothes…"

Overcome by anger, the embarrassment of the moment, you reached out to push your friend off the stool she was sitting on. There were two problems: you didn't measure your strength, and when she fell, Yelena made sure to grab your arm to pull you with her.

Bob was the first to spring up, approaching you to help you up, worried that either of you had hurt yourselves. You expected her to lunge at you and start hitting you, but that didn't happen. Instead, the loudest laughter you'd ever heard burst from her throat.

"Why did you do that?!"

"Lena, I'm so sorry…"

"You threw me out! What's my fault if you two decided to make out last night?"

"Shut up, for God's sake…"

While Bob tried to lift her, you reached out to cover her mouth, completely in vain. He gave up helping you when he saw you struggling, more out of pride than because you were actually upset.

"Who would have thought it, Bob? You've tamed the beast."

"Shut your mouth, Walker, you're next!"

Walker joined in the chorus of laughter. Soon, everyone else followed suit.

You thought that now that your affair was a matter of public interest, at least you wouldn't have to think about how to tell your friends. Valentina could go to hell.

In a strange, yet pleasant way, the revelation of the secret felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest. When you looked at him, smiling shyly, you suspected it was a shared feeling.

[sunskisser]

STRICTLY BUSINESS — BUCKY BARNES

⭑ congressman!bucky x stripper!reader — wc 2.8k

⭑ summary: you're bucky's informant, strictly a business partner. nothing more, right?

⭑ cw: not nsfw but a few mentions of the word sex, fluff, hurt/comfort, bucky is a gentleman

This is louder than what he’s used to, much louder.

Neon signs and posters of sex icons lined the graffitied walls, air reeking of smoke, weed, and booze. Groups of drunkards staggered this way and that, and Bucky skilfully swerved to avoid getting into fights he didn’t have time for.

Poppy music blasted from clubs and bars, a harsh contrast to the sounds of throwing up and making out — dirty people being dirty all over the streets.

Bucky kept his vision focussed straight ahead, taking it all in from his peripherals. He looked sort of strange in his suit, like an animal out of its natural habitat — he was surrounded by people in skimpy skirts and shiny tights. But he’s done this far too many times to care.

The door to the strip club creaked as Bucky pushed it open. It was darker here than it was outside, the only source of illumination being the disco lights gliding around in time with the sensual music.

A performance was ongoing, some woman in a tight corset and sparkling panties moving around the stage seductively. It seemed these were her final pieces of clothing; dollar bills lay all over the stage, a mini skirt and top discarded. Bucky didn’t spare the scene a glance.

He approaches the counter, handing the receptionist the small wad of cash. “My usual room.”

She nods mindlessly, taking the money and computing it. Bucky doesn’t wait for her to lead him there, turning on his heel and making his way to the private rooms at the far end of the club.

He thinks he’s done a pretty great job of convincing the staff of his credibility so far. In this club, he’s just a depressed widow desperate for sex. And they believe he’s a regular of your room, either because: a. he’s stupidly fallen in love with you, or b. you’re the only one who fulfills his desires. Either way, the managers don’t care — to them, he’s just a horny man helping in paying their bills.

Bucky knocks on your door, hearing your quiet grunt as an invitation as he turns the knob. Cold air hits him as soon as he enters the small room, the small disco ball above glinting with light.

His eyes land on you immediately, casually sprawled out on the bright red cushioning lining the circumference of the room. Your glance up at him. “Hey, handsome,” you grin.

Bucky can never tell with you. You’re surprisingly nice for a business deal, funny and flirty and incredibly lovely. Maybe you’re trying to seduce him, but that isn’t something you’d do, he thinks. He’d like to think he knows you well enough for that.

You’d been Bucky’s informant for a couple of months now, a pair of eyes and ears on the inside. He’d gotten a tip about Valentina some time ago, and had been on her trail. Everybody knew of this area, this club — especially Valentina’s men, who were regular customers. Bucky paid you to get whatever information you could and convey it to him on his weekly visits.

“Hi,” he mutters, unintentionally softening. He clears his throat, taking a seat a comfortable distance away before unbuttoning his suit. “What have you got for me?”

He can’t help but notice how you wince as you sit up. He won’t mention it, doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But he can’t deny the pang of concern that shoots through him, seeing you exhale through gritted teeth. Yet, you still have that stupid smile plastered on your face.

You hand him a file. “This is all I got,” you explain as he looks over pages of your hand-written scribbles, bits and pieces of information you’d managed to pick up. “She’s planning something with all the misfits that work for her, I think. Probably trying to get rid of them.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment. He’s only half-listening, eyes flitting up to you every two seconds as he flips through the pages. He’s observant; he notices the subtle way your palm is splayed over your thigh, the short breaths escaping your lips. You look pained.

He knows he’s not supposed to care. 

“Strictly business,” you’d grinned with a wink when he first asked you for help. “I’m not giving you any services, handsome. Zero, nil, nada.”

“Strictly business,” he’d agreed, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Don’t worry. I’d never want your… ‘services.’”

You pouted teasingly. “Why not? Not pretty enough?”

All he’d responded with was an eye-roll, clearly meaning to say, ‘you know that’s not true.’

But he couldn’t help but care, worry about you. He couldn’t pretend not to know what happened behind these doors; legal services and illegal intercourse. The thought made something in his heart twinge. He knew how dangerous your job was, how much more danger you put yourself in just for him.

Bucky could hide behind nonchalance, peel off a layer and you’d find concern — but most of all, he felt anger. Anger on your behalf. Anger that you could sit here, looking so beautiful in all your pretty clothes and glowing makeup and softness, and all those perverts could think of was to pleasure you — or worse — themselves. 

Anger that he couldn’t be the one to hold you, to curl you up in his arms and never let you go. He couldn’t trace your lips, your sweet smile. Those lovely eyes which crinkled at the corners when you laughed, that heavenly body which deserved to be worshipped; not used and thrown away like a sex toy. Bucky couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

You arch an eyebrow as you catch him staring. 

“What?” you tilt your head to the side playfully. “Something wrong with how I look today?”

“Of course not,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you from head to toe. Not hungry, not ravenous. Concerned, trying to spot where you’d been hurting. He sees it again — the way you hide the same area on your thigh, almost self-consciously.

“You’re hurt,” Bucky says bluntly, gaze moving upwards to meet yours. He tries to hide the worry in his tone, for both his sake and yours.

A flash of surprise flits across your face for a second, before you’re back to your usual collected self. 

“I’m fine,” you say airily. It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.

“Y/n.” He sighs, unconvinced. “You don’t have to hide it.” He reaches out like he means to touch you, then retracts immediately when he realises what he’s doing. He can’t.

You pretend not to notice. “I said I’m fine,” you reply curtly, smile still present but significantly smaller. “I’m all good.”

“You’re not. You’re in pain.”

“I’m not in pain, Congressman Barnes,” you reply sharply, sucking in a stilted breath. Bucky bristles. 

You swallow. “Sorry,” you mutter before he can respond. You rub your eyes, deflating. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped, I’m sorry. But you can’t… you can’t do this.”

He frowns. “Do what?”

“This,” you gesture between the both of you, almost apologetic. You hesitate, swallow. “You can’t… pretend to care. It’s not going to get you anywhere. I’m not —“ you inhale, blurt out what you’ve been thinking all this while, “ — I’m not gonna have sex with you, or whatever you want me to do. I can’t.”

Your voice cracks at that last syllable, and Bucky’s heart breaks with it. You don’t have to say it, it’s written all over your face, it’s in your glossy eyes — you feel hurt, betrayed. You think that the one man who’s never seen you as an object has changed his mind.

Bucky’s face contorts almost sadly, an ache tugging on his heartstrings. “Is that what you think this is about? You think I’m asking ‘cos I want your services?”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” he murmurs immediately, tone a colour of fond upset. He reaches out to smooth his palm over your forearm. When you don’t pull away, he presses his thumb into your skin, his way of reassurance. “No, that’s not what this is about. I’m asking because I’m worried about you, doll.”

“So you don’t just wanna have sex with me?” you ask again dumbly, head tilted in confusion.

Bucky can’t help but to indulge you. You poor, lovely girl, so used to being taken advantage of that you can’t fathom what it means to be cared for, to be loved by a man. Maybe loved is too strong a word, but seeing the look on your face right now, Bucky thinks he might just be in love with you.

He shakes his head, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “No, I’m not doing this to have sex with you.”

You blink, perplexed. It’s almost like you’re struggling to believe it. You take a deep inhale, letting it out through pursed lips. Bucky watches you do it a couple more times before looking at him.

He doesn’t push you, doesn’t snap. He just waits for you to speak, looking at you — through you with those soft, dark eyes.

“Wow,” you mumble after a moment, expression a mix of awe and relief as your eyes lock on his, visibly softening. Your heart’s a riot. “Wow, um… okay,” you say again stupidly. “Okay, I really didn’t think so. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, chest hurting with affection. “Nothing to apologise for, doll.” He moves his palm down to your hand, letting your fingers fill the spaces between his. “Where are you hurt?”

The softness of his voice makes you want to melt into the plush couch. Your other hand brushes over the purplish-black bruise on your thigh, eyes flitting down to it. “Here.”

“Can I have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. It’s hard to say no when he’s asking you so genuinely, so nicely.

Bucky kneels down beside you, hand leaving yours as his fingers move to hover over the bruise. Your skin misses his touch already.

It was strange, a suited congressman kneeling in front of a stripper. You think it might make a great poster.

He traces the injury with his index finger, frowning when you wince. For a moment, he doesn’t say a thing, he just observes it.

The suspense gets to you. Bucky can feel you tense up under his touch, anxious. He pats your other knee through the fabric of your fishnets.

“What happened?” he asks gently, a hint of concern and protectiveness in his tone. His gaze is still fixed on your bruise, like it’s physically hurting him to see you injured. “Who did this to you?”

You grimace, feeling your cheeks start to heat up. “No one.”

Bucky looks up at you with pinched brows and upturned lips. There’s the slightest bit of rage in the way he’s looking at you — though you know it’s not towards you, but for you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how stupid you’re going to sound.

You let out a small, sheepish laugh, and his expression lets up a little. “It happened a couple hours ago. I, um… I rammed into the table by accident, during a performance. I wasn’t looking.”

Bucky looks at you like he’s trying to figure you, or what you said, out, eyebrows furrowing even more. His eyes narrow contemplatively. “Seriously?” When you nod shyly, he sighs, shaking his head and relaxing slightly. 

“You’re stupid,” he scolds, but it's lathered in fondness.

“I know,” you grin. “Sorry, handsome.”

“You’re sure no one hurt you?” He sounds just about ready to go punch anyone who did. You don’t think he’s realised that he’s mindlessly rubbing your knee, affection seeping even from his touch. You hope it doesn’t show on your face how it’s making you feel.

“I’m sure,” you agree softly. Bucky sighs again for good measure, exasperation almost audible.

You swear he’s trying not to smile. “Tell me you at least know where the first aid kit is.”

You bend forwards and reach under the sofa, fingers pressing the cushion to find the hidden drawer. You pull it open and take the first aid kit out before sitting back up, closing the drawer with your foot. “Here you go.”

Bucky nods in thanks, shifting so he’s kneeling more directly in front of you. You press your thighs together, suddenly self-conscious, but all he’s looking at is the bruise.

His elbows rest on the couch on either side of your thigh, one hand holding your leg in place as the other dabs antiseptic over it. His fingers press into your skin, gentle even when he’s not trying to be.

You watch quietly as Bucky disinfects the wound, muttering an apology every time you wince. His palm slides under your thigh to hold it up as he wraps the bandage around it. He feels warm, so warm, soft, and every lovely word you can think of, and he’s holding your thigh like that. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod stupidly. “Mhm, totally okay.” You don’t anyone’s ever held you with this much love since the day you were born.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?” he murmurs, looking up as he finishes securing the dressing. “Yeah?”

You think you’d like to drown in his gaze. You clear your throat, straightening up from where you’ve unconsciously been leaning closer to him. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, brain short-circuiting. 

You settle on, “Thank you.”

Bucky softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit when he smiles. A strand of his slicked back hair falls forward onto his face, and you suddenly can’t stop thinking about brushing it back into place. “It’s nothing, doll. I’m just… glad you’re okay. Glad no one hurt you.”

He gives your thigh one last friendly squeeze before pulling his hands away, and you hate how much you wish he didn’t.

You nod dumbly. “Okay, handsome.”

You’d always used it teasingly, a placeholder because calling him Bucky had somehow felt far too intimate, too much familiarity for simply a business partner. Was that even what you were now?

Bucky’s smile turns more sly, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, but he won’t do anything about it. He’s waiting for you to initiate, because he knows how you feel. He’d never do anything you wouldn’t want him to.

Maybe this is all in your head, maybe you really are nothing but an informant to him. But you don’t think he’d be looking up at you like this if he didn’t like you, even the slightest bit, so you decide to take your chances.

The tension is so thick you could bite into it. You reach out, hesitating before brushing the stray strand off Bucky’s forehead. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst.

You’re about to pull away when his fingers wrap around your wrist. Gentle, yet tugging, almost like he can’t help himself. He’s gazing up at you inquiringly, kindly. “Can I kiss you?”

You still. This isn’t something you’re used to, though you know you deserve to be. You’re used to men throwing you around, used to pretending like you enjoy being touched by disgusting men with disgusting thoughts. This is different, you think. This is Bucky, the only man who’s ever acted like one, and he’s asking for consent to kiss you. You honestly wish he’d just do it already.

“Yeah,” you breathe softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

Bucky pulls you down gently by your wrist, his other hand moving up to cradle the nape of your neck. He kisses you, then, in a way that makes your knees buckle. If you weren’t already sitting, you’d be on the ground just about now. 

His lips are forgiving. Tender, like all he wants to do is take his time with you.

Bucky pulls away after a moment. His face is still achingly close to yours, and he looks almost like he’s trying to stop himself from kissing you again. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Was that okay?”

You crack a smile. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Yeah, Bucky, it was okay. It was, um…” you clear your throat, pretending to think. “I’d say it was like a 6 out of 10.”

“A 6 out of 10, huh?” he muses quietly, thumb starting to rub lines over your inner wrist. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” you agree, smile widening. 

Bucky chuckles. “Okay, then, if it was that average, I’m assuming you don’t want any more.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “A one-time thing, then.”

“Hey!” you laugh. “That’s not fair. It’s a whole lot better than all the kisses I get in this place.”

“Then you should’ve rated it higher, doll,” he teases, but he’s already moving forward to kiss you again, and so are you. “That’s on you.”

So much for strictly business.

[crowsofdarkness]

Pairings: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x FemaleHydra!Reader

Bucky finally decides to honor his promise to you.- a part two to THIS blurb. There will eventually be a part three if people are interested!

18+ CWs below the cut: angst, someone being frozen alive, mentions of blood and torture.

The darkness loomed in front of Bucky, mocking him as he continued to tentatively step through the abandoned laboratory. There was a lingering smell of staleness in the air, tangled with something old and moldy. The bright beam from his flashlight illuminated the decaying walls splattered with the mold he smelled and something red. Once he stepped closer, it was evident what that substance was. 

Blood. 

Very old and dried blood. 

Bucky rounded his shoulders to steady himself, telling the negative voices in his head that it wasn’t your blood. He spent the last twelve months looking for you and he promised it would be alive. Yet along with everything else he promised you, Bucky wasn’t so sure this one he could keep. It took him nearly a year to find you, using all of the new resources that came with being one of the New Avengers. 

At first, Bucky kept searching for your whereabouts a secret from everyone else because he didn’t want their looks of pity when he told them the truth. 

“I left her behind because I was too afraid to go back.”

But there was one late night in the tower where Yelena found Bucky sitting in the common area, scanning through all of the files he had on you. It was only two and he’d gone through them at least three times over, hoping some sort of new info would jump out at him. 

“What are you still doing awake?” Yelena asked him, sitting on the couch across from him. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” he muttered. 

She made a noise that sounded like a hum before nodding towards the array of papers on the table in front of them. “Doing some light reading?” 

Bucky hesitated at that moment, wondering if he should tell Yelena about what he’d been doing in his private time. They’d all grown close the last few months and he knew that she wouldn’t judge him for his past transgressions. Not when she had her own. 

So he spent the rest of the night telling Yelena everything and when he was finished, she gave him a smug smile. 

“Why didn’t you say anything? I have a few buddies that owe me a favor. They used to work in Hydra so I can ask around.”

Not even a week after Yelena asked, Bucky was given new information that nearly let out a sob. The last location you were held. It was an underground location in Romania, far off in the woods where no one had been in years. He nearly missed the door in the ground because it had been covered with debris and leaves. 

The other members of his team offered to come with Bucky but he politely declined. If he found you, his solnyshka, he didn’t want to scare you by bringing a bunch of strangers. 

If? No, not if. When he found you. 

Kicking over the long forgotten medical equipment and other trash, Bucky came to a halt at the end of a hallway. He could go either left or right but wasn’t sure which way he needed to take. Yelena said that even though this place was long abandoned, every two hours, a group of guards would come check the premise to make sure no one was breaking in. 

Or more so, making sure something wasn't breaking out. 

Bucky had less than ten minutes to find you before the guards came to do their rounds. So, he stopped and listened, all outside noise fading away as he did his best to focus on the sound of a heartbeat. Bucky began growing agitated when all he could hear were the sounds of the old building nearly caving in. His hands shook at his sides as he tried so hard to focus his super soldier hearing on parts of the building. 

Before he left the tower, Ava had a small heart to heart with Bucky, making sure he knew there was a possibility you weren’t alive anymore. You could have died shortly after he escaped Hydra, there wasn’t any proof you were still alive. Bucky had this exact conversation with himself, he was prepared he would be walking onto a corpse or a bag of bones. But he couldn’t give up hope just yet. 

“Solnyshka,” he breathed with his bottom lip trembling. 

Suddenly, Bucky’s ears picked up on a faint sound down the hallway to his left causing his vibranium fingers to twitch at his side. It wasn’t a heartbeat but the sound of something moving. 

No,  not moving. Something rippling, almost like the waves from a raging storm .

Very quickly, Bucky ran down the hallway getting closer and closer to where the sound was coming from. He had less than six minutes now to complete this promise otherwise the guards would find him and undoubtedly kill him. It had been ages since The Winter Soldier had come to the surface, Bucky doing whatever he could to keep that side of him buried deep, but for you he would risk it all. 

When he reached a room at the end of the hallway, a familiar chill wrapped around his bones making him come to a sudden halt. The memories of him being locked in a cage with those frigid temperatures were nearly debilitating. His heart began to beat wildly in his chest, damn near bursting through and falling to the floor at his feet. 

Focus, Buck. Don’t let those memories drag you down to the depths again.

Pushing through the darkness in his mind, Bucky stepped into the room and let out a gasp. This had to have been a prison at one point with the cages that lined the wall yet what kept his attention was the large tub in the middle of the room. Slowly, Bucky walked towards it, noticing the various tubes that were running from inside of the tub to a large monitor on the side of it. It was evident the chill in the air was coming from whatever this contraption was. 

A cryo chamber.

“What the fuck?” He muttered while staring at the monitor. 

It was showing a xray form of a body with a very slow, nearly there heartbeat and a clock showing how long whoever was being kept in the chamber had been asleep for. 

Seven years, twenty four days, sixteen hours, three minutes, and twelve seconds. 

Laying a gentle hand on the edge of the tub, Bucky let out a deep breath before gazing down into the frozen water to see those familiar bright eyes starting up at him, void of all life. 

“Solnyshka,” Bucky sobbed, tears burning at the corners of his eyes. 

There was some contraption covering your mouth as your body floated in the ice water. All that was covering your body was a thin tank top and a pair of underwear. Your skin that he spent countless hours kissing was so pale, it looked like you were fading away into the water. 

His sunshine had turned into a pale moonlight. 

Bucky reached his right hand into the water to reach for you but reared back with a hiss as the frigid temps almost burned his skin. When he glanced at the computer that was keeping you frozen, he thought about how long it would take to defrost the tub so he was able to pull you out until a voice spoke in his ear; Bucky always wore an earpiece even when he was working solo missions, just in case. 

“You have less than two minutes to get her out before a group of guards find you. It would take at least four hours to completely melt the water.” 

Bucky jumped in his skin. “Fuck, Yelena. You scared the shit out of me. How long have you been there?” 

“Since you got on the jet,” she stated before the sound of someone slurping a drink came through the com. “I’m seeing six heat signatures on the edge of the perimeter.” 

“I can take them out,” Alexi’s eccentric voice yellowed into the com, causing Bucky to wince. 

“Are you guys here?” Bucky asked. 

There was silence for a quick second before Ava spoke. “This is important to you, Bucky. We wouldn’t let you do this on your own. You need support incase-.” 

“It’s her,” Bucky interrupted, staring down at his left hand. “She has a heartbeat, it's really slow, but there.”

“I’ll prepare the warmer,” Walker said. 

“One minute, Buck. Were parked on the west side of the building. There’s a staircase twenty feet to the right when you walk out of the room. Take it and you will walk up into a hidden section of the woods where there’s currently no guards. They’ll be too busy checking on Y/N to look for you,” Bob said. 

“Until they realize she’s missing, find out the Winter Soldier took her, then kill you both,” Yelena said. 

“Thanks, Yelena,” Bucky grumbled before turning off his com. 

Taking a deep breath, he submerged his vibranium arm into the water to rip out the contraption that was inside of your mouth then very quickly lifted you from the water. Very loudly, alarms began to go off as lights all throughout the room flashed red making Bucky cursed. He should have counted for an alarm system but he’d been too lost in his thoughts about finally finding you. A year of searching led to this moment and he’d be damned if it all went to shit now. 

Instantly he was soaked as he pressed you to his chest. You were so fucking cold, ice clinging to your skin, and Bucky stared down at your face. Your eyes were still wide open, void of any emotion, and he placed his lips to your cold forehead. 

“I’m here, solnyshka. I’ve got you and I’m going to take you home,” he let out a broken sob before running out of the room, just as voices yelled down from the other end of the hallway, followed by rapid gunfire. 

[noirscript]

lavender snow

pairing/s: yandere husband x f!reader description: You find the old tape by accident, tucked where no one should’ve known to look—yet somehow, Luca did. As her voice spills softly through the static, you realize you’re not listening to a memory… you’re remembering something you were never meant to forget. warning/s: yandere | hints of memory lost | implied past abuse note/s: I accidentally found out that my mic's fried af and got this idea. I might add this kind of content on my ko-fi for monthly subs? It'll come with complimentary fic of course. Also, I'll add the banner later. p.s. it's unedited audio so it's scuffed as hell.

Masterlist | Dark Roast | Sovereign's Reign Pre-Order | Commission | Tip Jar

You don’t remember the tape.

Not where it came from, not how it ended up inside a box of out-of-season clothes, or why your name is written on the spine in your own handwriting—faint and fading, like it tried to disappear. The box had been buried deep in the attic, hidden beneath moth-eaten sweaters and the sagging ribs of a broken umbrella. You hadn’t even meant to find it. But now it sits in your lap like it’s been waiting for you to come back.

The cassette is warm in your hands. No label, no markings, just a faint impression where something had once been stuck to it. Your stomach tightens. You’re not sure why, but you dig out the old player from the back of a cupboard and feed the tape into its slot. The machine shudders to life with a soft whirr, then static, and then—your voice.

“Hi, sweetheart. If you’re remembering this... I guess that means he’s kept it safe. Just like he promised.”

Your breath catches. The words settle heavily in the space around you, too tender, too familiar. It’s your voice, no doubt about it, but there's something off in the cadence—like someone rehearsing affection through clenched teeth.

You sit still, your eyes fixed on the aging plastic player as your voice continues.

“I thought maybe one day, when the world feels quieter... you’d want to remember this. Us. The way the light used to fall through the window at 4PM. How the air smelled like sun-warmed sheets and cinnamon. He always made sure everything was just perfect, didn’t he?”

A strange pressure blooms in your chest. You don’t remember making this recording. You don’t remember any of it—the window light, the scent of cinnamon, or whoever he is.

You sound so… happy.

Too happy.

The you on the tape laughs lightly, but even that sounds rehearsed. It’s too round, too smooth, like a laugh meant to soothe someone else. Not you.

“I don’t even know how long it’s been now,” your voice says. “Days feel a little soft around the edges. But every one of them is filled with love. He tells me that all the time. That I’m loved. That I’m safe.”

That last word—safe—wraps around your spine and squeezes. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the way you say it. Quietly. Soft as a secret. The kind of word you only whisper when the truth is something you’re not allowed to say.

A prickle crawls over the back of your neck.

“Sometimes I dream about the park. That little bench under the jacaranda tree? You remember. I said something silly about the petals looking like lavender snow. You laughed.”

You swallow. Your throat is dry.

“That was before I knew how loud the world could be when you don’t belong to it anymore.”

The air in the room turns cold. You don’t remember that bench. You don’t remember that moment. But your body responds to the sound of it—like it’s chasing something long buried. Your shoulders draw in. Your fingertips twitch. A faint headache blooms at your temples.

“But it’s okay now,” the voice continues. “He says I don’t have to worry about any of that. Not anymore. Not with him.”

The machine clicks faintly as the tape continues to roll. You hear the rustle of fabric in the background. Wood creaking. A low breath, not yours. You pause the tape.

The room is silent.

You press play again, hesitating just long enough to question whether you should.

“I should go. He doesn’t like it when I record too long without him.”

There’s a pause. Barely a second. But it’s there. You can hear your voice hover just a little too long over that sentence, like you're waiting to see if the walls will punish you for saying it aloud.

“But I hope, when you hear this… you smile. Just a little. Just enough to remember me the way he wants me to be remembered.”

Another pause. Your voice drops lower, almost reverent.

“Perfect. Quiet. Home.”

Then: a click. End of tape.

You sit frozen on the floor. The stillness around you is thick and wrong. You want to dismiss it as a prank. Maybe an old performance, an acting exercise, something you’d recorded and forgotten about. But something in your gut rebels at the thought. This wasn't a character. That was you.

You stand, rubbing your arms, suddenly cold despite the sunlight slanting through the blinds. Your feet move without you telling them to, carrying you to the kitchen where you run cold water over your hands. But when you glance down, something catches your eye.

Your left palm.

Faint black ink, faded by time and skin, clings to the lines of your hand like a warning:

don’t trust him

You blink, heart stuttering. The writing is old. Worn. You scrub at it, but it doesn’t fade. You don't remember writing it, don’t even remember seeing it before today. But it’s your handwriting. And the fear in your chest tells you you wrote it for a reason.

You rush back to the box in the attic, tearing through what’s left. Beneath the collapsed lid of a hollowed-out book, you find a crumpled scrap of paper. Another note, also written by you.

“If you find the tape, go to the basement. There’s more.”

The words don’t make sense. You’ve lived in this house for two years. There is no basement.

But your body moves before your thoughts catch up. Your steps lead you to the hallway where a locked door waits. One you’ve always assumed was just a closet. You’ve never had a key.

Today, it’s open.

The stairs beyond descend into shadow.

You hesitate, every part of you screaming to stop, to turn around. But your hand grips the railing and you descend slowly, your heartbeat loud in your ears. The air grows colder with every step. The smell down here is old. Musty. Earthy.

And faintly metallic.

The overhead light flickers to life when you tug the chain, bathing the room in weak, yellow glow. There’s a table against the far wall. And on it—a cassette deck. Surrounding it is a neat stack of tapes. Dozens of them. All unlabeled. All pristine.

You approach slowly, dread sinking like lead into your bones. The deck is already loaded. You press play.

The familiar whir clicks to life. Then:

“Hi, sweetheart. If you’re remembering this...”

Your knees nearly give. It’s the same recording. Or no—not the same. A different take. You’re talking about a different day. Different sunlight. Different cinnamon. Different bruises, maybe.

You grab the next tape. And the next. One by one, you feed them into the machine and listen.

Each time, your voice greets someone with warmth. Each time, you sound a little more distant. A little more tired. A little more robotic. In one, you sound as if you’re crying through a smile. In another, you start to say something else—“If anyone finds th—” before the tape cuts off with a harsh click.

You begin to shake.

And then you hear something you hadn’t before.

In the background, beneath your voice, there’s breathing.

Yours. But not just yours.

Heavier. Male.

Closer.

Footsteps.

Not on the tape. Behind you.

You turn sharply.

Someone is coming down the stairs.

Your stomach turns. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. The light above you flickers. A shadow moves across the wall.

Then a voice. Low. Warm. Familiar.

“You always forget, don’t you?”

You can’t breathe.

“That’s why I made the tapes. So you’d remember. So you’d always come back to me.”

He steps into the light. His expression is soft, fond. Too fond.

“Happy anniversary, sweetheart.”

The light buzzes overhead, then sputters out.

In the dark, the tape keeps playing.

And from it—your voice whispers one last thing:

“Perfect. Quiet. Home.”

tbc.

noirscript © 2025

Taglist: @hopingtoclearmedschool @violetvase @zanzie @neuvilletteswife4ever @yamekocatt @mel-vaz @vind1cta @greatwitchsongsinger @delusionalricebowl @nomi-candies @jsprien213 @kaii-nana33 @saturnalya @yandereaficionado @pinksaiyans @ivantillenthusiast @missybabes

[bleulikedaylight]

Ms. Delinquent, Natasha

pairing: delinquent basketball captain! natasha romanoff x student council president! reader

synopsis: Y/N L/N, perfect student council president, gets paired with the school’s worst nightmare—rebel basketball captain natasha romanoff—for a major project. she’s late, annoying, and impossible to work with. but one unexpected moment makes Y/N wonder… is there more to natasha than the chaos she brings?

warnings: mild cursing + tell me if i missed anything !! | wc: 3.8k | genre: wlw (as always <3), romance, fluff, high school au !! ;p

note: hii !! thank you so much for reading my work. just a quick heads-up—english isn’t my first language, so i’m really sorry in advance for any grammatical errors !! T^T

also, feel free to send messages, asks, requests, or literally whatever—i love hearing from people, and i swear i don’t bite (unless you want me to? jk, i'm so cringe 😔☝️)

anyway, i just noticed i accidentally made a second blog instead of a whole new account… so if you follow me and an account with the username @definitelynotbleu followed you—that's me. that’s my main blog, because apparently, tumblr said “you can’t follow people using your side blog.” like okay. thanks, i guess? ☹️💔💔

i’m lowkey considering just making a whole new account and moving all my fics there because this setup is slowly driving me insane. BUT I’M ALSO KINDA LAZY SO. WE’LL SEE. also i haven’t even made a masterlist yet. i’m cooked. actually beyond cooked. overcooked. burnt. ashes. 🥀🥀🥀

(ALSO I’M SO SORRY FOR VERY LONG AUTHOR NOTES I’M JUST A YAPPER OKAY T^T)

part one ♡‧₊˚ part two ‎♡‧₊˚

The next day, you show up to school with a venti coffee, three hours of sleep, and a list of tasks color-coded in pastel highlighters. You’re not thinking about her. You’re not. You have work to do. You have plans. You are a woman of discipline. You are the student council president.

And then she walks into the classroom like she didn’t just emotionally destabilize you twelve hours ago.

She’s in her varsity jacket, gym bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds in. One of them falls out as she moves, and you catch the faint sound of Arctic Monkeys. Of course she listens to Arctic Monkeys. You hate that it suits her.

She sees you. She nods. Calm. Collected. Like last night’s heart-attack-inducing flirtation didn’t happen.

You scowl.

She smirks.

Wanda leans over to whisper, “You’re glaring like she stole your planner.”

“She might as well have,” you mutter.

—

You meet after school again, this time in the student council office. She shows up ten minutes early and eats all the jelly beans in your organizer tray. You tell her off. She just shrugs and asks for more.

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Every day for a week, Natasha Romanoff shows up. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with new bruises. Once, with a notebook full of genuinely helpful project notes, written in messy, slanted handwriting. She has surprisingly good insights, you have to admit.

But it’s not just the work. It’s the way she listens. The way she leans back in the chair, arms crossed, watching you with something between curiosity and amusement, like you’re a puzzle she’s enjoying solving.

It’s unsettling.

It’s distracting.

It’s maddening.

Especially when she starts casually touching you. Nothing scandalous—just light taps on the shoulder when you make a joke, her knee brushing yours under the table, taking the pen out of your hand when you’re overthinking the sentence structure.

"Relax, President. You’re not writing the Constitution."

You swat her hand. “I am setting a standard.”

She grins. “Yeah. A very adorable, very high-strung one.”

You want to scream.

And then—she starts drawing on your notes.

Like, full-on doodling hearts on the margins when you’re focused on your laptop.

“You’re vandalizing school property,” you say, eyeing the tiny cartoon of a girl with your hairstyle next to one with her haircut.

“Correction,” she replies without looking up. “I’m customizing history.”

You blink. “Is that supposed to be me?”

“Depends. Are you flattered?”

You throw a highlighter at her face. She catches it with one hand. You hate how cool that was.

—

It gets worse when she starts appearing outside of project hours. One morning, she joins you in line at the school caf. Orders black coffee and a muffin. Pays for your iced coffee without asking. When you try to protest, she tilts her head.

“What, you don’t like muffins?”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?”

You don’t answer.

Next time you go to your locker, there’s a sticky note on the inside door.

You stare at it for an absurd amount of time.

Wanda finds you still holding it twenty minutes later.

—

And then there’s the basketball practice.

You don’t normally attend. But your vice president is managing the halftime event and drags you into helping.

So you’re there, clipboard in hand, head spinning with logistics—until the buzzer sounds and Natasha Romanoff is suddenly there, sweat-soaked, breathing hard, hair in a messy ponytail, grinning like she just won the world.

She finds you in the crowd. She winks.

You look away so fast you almost pull a muscle.

Wanda catches the whole thing. “Do not make me be the one to say it.”

“Say what?”

“You’re falling for her.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely yes.”

“I can’t stand her.”

“You stood outside for three hours watching her throw a ball into a net.”

“It was for the halftime event.”

“You made the flyer.”

You have no comeback.

—

Then comes Friday.

Project submission day.

You meet in the library to print the final version. Natasha shows up with two drinks—your usual order and something new for you to try. You hate how thoughtful it is.

“So, we’re done,” you say, double-checking the pages.

“We are.”

“No more late-night messages.”

“No more weekly meetings.”

“No more walks home.”

She says nothing.

You look up. Her face is unreadable.

“We’ll go back to being classmates,” you offer, almost as a question.

She nods slowly. “Right. Classmates.”

Why does that feel like a loss?

Before you can say anything else, someone calls her name.

A girl you vaguely recognize—varsity, volleyball, always surrounded by people. She walks over, all smiles and confidence, and hands Natasha a note.

“From me,” she says, touching her arm.

You freeze.

Natasha takes it, unreadable again. “Thanks.”

The girl walks away, not even sparing you a glance.

You stare at the paper. Then at her. You’re not sure what expression you’re making, but Natasha blinks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you say, too fast.

“You look mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Jealous?”

“What?! No!”

She leans in, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Relax, president. It’s just a love letter. Happens all the time.”

You bite your tongue. You’re not jealous. You’re not.

But you go home annoyed.

And when she doesn’t text you that night, you keep checking your phone anyway.

—

—

The next week is chaos.

Event week. Schedules, permissions, venue requests. You bury yourself in work. You avoid the gym wing. You skip the caf. You go out of your way to not see her.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because Natasha doesn’t chase you. She doesn’t text. Doesn’t show up. Doesn’t ask what’s wrong.

You don’t want her to. Except you do.

You hate her.

Except you don’t.

And then it’s Thursday.

You’re reviewing final logistics with your committee when the door opens.

Natasha walks in.

Everyone freezes.

You blink. “Can I help you?”

She walks up and hands you a folded paper.

“Coach needed this signed.”

You take it. “Okay.”

She doesn’t leave.

You glance up. “Anything else?”

She shrugs. “Just wanted to see you.”

You almost drop the pen.

Wanda chokes on her drink.

Natasha leaves before you can reply.

—

Later, your phone buzzes.

You stare at the screen.

You don’t.

That night, you can’t sleep.

Because maybe you miss working with her too.

Maybe you were wrong about her. Maybe she’s not a complete walking red flag. Maybe she’s just... complicated. Rough around the edges. Mysterious in a way that makes you want to keep learning more.

Maybe you’re in trouble.

And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

—

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal.

Just a message. Just a moment. Just Natasha being… Natasha.

And yet, three days later, you're still re-reading that "i miss working with you" text like it’s a published poem.

It’s embarrassing.

Wanda calls you out during lunch. “You’re staring at your phone like it owes you tuition money.”

“It’s none of your business,” you reply, stabbing your salad with unnecessary force.

Yelena snorts. “She still hasn’t asked you out, huh?”

“I am not waiting for her to ask me out.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “Would you say yes?”

You don’t answer.

Because you don’t know.

Because maybe you would.

—

The rain starts mid-afternoon.

Hard. Fast. The kind that floods the quad and knocks down your color-coded event posters. Not metaphorical, poetic rain. Actual, annoying, soak-your-socks rain. You’re standing under the broken awning outside the school gym, binder clutched to your chest, watching your hard work dissolve into paper mush.

You’re in the school grounds, fuming, clipboard soaked, when she finds you.

“Event prep not going well?” she asks, casually offering her umbrella.

You don’t take it.

She holds it over both of you anyway.

“I worked so hard on those signs,” you mutter. “And now they’re dead. Murdered. By the sky.”

Natasha looks at the puddles like she can beat them up for you. “Wanna make new ones?”

You blink at her. “Why would you help me?”

She shrugs. “Because I like you.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You what?”

“I like helping you,” she clarifies, emphasis deliberate. “You’re cute when you’re stressed.”

You sputter. She smirks.

“Also, I brought snacks,” she adds, pulling a plastic bag out of her varsity jacket. “Thought you might forget lunch again.”

You hate how well she knows you. You hate how that makes your heart do a thing.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

She hands you a rice ball. “So, what’s the plan, boss?”

You look up at her. Rain falling, your shoes soaked, everything a mess—and suddenly it doesn’t feel so bad.

“Plan is… save the event. Rewrite everything. Get glitter glue. Hope for divine intervention.”

Natasha grins. “Finally. A mission worthy of my talents.”

—

That night, you work together again. Just like before.

But it’s not just like before.

Now there’s this thing between you. A current, a tension, an almost.

She sits closer. Laughs more easily. Steals your pen, your snacks, your attention.

You tell her to focus.

She tells you to loosen up.

And at one point—when your hand accidentally brushes hers and you both freeze for half a second too long—you think: this might actually be something.

—

By Friday, everyone notices.

Wanda keeps sending you suspicious side-eyes. Yelena openly teases Natasha in front of you. Even the teachers are acting weird, like they’re expecting a plot twist.

You try to ignore it.

But it’s hard when Natasha keeps finding excuses to be near you.

“Forgot my book. Oh look, we have the same one.”

“Need help carrying that? You clearly skipped arm day.”

“You busy later? I found this new café. They have your favorite coffee.”

It’s maddening. It’s sweet. It’s maddeningly sweet.

You are losing your mind.

—

Then comes the night before the event.

You’re in the auditorium, double-checking lights and stage cues. Natasha shows up, of course. She’s holding a flashlight in her mouth and balancing a roll of tape on her head.

“You’re not on the logistics team,” you tell her.

She drops the tape. “Nope. Just here for moral support. And also to see your cute boss voice again.”

You try not to blush. Fail miserably.

“You’re annoying,” you say.

“I know.”

A pause.

“You’re… kind of important to me,” you say suddenly. Quiet. Unexpected even to yourself.

Natasha looks up. Serious now. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Just… thought you should know.”

She crosses the stage, stops in front of you, eyes soft in the dim lighting.

“You’re important to me too,” she says. “And not just for school projects.”

Your heart flips. Or malfunctions. Or possibly explodes.

She leans in. You panic.

You shove a clipboard between you. “I-I still have to check the mic system!”

Natasha blinks. Then laughs. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Pres."

—

Later that night:

—

And then, the day of the event arrives.

Everything runs perfectly.

The crowd cheers. The booths look amazing. Your team is killing it.

And in the middle of it all—between speeches, music, and chaos—you feel her watching you.

She’s not trying to hide it.

You glance at her.

She grins.

You grin back.

—

The event ends with a bang. A literal bang.

Someone in the STEM booth miscalculates the chemical reaction for their demo volcano. You hear the fizz, you smell the vinegar, and then—

Boom.

Foam everywhere. It explodes so violently it hits half the hallway. Your shoes are soaked. Your socks are crying. Your bangs are sticking to your forehead. And right next to you, Natasha Romanoff looks like she just walked out of a shampoo commercial—except her face is covered in pink foam, and she’s wheezing.

“You’re laughing?! This is your fault—”

“How is it my fault that the Science Club can’t count?!”

“You egged them on!”

“I told them to go big or go home!” she says, wiping foam from her jaw. “They just… went nuclear.”

You glare. She grins. And then she reaches out—

Flick.

Right on the center of your forehead.

“Relax, Miss President. You look like a very angry bubble tea.”

“I swear, Romanoff—”

She brushes foam from your nose. “Still the cutest bubble tea on campus, though.”

You stare at her.

You forget how to speak.

You nearly combust on the spot.

—

Later that night, the chaos finally dies down. You’re still buzzing from the noise, the laughter, the adrenaline of pulling off an entire school event without anyone setting the curtains on fire (the foam doesn't count, okay). You sneak off behind the gym—because it’s quiet there, and because you know she’ll follow.

She does.

Varsity jacket slung over her shoulder. Tired eyes. Twisted smirk. That lazy, confident swagger like she didn’t just help you keep the student body from collapsing into absolute anarchy.

“Hey,” she says softly.

You look up from your clipboard. “You survived the foam-pocalypse.”

“Barely.”

She walks over, sees you shiver, and wordlessly drops her jacket onto your shoulders.

You go still.

“…Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She leans against the wall beside you. You're seated on the bench, curled under her jacket like a burrito. She watches you. Quiet. Soft.

“You did good today, Pres.”

You glance at her. “I had help.”

She shrugs. “I just followed orders.”

You roll your eyes. “You literally yelled at a sophomore to stop lighting incense indoors.”

“He was summoning good vibes.”

“He was summoning a fire hazard.”

She laughs. You bite your lip to hide your smile.

“…Can I tell you something?” she asks, voice suddenly quieter.

You nod slowly.

She shifts. Leans down slightly, just enough that you can see the way her eyes flicker nervously before she brushes your hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing your cheek.

“I like you,” she says. “Not just for school. Not just for events. I like you, Y/N. Like, like-like you.”

Your heart stops. Your entire body goes still.

You stare.

Then—“Took you long enough.”

Natasha blinks. “Wait—what?”

You laugh—light and breathless. “You think I didn’t notice the forehead flicks? The snacks? The weirdly specific coffee orders? The way you walk me home and then pretend it’s not a big deal?”

Natasha looks faintly betrayed. “I was being subtle!”

“You’re literally six-foot-two and smirk at me like a YA love interest. Nothing about you is subtle.”

She gasps. “Are you comparing me to a Wattpad boy?”

“I shouldn’t, but yes.”

Natasha groans into her hands. “This is the worst confession ever—”

You reach up, grab her hands, and pull them down gently.

“I like you too, Delinquent.”

She goes silent.

Then she flicks your forehead again. “I knew it.”

“Ow?!”

“Deserved.”

You grab her collar before she can pull back and lean your forehead against hers, still giggling.

“You’re infuriating.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re obsessed with me.”

“Who wouldn’t be?”

You kiss her cheek. She actually short-circuits.

—

—

You barely sleep that night.

Too giddy. Too electrified. Too busy replaying every second of her smile, her laugh, the way she short-circuited when you kissed her cheek.

The group chat keeps blowing up—Wanda’s in full meltdown mode, Yelena’s already planning the wedding, and you… you’re floating.

But the world doesn’t stop just because your crush finally confessed.

The next day arrives fast. Loud. Demanding.

And before you know it—

The interschool basketball match begins.

You shouldn’t even be in the gym.

You’ve got student council paperwork spilling out of your arms, a working list of urgent tasks highlighted in pastel chaos, and three missed calls from your VP asking where the sign-up forms are. Your planner is a warzone, your phone is blowing up, and you haven’t eaten since breakfast.

But you’re here.

Sitting beside Wanda, Yelena, and Kate in the front row of bleachers, legs crossed, hands clenched in your lap, trying very hard not to watch the court.

You tell yourself it’s just for school spirit. You're here to support the school. Support the team.

It’s not about her.

It’s never about her.

Except it’s absolutely about her.

Because Natasha Romanoff is on the court, and for the first time ever, she’s… off.

Her passes are sloppy. She misses two layups in a row. Her defense is late. Her rhythm? Gone. There’s a visible crack in her composure—she’s snapping at teammates, cursing under her breath, yanking at the hem of her jersey like she can pull herself together through sheer will.

“She’s spiraling,” Kate says quietly.

Yelena’s brows furrow. “She doesn’t play like this. Ever.”

“She looks—nervous?” Wanda says, watching closely. “She keeps glancing at the bleachers.”

You force yourself not to move.

Not to flinch.

Not to let the burn in your chest show.

Because she is glancing. Over and over again. Her eyes are scanning the stands, sharp and desperate, like she's looking for something—or someone—and not finding them. Each time she doesn’t find what she’s looking for, her face hardens. Her jaw tightens.

“She’s looking for you,” Yelena murmurs, like she’s just realized.

You press your lips into a thin line.

“She thought you wouldn’t come,” Wanda whispers.

And for a moment, you almost don’t.

But then—

Then she misses another shot. The crowd groans. She slaps her hands against her thighs, furious.

And suddenly, you can’t take it anymore.

“God,” you mutter, already standing, “if I get suspended for this—”

You cup your hands around your mouth and yell across the court before your brain can catch up.

“ROMANOFF! PLAY LIKE YOU MEAN IT!”

The whole gym stops.

Like, actually stops.

Every head turns. The air shifts. Even the referee pauses.

And Natasha?

She freezes.

Her eyes snap to you instantly—like she’d been waiting for that voice all game.

And when she finds you?

Her whole expression changes. Like she can breathe again.

The corner of her mouth twitches. A breathless laugh escapes her. Her shoulders roll back. Then—

She moves.

Sharp. Precise. Lethal.

The Natasha everyone knows is back.

She steals the ball from the opposing point guard like it’s nothing, darts down the court, and scores with a clean, perfect shot that wipes out the tension from the past ten minutes.

From that moment on, the game shifts. Momentum tilts.

Natasha becomes unstoppable.

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until the final buzzer sounds—Natasha’s team winning by two points. The crowd explodes into cheers.

You clap automatically. Just once. Then grab your things, ready to disappear before anyone processes what just happened—

But she doesn’t go to her team.

She doesn’t wait for the trophy, or the coach’s speech, or the photos.

She runs.

Straight. To. You.

Through her teammates, through the crowd, ignoring her coach yelling her name and the players trying to high-five her.

You blink as she stops in front of you—sweaty, panting, eyes burning with something so raw it makes your chest ache.

“Hi,” she breathes, like the world’s been holding its breath without you.

You stare. “Hi?”

“You came,” she says, her voice hoarse. “I thought—” she shakes her head, words failing. “You weren’t there. I looked and you weren’t—”

“I was late,” you admit softly. “I had council stuff—”

“I thought I ruined everything,” she whispers.

You frown. “Romanoff—”

“I couldn’t see you,” she continues, like it’s been sitting in her throat the whole game. “I kept looking and you weren’t—God, I thought I lost you.”

You blink fast, something thick in your throat. “You didn’t.”

A pause.

And then—

“Can I kiss you?” she asks, not a tease this time. Just desperate. Just honest. “I—I need to know this is real.”

Your heart is pounding.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “You can.”

She kisses you.

Right there. In the middle of the gym. In front of literally everyone.

It’s messy. Breathless. Charged with too much feeling and not enough time. Her hands slide into your hair, holding on like she’s still scared you’ll vanish.

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Wanda screams. Kate chokes. Yelena straight-up punches the air.

And when Natasha finally pulls back, she leans her forehead against yours and breathes, “Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?” you ask, dazed.

“Disappear,” she says. “Make me play like a rookie. Make me lose my mind.”

You grin despite yourself. “You were that bad?”

She scoffs. “I nearly fouled out looking for you.”

You try to look smug. “Guess you need me around, huh?”

Natasha leans in, brushing her nose against yours.

“Guess I do, President.”

The crowd is still roaring. Someone’s taking photos. The coach is yelling in the distance.

But all you feel is her.

And for the first time in weeks, everything finally makes sense again.

You sigh, dramatic and hopeless. “I’m so doomed.”

She kisses you again, softer this time.

“Yeah,” she murmurs against your lips. “But at least now you’re doomed with me.”

—

The next morning, Natasha walks up to you in the middle of the hallway.

She’s in her varsity jacket.

You’re in her hoodie from last night.

Everyone sees.

She stops in front of you. Smirks.

You squint. “Why do you look like you’re about to say something embarrassing?”

“Because I am.” She flicks your forehead again. “Hi, baby.”

Your entire soul leaves your body.

Wanda SCREAMS from across the hallway.

Yelena fist-pumps.

Natasha leans in, lips near your ear.

“Now everyone knows you’re mine, Pres.”

You elbow her. Lightly.

She catches your hand.

Doesn’t let go.

Then threads her fingers through yours like it’s always been that easy.

And maybe it is.

Because from the way your heart leaps, the way her thumb brushes yours—

You realize you’ve been hers all along.

[jakesaverse]

QUIET LIKE US | 01

Genre: angst; fluff; college au; university au

Pairings Jake x reader; mentions of ex boyfriend; some other guys from school

Synopsis: After your ex-boyfriend dies, the blame nearly drowns you. So you run-to a new town, a new school, where no one knows your name or your past. You try to disappear, keep your head down, stay alone. But then you meet Jake Sim. He's quiet too, not by choice-just the kind of person everyone avoids. As the two of you grow closer, you realize he's hiding something, just like you. And no matter how far you run, some stories follow you.

warning: mentions of death; grief; insecurities; toxic relationship

Notes: Hey! Thanks so much for reading the first chapter. Just a heads-up—some parts might feel repetitive or oddly paced, but that’s all intentional. Also, it’s a made-up story, so don’t worry too much about the details like college or trains being 100% accurate. Hope you enjoy the first chapter 🤍

intro > HERE

——

You sit in front of his tombstone, the heavy weight of two weeks pressing down on you like a stone. The coolness of the morning air does little to ease the ache in your chest. In your hands, you clutch the obituary you were supposed to read at the funeral. It’s still folded, still crumpled in places, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not yet.

His mother’s words from that day echo in your mind. “It should have been you.” You want to scream at the memory, but instead, you swallow hard, fighting the rising flood of tears. It hurts. It all hurts. The raw emptiness that comes with this, the brutal fact that he’s really gone, that you’ll never feel his arms around you again, never hear him laugh or feel his touch.

You finally open the obituary, feeling a sharp ache in your chest. The first words hit you like a slap to the face, and you try to steady your breathing as you read.

“Chul-soon Kim. Beloved son, partner, and friend. Forever in our hearts.”

You blink rapidly, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to push the swelling anger down. This isn’t who he was. Beloved. He didn’t deserve that label, not after everything. Not after the promises he broke.

You take a breath, feeling the sting of your words as you keep reading, your hands shaking now.

“Chul-soon was a man with big dreams, with a heart full of passion and a will to make his mark on the world. He was loved by many, a true friend to those who knew him.”

The tears come now, stinging your eyes as you choke out a bitter laugh. A heart full of passion. The irony burns in your chest. He never had that for you, not in the way you needed. You wanted his love, his unwavering devotion. You wanted him to be there, to keep his promises. But he didn’t. He never did.

“Chul-soon lives through his family, friends, and me, YN, the girl who always believed in him, who loved him more than anyone else ever could.”

The paper slips from your fingers as you crumble under the weight of those words. Who loved him more than anyone else ever could. Did he ever truly love you back? Did he? You want to scream, want to throw the paper in the air and curse his name, curse the lies, the broken promises. But instead, all you do is sit there, broken.

“How could you leave me?” Your voice breaks, the words soft and raw. You clutch your hands together, eyes fixed on the cold stone beneath you. “How could you leave me with nothing? I gave you everything, Chul-soon. Everything. I loved you. I loved you so much. And you… you couldn’t even be here for me when it counted. You promised me that you would. You promised… and now, you’re gone.”

The anger inside you flares again, but it’s mixed with the grief, the overwhelming sadness that feels like a weight you can’t shake. You scream, the sound raw and unfiltered. “I needed you, and you left. You left me here with all of this. With nothing. I waited for you. I waited for you and you—”

Your words falter, and you choke on the pain. You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cold surface of his tombstone. The tears fall, thick and fast now. You clutch the paper again, the words on it feeling foreign, wrong.

“Chul-soon loved deeply, with a spirit that could light up a room, and left an indelible mark on the hearts of those who were lucky enough to know him.”

You laugh bitterly, your hands trembling. “He didn’t love me. Not the way I needed. Not the way I gave him all of myself. How can you say he loved me? He never gave me that. He never loved me enough.”

Your voice cracks on the last words, and you break down again, sobbing into the stone. The grief and anger blend together into a suffocating mess. You clutch at the stone with your hands, your heart warring against the love you still feel for him, even after everything.

“I still love you. I still love you so much,” you whisper, your voice small and broken. The words feel like a confession, like a surrender. Even after all the hurt, all the pain, you still love him. You always will. You would always love him, even though he didn’t love you the way you needed him to. You would always be the girl who gave him everything, no matter how little he ever gave back. You loved him, and that was something that would never change.

You sit there for a long time, the paper clenched in your hand, your tears soaking into the earth beneath you. Finally, you stand, legs weak, your body exhausted from the breakdown, but you know you can’t stay here forever. You wipe your eyes, sniffle, and glance at your watch.

You have 45 minutes to get to the train station.

You bend over and kiss the cold stone, a soft, lingering touch, as if saying goodbye to a part of yourself that’s been left behind.

“Goodbye for now,” you whisper. “I’ll always love you.”

A gust of wind rises suddenly, blowing your hair around your face, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like he’s there. Like he’s kissing you back. You hold your breath, letting the wind swirl around you, and you close your eyes for just a second, feeling the soft pressure of it against your skin, almost like an embrace.

And then, slowly, you pull away.

You walk away from his tombstone, feeling the weight of your heart in every step. But somehow, you feel stronger. Like he’s still with you, just a little bit. Just enough to keep going.

You take one last look over your shoulder, whispering one last goodbye to the man you loved, and then you turn, walking away, determined to live — for both of you.

—-

The station is loud. Overwhelming. Voices echo off tiled walls and shoes scuff against the floor like static that won’t stop. Your chest tightens with every passing second as you glance from one blinking screen to the next, your eyes chasing unfamiliar words, train numbers, platforms—none of it sinking in fast enough.

You don’t know where to go.

You spin in a slow, panicked circle, backpack slung over your shoulder, weighing you down like a living thing. Each strap bites into your skin—reminders of the guilt you packed with your essentials. Regret. Shame. The bruised ache of leaving behind a ghost you’ll never stop loving. The zipper barely closes, like it knows it’s holding more than just clothes. It holds pieces of you too.

Your breath hitches as a wave of helplessness rises. You want to scream. To cry. You already did. Your cheeks are still damp from the cemetery, from whispering goodbye and kissing cold stone. You swipe your sleeve across your face again, trying to erase the evidence. Trying to feel like someone who knows what they’re doing.

But you don’t.

You wander a few more steps, scanning signs, heads darting up to boards, luggage wheels clattering beside your feet. You’re in the wrong place. You know you’re in the wrong place, but you can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t—

“Excuse me,” you manage, voice too soft. The woman walking past doesn’t hear you.

You try again. “Excuse me—sorry—do you know where platform seven is?”

The man you ask glances at you like you’re an annoying flyer that brushed his arm, then shrugs. For a second, you want to sink into the floor, to disappear. But then, with one lazy motion, he lifts his hand and points across the station—to the far side, where a narrow stairwell dips out of view beneath a blinking Departures sign.

You blink. Nod. “Thank you,” you say, quiet, but genuine.

You offer him a soft, grateful smile—your first in days—and start walking.

It’s not a long distance, but your limbs feel like stone. Like they’re still half-stuck in the cemetery. In that moment of goodbye. You feel every ache, every step dragging with the weight of what you’re leaving. Not just the place, but the people. The memories. The lies you let grow roots inside your chest. The love that never fit you quite right, but you wore it anyway.

You make it to the platform and find a bench in the corner, tucking yourself beside a pillar as if hiding will make it easier.

Your backpack thumps to the ground.

You slide down beside it, arms wrapped around your knees, and exhale slowly. The platform’s quieter here. Like the silence found you again. You press your palm to your cheek, wiping the last damp streak, and tilt your head toward the tracks.

You’re not ready.

But you have to go.

Because staying would be worse. Staying would mean drowning in the silence, in the should-haves and what-ifs and “It should’ve been yous.”

You breathe in again.

And wait.

—-

The train doors hiss open, and you step inside, holding your breath like it might keep the world from noticing you. The platform air is hot and close, but in here it’s worse — muggy, silent, and too full of strangers avoiding each other’s eyes.

You grab the nearest open seat. It’s fake leather, cracked in the corner, still warm from someone else’s body. The fluorescent lights overhead hum softly. Your knees tap together.

You blink hard. The world tilts — not enough to fall, just enough to notice.The tilt isn’t from the motion of the train, not really. It’s the hollow ache of an empty stomach, the aftershock of tears that didn’t fully fall, the quiet exhaustion of a night spent sleeping in pieces.

You steady yourself with a hand on the window’s cold edge.

Across from you, a couple leans into each other — boy and girl, probably your age. Maybe younger. Maybe not. It’s hard to tell when someone is laughing like that. Their foreheads are almost touching, his thumb drawing idle circles along the seam of her jeans. The way she looks at him makes your chest ache in a place you thought you’d locked tight.

You look away. But your gaze drifts back, like a bad habit.

You shouldn’t stare.

But something in you wants to punish yourself. Wants to press the bruise of the memory, feel how deep it goes.

The train jerks forward, the sudden movement knocking your knee against the metal seat post. You don’t react. You’re not really here anyway.

The couple from before is still across the aisle. His head is lower now. Their fingers are linked between them, loose but sure. The girl has her cheek tilted toward his shoulder, like her body knows how to trust him without thinking.

The train is still moving.

You can hear it — the rhythmic pulse of wheels over tracks, like a heartbeat too tired to stop.

And still, you can’t look away.

Maybe it’s because of how still they are. Or how close. Or because that was you, once. Not on a train, not in Seoul. But with Chul-soon. Before everything went sideways.

The fight wasn’t even about something real. Just a text message. A misread expression. A joke that stung too deep. You were both tired, both too proud, both too sure the other would come back with an apology.

And then —

No time to fix it.

You shift in your seat, the press of your back against the vinyl jerking you back to the present. The pain in your throat builds tight and hot — but you force it down.

The photo in your pocket crinkles softly when you move, the edges worn from your thumb. You don’t pull it out. You just let it be there, warm against your leg like a silent pact not to forget.

The girl across from you laughs — barely audible, private. You turn your face away.

Outside, the city blurs by in streaks of grey and brown. Inside the train, someone’s service dog pants gently beside its handler, tail wagging once when a child reaches out and gives it a soft pat. You watch the tail sway once, twice — a blink of kindness in a world that keeps turning.

And still, somehow, so much of you feels stuck.

—

The train pulled away behind you hours ago, but you can still feel the tremble in your legs.

You didn’t expect it to be so pretty here.

Old brick buildings with ivy crawling up their sides. Tree-lined streets and wide sidewalks. Cafes with chalkboard menus. Cyclists coasting by like they’ve got time to waste. It looks like the kind of place people write poems about.

But none of it moves you.

You walk aimlessly, your backpack slung over one shoulder, the strap digging deeper with every step. A folded campus map from the train station is clenched in your hand, creased in strange angles, already damp from your grip.

You stop in front of a fountain in the middle of town. A couple sits on the edge, legs tangled, laughing over something neither of them will remember in a week. You look away.

This town is beautiful.

And you feel absolutely nothing.

Did I make a mistake?

The thought crawls slowly and steadily.

New school. New city. No one I know. Nothing I understand. What was I thinking?

Your fingers tighten on the map. It flutters a little in the breeze, like even the paper is ready to leave you behind.

A shout breaks the stillness.

You look up.

Across the street, a woman in a red apron stands in front of a store, yelling at someone.

“No dogs allowed! Can you read? I said—”

The guy she’s screaming at stands still, calm, his hand resting on the head of a golden retriever in a blue service vest.

The vest is unmistakable. So is the look on his face — exhausted. Not angry. Not even surprised. Just tired in a way that says this happens a lot.

You stop walking.

For a second, you almost move toward them. Almost say something.

Instead, you just stare.

Service dogs. That’s the second one you’ve seen today.

Maybe the town is full of people who are broken in ways you can’t see.

Maybe you belong here more than you thought.

Maybe you need one too — not for your body, but for your mind.

But you stay quiet.

You stay quiet because you always do. Because you’re afraid if you speak, you’ll say the wrong thing. You’ll make it worse. You’ll mess something up.

Like you always do.

A voice you thought you buried resurfaces, sharp and close:

“You ruin everything.”

Chul-soon’s voice.

“You think you help, but you don’t. I wish I never met you.”

You remember the way his face looked when he said it — cold, like it was easy.

Then, the switch. The fake smile. The way his arms pulled you in that same night like he hadn’t gutted you.

“I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t. You’re all I have.”

The worst part?

You believed him.

You shake your head hard, like the memory will fall out if you rattle your brain enough.

When your vision clears, the guy with the dog is looking at you.

You’d been staring.

Too long.

Too obvious.

His eyes are dark, unreadable. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave. Just tilts his head a little — like he’s trying to figure out who you are. Or why you look so haunted.

You drop your gaze immediately.

Your feet start moving before you can think. Away from him. Away from the woman still yelling. Away from the version of yourself that almost got involved.

You keep walking.

Because if you stop again, you might fall apart in the middle of this storybook street.

And you’re tired of crying where strangers can see.

—

You walk until your feet ache.

Until the straps of your backpack have worn themselves into your shoulder, like bruises that belong there.

Until the weight in your chest stops choking you—not because it’s eased, but because it’s settled in the way grief does when it realizes you’re not fighting it anymore.

Eventually, you find a small café tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat.

The windows are fogged. A row of mismatched plants lines the sill — some thriving, others shriveled at the edges like they gave up mid-bloom.

It smells like steeped leaves, lavender, and something faintly burnt.

The bell above the door jingles when you push it open.

No one looks up. That’s a relief.

There’s a hand-scrawled sign that says Order at the counter.

You stare at it longer than you should, as if it might tell you something deeper.

When the barista asks what you want, your mouth moves before your thoughts catch up.

“Just tea.”

“What kind?” she asks, not unkindly.

You blink. “Green tea please.”

You settle into the corner booth—furthest from the windows, closest to the radiator.

The mug she hands you is chipped on one side, but still holds heat.

You wrap both hands around it like it might anchor you. You don’t drink it.

Outside the glass, life keeps moving.

A kid rides past on a scooter.

A group of girls cross the street, laughing too loudly, lanyards swinging around their necks. Their hair is brushed, their voices easy. You wonder if you’ll ever laugh like that again.

You wonder if you ever really did.

You let the steam hit your face.

You close your eyes.

And then—

You open them again when movement catches in your peripheral.

He’s here.

The guy from earlier. The one with the service dog and the too-tight smile.

He’s sitting near the front, close enough to the door that it’s like he’s still waiting to be kicked out again.

The dog lies at his feet, head resting on its paws. Its vest is still on.

He’s not looking at anyone.

He’s got earbuds in.

His shoulders are hunched like he’s trying to disappear into the small wooden chair.

And you feel it—this sharp, sudden ache in your chest that has nothing to do with him, not really.

You just… relate. More than you want to admit.

The look on his face when that woman yelled. The way he didn’t fight back.

How he let it happen.

You’re not sure what would’ve come out of you if you’d spoken up then.

Something too loud, too messy.

You blink and realize you’ve been staring again.

The guy catches you again. Just a flick of his eyes in your direction.

You look away instantly, heart thudding.

You busy yourself with your tea even though it’s gone cold.

Pretend to check your phone.

Pretend you have somewhere to be.

You don’t. Not yet.

You think about walking over. Saying That woman was wrong, or I’m sorry, or You don’t deserve that.

But the words get caught somewhere deep in your throat.

So you do what you’ve learned to do:

You disappear quietly.

You toss the rest of the tea in the sink even though it’s not self-serve.

The barista says nothing. Neither do you.

Outside, the wind’s picked up.

You tighten your jacket around yourself—not because you’re cold, but because it gives your hands something to do.

You take out the campus map again.

The paper’s soft now from all your handling, your thumb smudging the ink where it folds.

There’s a star marking the residence halls. That’s where you’re supposed to be heading.

But all you feel is the distance between here and there.

The ache of not knowing where you belong yet—if anywhere.

You fold the map and tuck it away.

And you start walking again.

Not toward anything. Just… forward.

—

You glance down at your phone.

10%.

The number glows up at you, uncaring. A quiet nudge that time’s up. That you can’t linger out here anymore, pretending the sidewalk is a destination. Pretending you don’t have a place to be.

You tuck the device back into your pocket like it’s something precious, something that’s helped you survive the last few hours—which it has. You would’ve gotten lost three times over without it. Every turn, every wrong corner, every unfamiliar street, that little blue dot kept moving forward even when you weren’t sure you could.

And now, that dot’s destination is right in front of you.

The dorms.

Your new… home.

The word hits harder than expected.

You stop walking, frozen just short of the door. There’s a weird, involuntary chill running up your spine like your body’s catching up to the reality of everything. Home. That word feels too big. Too warm. Too much pressure for a place you’ve never even stepped foot in.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to feel—excitement? Gratitude?

But all you feel is the heavy roll of your stomach and the rising buzz of anxiety in your chest. The kind that’s too slow to scream and too strong to ignore. Your throat feels tight, and you have to swallow twice just to breathe.

You shouldn’t be this scared.

And yet, your palms are clammy, your vision slightly hazy with nerves, and you wonder—really wonder—if anyone has ever thrown up before entering a dorm room.

You wipe your hands against your jeans, force a breath in, then out. You whisper a quick, shaky “Come on,” to yourself, and let your feet carry you across the threshold.

The building hums with low voices, footsteps echoing down the hall, distant laughter. Everything feels too loud and too far away all at once.

You pull out your phone again, screen dimmer now, its light weaker than before. You click open the email for the third—or fourth—time.

Room 303.

Third floor. You tap it like you’re trying to press the number into your memory, as if forgetting it would undo this whole thing.

The stairs are a blur. The hallway even more so. It all smells like new paint and floor polish, too clean to feel lived-in.

And then, finally, it’s there.

A plain door. A silver number plate: 303.

You stand in front of it and let out a slow breath.

But the email didn’t just tell you the room number.

It also told you there’d be no roommate.

You knew that. You read it earlier. A single room. Peace. Space. You needed it. You still do.

But now, standing here with your heart in your throat and your hand hovering over the door handle, it doesn’t feel like peace. It feels like punishment.

It feels like confirmation of what you’ve always feared—that you’re just… meant to be alone.

Like somehow the world is always making room for other people to find each other and choosing to leave you with echoing space.

Your fingers twitch at your side. The hallway around you is quiet. No one’s looking. No one’s here.

You close your eyes for a second and lean your forehead gently against the door. Just to breathe. Just to keep from unraveling.

Then, after a beat, you lift your head.

And you open the door.

—

The door clicks behind you.

Not a grand arrival. No applause. No air of celebration.

Just the quiet seal of a room swallowing you whole.

You stand there for a second—maybe two—looking at what’s supposed to be home now.

It’s almost too clean. The kind of clean that feels like no one’s ever lived here. Like nothing’s ever happened in this space. No laughter, no arguments, no memories.

Just blank walls and a fresh sheet of silence.

You take a step inside. The air is stale, like it’s been holding its breath.

Your backpack slides off your shoulder and lands beside your foot with a heavy thud. You exhale like it’s the first breath you’ve taken in hours.

The room is small. A desk against the wall, its wood chipped at the edges. A built-in dresser with stiff drawers. A twin bed with a mattress wrapped in plastic that crinkles when you brush against it. A single overhead light buzzes faintly above. The window near the ceiling lets in only a narrow slice of daylight—enough to remind you that the outside world still exists, but not enough to make you feel part of it.

You walk to the bed and sit slowly, testing it like you’re not sure it’ll hold you. The mattress doesn’t give much. It’s firm and unfamiliar, and it smells like cleaner and nothing else.

You blink hard. It’s a lot of nothing.

You start walking again to your backpack, pull the small zipper and look through your supplies. A toothbrush. A sweatshirt. Two pairs of jeans. Four very worn shirts. Two protein bars. Twowater bottles. And a single notebook.

And then, near the bottom, your fingers brush against the worn corner of the picture.

You pull it out gently.

It’s old—creased from being handled too many times.

You and Chul-soon, back when smiles came easier. You’re laughing in the photo, looking away from the camera. He’s squinting at you, mid-laugh himself, like whatever you said had just caught him off guard. The way he’s looking at you—like you were the only person in the world.

You run your thumb across the glossy paper. The corners have dulled from all the times you’ve folded it, kept it close, hidden it like a secret.

It’s the only piece of him you let yourself bring.

You walk across the room, hesitating only slightly before placing it on the edge of the desk—half-visible, tucked against the wall like maybe it won’t hurt so much that way.

But it does. It still does.

You look around again. At the bed that feels too wide for one person. The desk with nothing on it. The air too still.

Your chest tightens.

You reach for your phone. The screen lights up—8% battery left.

A quiet nudge that the day is still moving, even if you’re stuck.

You sigh.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you set the phone down next to the picture.

You sit back down on the bed, both feet on the ground, hands resting in your lap.

It should feel like a beginning.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like walking into a story where your name was never written into the plot.

Still, the faint light from the high window stretches across the floor now, catching a shimmer off the photo. It paints a slanted glow across your backpack and the floor beneath your feet.

And something about it makes you pause.

A flicker. Maybe not of hope. But maybe something quieter.

The smallest breath of okay, even if you’re not yet okay.

—

You barely closed your eyes before the nightmare took hold. The weight on your chest felt like it would crush you, the darkness swallowing you whole.

Chul-soon’s voice rang in your ears, sharp and accusing, each word a dagger to your heart.

“You ruined everything. You ruined me.”

His face twisted in anger, his eyes dark with blame.

“I wish I’d never met you.”

The words echoed over and over, his voice relentless. You stood frozen, incapable of speech, incapable of running. Just absorbing.

Then came the silence—empty and bitter.

“You’ll never be enough, will you?”

It was a whisper now, colder somehow.

“Not for anyone.”

You woke with a gasp, your body flinching like it was trying to outrun something. But there was nothing there. Just the unfamiliar stillness of your new room.

For a second, you didn’t move. You just stared at the ceiling, the shadows creeping long across the walls. The heaviness still sat on your chest, not quite as sharp, but just as unbearable. You blinked a few times, breathing slowly, trying to shake the dream from your skin. But the chill wouldn’t leave.

Eventually, you stood and shuffled to the bathroom, towel and toiletries in hand. The shower water was tepid, the kind that never gets warm no matter how long you let it run, but you stayed under it anyway. Letting it rinse away the sweat, the nightmare, the thoughts you didn’t want to name.

You did your night routine quickly—if you could even call it that. Just the basics: brush your teeth, wash your face with a travel-size cleanser, pull your damp hair into a low bun.

Back in your room, you reached for your bag and dug out a clean outfit to lay out for tomorrow: a pair of ripped jeans and a soft, worn-out t-shirt. It wasn’t much, but it would do. It had to.

Your stomach growled then, deep and hollow. You hesitated, then unzipped the front pocket of your backpack and pulled out your sad excuse for dinner—two protein bars. That was all you had left. That and thirty crumpled dollars.

You sighed and shoved the bars back inside, grabbing your water bottle instead. Maybe if you drank enough, the hunger would go away. You took slow sips, ignoring the way your stomach twisted.

The silence was thicker now, heavier. You glanced at your phone, which was now charging on the nightstand.

6:35 p.m.

You were supposed to meet your “assigned guide” tomorrow—someone to show you around campus. It felt a little juvenile, like something made for kids starting kindergarten. But who were you to judge? Maybe some people needed that. Maybe you did too.

Still, the idea of meeting someone new… having to talk, to pretend like you were fine, like you were excited to be here… it made your stomach twist again.

You flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, counting the marks in the paint. One. Two. Three.

Maybe if you stayed like this, time would pass faster.

Maybe by tomorrow, you’d feel like a person again.

But for now, you just laid there—full of water, empty of anything else.

Trying to settle in.

Failing.

—

It was morning. At least, that’s what the sliver of sun filtering through the blinds insisted.

But it didn’t feel like morning.

It felt like nothing had changed.

Your eyes fluttered open to the same ceiling, the same cold air, the same ache in your chest. You hadn’t slept—not really. Not when every time your eyes closed, he was waiting for you.

Chul-soon’s voice still clung to the inside of your skull like smoke. You’d woken up three, maybe four times throughout the night, each time breathless, each time a little more broken than the last. It was like your body refused to believe he was gone—so it summoned him back in the cruelest ways possible.

His words echoed even now:

“You ruined me.”

“You’ll never be enough.”

You turned your head against the pillow, wiping at your face. Again. The skin under your eyes was raw. Puffy. You didn’t bother checking the mirror—you knew what you’d see.

You laid there a little longer, the room too quiet around you. The silence made it worse somehow, like it gave your thoughts permission to get louder.

You weren’t sure when the sun had risen. Time had collapsed into itself. Last night bled into this morning like they were the same bruise.

It was supposed to be a fresh start. A new beginning.

But all it felt like was a continuation of grief, dressed up in unfamiliar walls and stiff sheets.

Eventually, you sat up slowly, your limbs heavy like they were moving through water. You reached for the water bottle from yesterday and took a few slow sips, your stomach curling at the emptiness it had gotten used to.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. A soft reminder.

“Meet your assigned guide at 9 a.m. - Main Quad.”

You stared at the message, blinking hard. Right. That was today. You had to go. Had to get up. Had to act like you belonged here.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, shaky but determined. You moved like someone else was in control—on autopilot. Reached for the outfit you’d laid out last night: the ripped jeans, the faded t-shirt that smelled like home and hurt. You brushed your hair. Splashed water on your face.

Still, your reflection didn’t look like someone ready to meet anyone new. You looked like someone who had just survived a war.

And in a way, you had.

Only the battlefield was your memory.

And the enemy wore the face of someone you once loved.

You closed your eyes. Took a breath.

And told yourself you could make it through the morning.

Just one more hour.

One more smile.

One more lie that you were okay.

—

You were already sweating by the time you reached the meeting spot for your assigned campus tour. Your shirt clung uncomfortably to your back, and your chest rose with uneven breaths—not just from the walk, but the nerves, the anticipation, the heaviness that hadn’t left your body since you arrived.

You looked down at your phone, thumb hovering over the cracked screen.

Park Sunghoon.

That was the name in the email.

You didn’t know him, not even what he looked like, but just reading his name again made your stomach knot. Not because of him—because he was a guy. Because no matter how many times you told yourself it didn’t matter, you could already feel Chul-soon’s voice slithering in from the corners of your mind.

“So you’re really gonna let some guy show you around? That’s what you call respect now?”

You swallowed hard.

You shouldn’t still hear him. He wasn’t here.

But somehow, his anger never left you.

You were so lost in the spiral of your thoughts that the sudden tap on your shoulder nearly made you jump.

You turned around sharply.

There was a guy standing behind you—tall, dark hair still damp like he’d come straight from a shower, his expression uncertain. Not in a threatening way. More like someone trying not to scare you off.

“Uh—sorry,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Jake.”

You blinked up at him, confused.

“I think there was a partner switch,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Were you supposed to be with someone named Park Sunghoon?”

You nodded, slow and cautious. “Yeah… I was.”

Jake gave a small shrug. “He started the tour with someone else by accident. So they reassigned you to me.”

His voice was soft, a little unsure—but not unkind. Still, your shoulders tensed. Something about this—about being alone with a guy you didn’t know, even if it was just a tour—made your pulse skitter.

You nodded again, feeling the words get caught somewhere in your chest. “Right… okay.”

He waited like he expected more, and when you didn’t say anything, he tilted his head slightly.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “I just… I saw a different name earlier. Wasn’t expecting—”

You cut yourself off before you could ramble. Your mouth felt dry.

Jake offered a small, understanding smile. “No need to apologize.”

You looked down at your shoes.

No need to apologize.

It was such a simple phrase, but it echoed. Loud and low in your chest.

It felt… foreign.

Like something you weren’t used to hearing.

You nodded again, hoping that would be enough. You didn’t trust your voice right now.

Jake shifted his weight a little, looking around like he was trying to ease the silence. “If you’d like, I can show you the popular study rooms. Just to get familiar with the spots people hang out.”

You hesitated.

His voice was gentle. He didn’t seem to be pressuring you. Still, the longer he spoke, the more you found yourself shrinking. Not because of him—but because of yourself. The constant fear of saying the wrong thing, of making it weird, of seeming ungrateful or cold.

“I-I guess…” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake smiled softly and nodded, as if he’d heard you just fine. “No rush. We’ll go slow.”

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. “Actually… maybe it’s better if we start with your classes first. That way you won’t get lost tomorrow.”

You nodded. Again.

Jake looked over your schedule, eyes scanning until he stopped and said, “Oh—we have one class together, actually. Psychology.”

Your stomach dropped.

Psychology.

The one class you were most nervous about. The one that felt a little too close to home. The one you hadn’t even wanted to sign up for in the first place. You hadn’t wanted to talk about minds or trauma or healing or guilt.

You took a step back, your hands twisting at the strap of your backpack.

“Actually, I just remembered… I think I left something in my dorm,” you lied, already moving away. “Sorry—I’ll just… I need to go.”

Jake blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—okay…”

You didn’t wait for the rest of his sentence. You turned, walking quickly, the guilt pressing into your ribs.

Jake didn’t follow.

But he didn’t look surprised either.

Just stood there, quietly sighing. Like maybe… he was used to people running away.

—

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the wind started drying the tears against your cheeks. The moment your feet hit the pavement, you ran—head down, fists clenched around your straps, breaths shallow and sharp in your throat.

You couldn’t catch your breath.

It wasn’t just the embarrassment. It wasn’t just Jake’s kind voice or the way your chest tightened the second he said psychology.

It was everything.

The heat rising in your face. The memory of Chul-soon’s crooked grin as he explained theories with fire in his eyes. The sound of his voice when he yelled. The last conversation you had with him. The way your name sounded like a curse on his tongue.

You turned the corner and your dorm finally came into view. Your legs burned, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t dare. You fumbled your key three times before finally unlocking the door. And the second it clicked—

You were in.

And the sobs crashed over you like a tidal wave.

You slammed the door shut behind you and collapsed against it, sliding down until you were curled up on the cold floor. Your chest convulsed with every breath you couldn’t quite take. Hands shook as you clutched at your shirt, your stomach, your throat—anywhere that ached.

Your brain kept spinning, spinning.

Chul-soon was a psych major.

Of course that’s what triggered it. That stupid word. That one stupid class.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was guilt.

It was panic.

It was the way Jake had looked at you like he was trying to understand—and you ran.

“He was just trying to help,” you muttered to yourself, the words fractured between sobs. “He didn’t even do anything wrong.”

You pressed your palms to your eyes. Tried to rub away the sting. The tears. The memory.

You’re always doing this.

Running away.

Screwing things up.

Making everything awkward.

You hated how easily the spiral came. How loud your mind got when you felt like you’d messed up something small.

But it didn’t feel small.

It felt like proof.

Proof that you didn’t belong here. That you weren’t ready for this. That you were still stuck in a relationship that ended the moment Chul-soon died, and yet somehow hadn’t left you at all.

Eventually—somehow—the sobs dulled. The shaking slowed. You didn’t know how long you sat there, blinking up at the ceiling, chest still sore from crying.

You got up eventually. Splashed cold water on your face in the tiny bathroom. Did your night routine in slow, deliberate motions. Toothbrush. Face wash. Hair tied back.

You drank from the same bottle of water you’d been nursing all day, ignoring the ache in your stomach. There were still only two protein bars in your bag, and only thirty dollars to your name. So tonight, water would have to be enough again.

You looked over at your bed. The one you barely slept in. The one that never felt quite yours.

You didn’t want to check your phone. But you did.

And there it was.

A new email.

From: jsim23@eastvalley.edu

Subject: Checking in

Hi, this is Jake Sim—your assigned orientation partner (or at least, I think I still am after today).

I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay. I’m really sorry if I overwhelmed you earlier or said anything wrong.

If you’re still open to it, I can meet you tomorrow around 7 a.m. to help you find your classes before my own at 8. No pressure, of course—totally up to you.

Jake

You stared at the message, lips parted slightly.

He was apologizing?

But he hadn’t done anything wrong. You had.

And still, your eyes welled again.

You should’ve responded. Should’ve typed back something simple—an apology, at least. A thank you. But your fingers never moved. Because even though you knew he meant well, and even though a part of you genuinely felt sorry, another part of you still twisted everything into guilt. Into shame. Into something ugly and undeserving.

So, you did what you always did.

You blamed yourself. And then you shut down.

You closed the email. You didn’t reply. You told yourself you’d respond later. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. Ghosting him felt easier than facing the weight in your chest, the echo of Chul-soon’s voice asking how you could move on so quickly. How you could look at another guy—even platonically—and not feel like a traitor.

Maybe if you shut your eyes—and your whole world—you wouldn’t feel like you were betraying him.

Maybe then, you could pretend you were still his.

Still enough.

You curled into your bed, pulled the blanket over your head, and forced yourself not to care.

Not about the email.

Not about Chul-soon.

Not about the fact that you had no idea where your first class was tomorrow…

…or that your assigned orientation partner might very well be in it, too.

—-

taglist: @ikonsiconic @hvseunq143 @invsomnixa1 @wwwtxao @addictedtohobi i @kristynaaah

[loversrocktvgirl2]

my mini multiverse of madness…

New Friend (Bob Reynolds x Reader) — Part Three

word count: 1k+

masterlist

part 3 of ?

previous part: part two

It’s the morning after your quiet bookstore café hangout, and Bob’s already finished The Midnight Library. He read it cover-to-cover, barely sleeping, eyes wide and heart full by the final page. And now, it’s time for the next book club read.

Yelena pokes her head into the kitchen just as Bob is finishing his third toast. “Hey, Bob,” she says, chewing a spoonful of cereal like she’s got nothing on her mind. “You should go pick up the new book club book today.”

Bob blinks. “Oh. Right. I should. Do we know what it is yet?”

“They posted it on the website last night. The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store. Sounds...religious.”

“I don’t think it is,” Bob replies, wiping crumbs from his fingers. “I think it’s historical fiction. About community and injustice.”

Yelena narrows her eyes. “How do you know that?”

“I looked it up. You said I should try to read some more summaries.”

“Bob,” Yelena says solemnly, placing a dramatic hand over her heart, “you are becoming powerful.”

Bob, confused but flattered, nods. “Thanks?”

“You should go get it. Take your time. Go get a coffee. Maybe buy a cute bookmark or something.”

“…A cute bookmark?”

“Everyone likes bookmarks, Bob,” she says seriously. “Now go. Be free. Read books. Take deep breaths.”

“…Okay,” Bob agrees, already grabbing his tote and heading toward the door.

As soon as it closes behind him, Yelena turns, eyes gleaming. She pulls out her phone.

GROUP TEXT — Operation Bob Goes Bowling ❤️Yelena: he’s gone. time to scheme Ava: omg finally. I’ve been waiting for this. Bucky: why do you always start group chats for your plots Yelena: because none of you read my calendar invites John: agreed. I’m in. but what are we doing? Alexei: am I bringing snacks Yelena: NO. last time u brought expired sardines. we’re doing a casual double date. casual. chill. lowkey. Bucky: for who? Yelena: for bob and the cute girl from book club. i’ve decided it’s time Ava: finally!! okay wait—what’s the angle? Yelena: bowling. or maybe tacos and pinball. something FUN Alexei: bowling is how i tore my shoulder in 1997 Yelena: and yet here you are, stronger than ever Yelena: anyway we’re all going. john you’re bringing ava. bucky you’re going with me. alexei, you can come if you promise not to scare anyone Alexei: i make no promises John: is bob even gonna go for this? Yelena: he doesn’t have to KNOW it’s a date. that’s the genius Bucky: this sounds a lot like a trap Yelena: yes. a love trap 💕

— — — 

Meanwhile, Bob is at the bookstore, humming quietly as he wanders to the front counter.

“Oh! Bob, right?” says the same woman from the first visit. “You’re back!”

“Yeah,” Bob says with a smile. “I wanted to get the new book club book. The, uh, Heaven and Earth Grocery Store one?”

“You’re in luck—we just put them out this morning,” she says, pulling a copy from the display behind her. “You’re early. Club meeting isn’t for another two weeks.”

“I like to be prepared,” Bob says, then looks a little sheepish. “And I like reading.”

“Glad to hear it,” she replies with a smile. “Would you like a new bookmark? We just got new seasonal ones in. Little raccoons with books.”

Bob hesitates. Then nods. “Yeah. I’ll take a raccoon.”

He leaves the store twenty minutes later with the book, the raccoon bookmark, and a large coffee, feeling good. Calm. Like maybe he’s really making progress in his life.

— — — 

Back at home, Yelena pounces as soon as he walks through the door.

“Did you get it?” she asks, trying to sound nonchalant and failing completely.

Bob holds up the bag. “Got it.”

“And… bookmark?”

He blinks. “…Yeah?”

Yelena fist pumps. “YES. This is it. Your full transformation is happening. Book guy mode: unlocked.”

Bob chuckles. “Is that a thing?”

“It is now,” she declares. Then, pretending like she just remembered something, she adds, “Oh! Some of us were gonna go out tonight. Chill night. Bowling and tacos maybe?”

“Bowling?” Bob asks. “I’ve never really gone.”

“Perfect! You’ll love it. It’s very casual. You can just hang out and eat if you want.”

“…Okay,” Bob agrees slowly. “That sounds…kind of fun.”

“Great,” Yelena grins. “I’ll tell the others.”

She turns to the kitchen and immediately whispers, “CODE GREEN. IT’S HAPPENING.”

Alexei appears in the doorway holding a bowling pin. “Should I bring this?”

“Where did you even get that—?”

Later that evening, at the retro-style bowling alley downtown, Bob walks in beside Yelena and Bucky, eyes wide. Lights flash, music plays softly overhead, and the smell of nachos lingers in the air.

“Oh! You made it!” you call, waving from a booth where Ava and John are already laughing over a shared plate of fries.

Bob freezes for a half-second, then smiles.

“You’re here,” he says, surprised but clearly pleased.

“So are you,” you grin, nudging him playfully when he sits beside you. “Wanna bowl with me?”

“I’ve never bowled before.”

“That makes two of us,” you whisper. “We’ll figure it out together.”

From across the alley, Yelena sips her soda, watching like a proud general. “Look at them,” she sighs. “So awkward. So wholesome.”

“Should we tell him this was your whole plot?” Bucky asks.

“Never,” Yelena smirks. “Some things must remain secret for love to bloom.”

Alexei approaches with an armful of snacks and a bowling glove. “WHO IS READY FOR COMPETITION?”

“Oh no,” John mutters.

Bob, however, doesn’t notice the chaos about to unfold. He’s too busy laughing softly with you as you both awkwardly figure out how to input your names into the scoreboard.

You choose your initials. He chooses BOB, which in the all-caps default of the bowling TV, looks incredible. You giggle.

He writes yours in next, glancing at you before doing it. You smile.

It’s not dramatic or glamorous. But it’s warm, and it’s real. And as Bob picks up his bowling ball and almost drops it on his own foot, he looks at you and thinks:

This is nice. I could get used to this.

taglist

@spaceycat @vidanand @xo-cench @raikan624 @yeehawgiddyup13 @wpdarlingpan @puer-aurea

just thunderbolts/bob

@papitas-con-sal @yesshewrites1

[noctiva]

Okay but imagine Toby doing all that with his partner. NEEEED to be pinned down & ruined by this man. forest floor sex 🤤🤤

BIG OLD CW: this is one nasty ass drabble. cnc, rough outdoor sex, heavy degradation

Count me tf in. Especially if its like full on roleplay <3 likeeee you’re stumbling clumsily through the woods like some protag in a horror movie, blood pumping as your heart races in your chest - your stomach twisting with a mixture of fear and arousal.

Today had given you a thirty second head start, but you’re quickly learning that it didn’t matter at all. He was quick, and quiet. Years of doing this exact thing honing his stealth skills down to a near perfect degree. Almost as if he was gliding over the ground rather than running, his heavy boots barely making a sound as he pursues you. Maybe that was worse than if you could hear him, because you dont realize how close he is until he speaks.

”B-Breaking a sweat yet, lamm?” It sounds like he was right behind you, a few feet away at most. And he sounds so unbothered, so unaffected by the strain of the chase.

You were wheezing, lungs aching with each breath in. Your mouth was dry as a desert from gasping in lungful after lungful of crisp forest air, your eyes watering from the force of the wind hitting them. You felt like you were second away from collapsing, calves screaming every time your feet hit the ground.

And yet Toby, was laughing at you. “Poor thing.” You hear him snicker, closer this time. “C-C’mon, just give up! Y-You’re just makin’ yourself look p-pathetic.”

You let out a strained grunt, your teeth grit as you force yourself forwards more - hair whipping in the wind and sticking to your sweat slick skin. The adrenaline was definitely helping.Maybe, if you kept up this pace you could outrun him.

But, the forest was on Toby’s side. Of course it was. It was his domain after all, you were just a trespasser.

Your foot snags - on a root, on a fallen branch, you don’t even know - but with the speed you were going at it practically catapults you. You yelp as your feet hit the ground, and when your body collides with the dirt, it knocks the wind out of you. You wheeze, your eyes blowing open wide as you ears ring - but through the shock of the impact you can still make out one noise.

Toby laughing. Cackling, actually. Laughing so hard you’d be surprised if he wasn’t doubled over with it, but you don’t have the strength to look. Good thing he helps you with that. Within seconds you feel fingers curling into your hair and holding on tight, getting a nice fistful before he’s yanking your head backwards with such a force it makes your neck crack. “C-Caught you.” He leaning down to snicker into your ear, his voice rotted with sadistic glee. “Shoulda luh-looked where you were goin’.”

All you manage out is a strangled whimper, stars still dancing in your vision as you blink against the darkness. Toby doesn’t seem to mind the lack of response - if anything he might just like it. “D-Don’t you look defeated.” He snorts before letting go of your hair, letting your face smush back into the dirt. “Don’t tell me you a-actually though you were gonna win?”

You let out a soft huff, and he fucking cackles. “Cute, cute.” You feel something hard and heavy pressing against the back of your skull - the blunt end of his hatchet’s handle - before he’s using the leverage to smush your face even more into the earth below you. “Think i-its time for me to claim my winnings, hm?”

You barely have time to answer before he’s on you, dropping the hatchet in favour of slipping his gloved fingers under the waistband of your shorts - tugging them down in one swift move. “No panties?” Course not, that was a part of the game. “L-Lucky me, I caught a s-slut.”

You let out a pitiful yelp when one hand pulls your hips upwards, the other one pressing down between your shoulder blades to force your body into a mean arch - bare ass exposed to the cool night air, and when the breeze hits the slickness between your thighs you shiver. “A-And you’re wet? You’re o-one sick bitch. Soakin’ your fuckin’ shorts just cause of the fear.”

You hear his belt buckle come undone and you squirm fruitlessly just for show, which is immediately met with Toby forcing your body down further into the dirt. The pressure of his weight making all the air leave your lungs in a wheeze. “D-Don’t try and run away now.” His one hand is gripping your hip so tightly you’d swear it was bruising on contact. “F-Freak bitch. Just as fucked as I-I am, eh? Stupid slut’s just g-gonna take any cock she can get?”

”I’m not-“

”Sh-Shut the fuck up.” His voice is downright brutal as he pushes you further down, forcing a whimper out of your lungs. “Lie if you want, b-but your pussy’s tellin’ me the truth.” A wet slap to your cunt has you jolting, a confusing mixture of pain and pleasure blooming between your legs. Harsh, but it stings so good. Burns so good. Just like the stretch of his cock when he finally sinks into you.

Quick, without an ounce of prep, but the amount of slick you were gushing out makes it an easy glide as he pulls you back against him - getting every inch buried in your quivering body. It’s still a shock, still makes your eyes blow open wide. Still has you clawing at the dirt like a wounded animal, dirt caking under your fingernails.

You try to squirm free, but his grip his relentless - and so is the pace he picks up. He fucks you like it’s a punishment, like you had offended him by running away. Snapping his hips into yours as one hand snakes down into your hair again - using it as leverage to smush your face harder into the dirt. Getting some of it in your mouth because your jaw’s gone slack, pathetically trying to spit it out between moans.

“Tryna tell me you d-didn’t want this.” He rasps from behind you. “Fuh-Fuckin’ listen to you. You moan like a whore.”

You’re half convinced your ass is going to be bruised just from the sheer force of his hips slamming into yours, punching moans out of your lungs with each thrust in. Fucking into you like he owned the cunt he was abusing. (He did.) “Nasty fuckin’ b-bitch. Soakin’ my cock even though I might just lob your p-pretty little head off when I’m done.” You tighten up around him, and he’s barking out a laugh. “Oh, you really are fucked. You get dropped as a baby or somethin’?”

You can’t answer. Not with how much of an incoherent mess you’ve turned into. Drool and tears smeared across your face, dirt caked into your fucking teeth as your face drags against the ground with each thrust in. “You g-gonna cum to the idea of me killin’ you?” You let out a gargled whine. “You l-like thinkin’ about me slashin’ your throat wide open?”

Evidently, yes, because you’re cumming mere seconds after the words leave his mouth - tears springing to your eyes from the intensity, your body all but convulsing beneath him as you sob into the dirt.

The depravity of it all, is what sends Toby right down with you.

He slams his cock in deep, nestling right up against your womb when he spills into you - his head tilting back as he lets out a drawn out gravelly groan. His grip on your hips still like a vice, holding you there, forcing you to take every drop.

When he’s finally had his fill, he releases you, and you crumple. Body near limp as your lay sprawled against the forest floor - your mind dazed as you just barely register the feeling of his cum leaking down your thighs.

And you’re just about to tap out completely, your eyes heavy and fluttering, but then there’s a hand - calloused and rough, devoid of his gloves, gently cradling your face and tilting it upwards. “S-Still with me, pretty girl?”

All the harshness from before is gone. Fizzled out to make way for honey sweet adoration dripping from every letter. Through your blurry vision, you can just barely make out his face - but you can tell his gaze is fond as his words. “I d-didn’t break you did I?”

“No.” You murmur out softly, leaning into his touch. Toby smiles, smoothing his thumb against your cheek.

“No? Was I t-too mean?”

You let out a little shaky sigh before looking up to meet his gaze, your lips curling into a tired smile.

“Wasn’t mean enough.”

And Toby laughs. Not wicked and sadistic like he did before. Soft and warm, an amused little chuckle that makes your battered body feel gooey.

“Noted. G-Guess I’ll just have to try harder next time.” Then he’s bending down, scooping your limp body up into his arms like you weight nothing. Cradling your head as it comes to rest against his shoulder, leaning his down to press a soft kiss into your hair. “Now, let’s g-get you cleaned up, yeah?”

[zoomup07]

𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖

~ 𝑯𝒆𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒓𝒂!𝑺𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ~

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: After being sold to the King of Curses to have a chance at being one of his ever-coveted concubines, you decide that you have other plans. You’ve heard about his reign of terror and you want no part of it. You attempt your escape, but unfortunately for you, Sukuna loves the chase.

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: NSFW/18+, cat and mouse dynamic, fear, sukuna is a menace, non-con elements, future angst, future smutt, future fluff, toxic (but he changes), slowww burn, sukuna and reader are both stubborn as hell

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1320

This is just a teaser! I’m still finishing the fic, but let me know if you’d like to be tagged for when I post it!

Your heart is beating out of its chest. A row of women, you included, all kneel in the throne room, waiting for your fates to be sealed. One of you will become an ever-coveted concubine for the King of Curses. The rest? Probably dead. Or eaten. Or chased for sport. Or whatever the cruel king wishes to do.

You almost laugh at the thought. A king? No no no, more like a demon. The terror he’s inflicted upon countless lands is immeasurable; only something a devil could do. No human could be capable of his power, his glory, and his unabashed cruelty, at least, not any human you know of.

Proof of this is shown in the evidence of violence all around you. It seems the demon enjoys using the corpses he collects as “furniture”. “Furniture” is a generous word because the throne before you has no structure, only consisting of a huge pile of bones, many of which are still bloody or charred. Because of the dim lighting, it’s hard to tell if there is anything else making up his throne but you decide that it’s best if you don’t know. How could someone live like this?

If the stories you’ve been told are true, you want nothing to do with this place. You want nothing to do with him. More like an it. He just can’t be human. He can’t be, but you’re not sticking around to find out. You need to find a way out of this. Your parents may have given up on you and sold you to this demon king, but you haven’t given up on yourself just yet. You’d rather die than be sold to him or anyone else.

Looking around, you see the women beside you gazing down at the floor with solemn eyes. You look to your left to find…nobody. You glance to your right, past the women and also see nobody. The fact that nobody even guards this room is telling enough. The king doesn’t expect anyone to defy his orders. He’s fully aware of the paralyzing fear he inflicts and he uses it to his advantage. However, you’re not one to succumb to intimidation. You have nothing to lose.

Slowly, you stand up. The women kneeling immediately whip their heads to you, confused and terrified. They must know what you’re about to do.

“What are you doing?” one of them asks.

“I’m leaving.”

“No! He’ll catch you! He has eyes everywhere!” another one whispers-yells.

“I’m not staying for this. He’s just going to slaughter me anyway!”

You turn, quickly trying to find an exit. Finding one, you run as quietly as you can, which isn’t an easy feat. You’re desperate. Desperate to get out and never return.

You run through endless halls. Endless chasms of blood red walls and no exits until finally, you find what looks to be the entrance. You’re about to run out until you hear a voice.

“What are you doing?” The voice, ice cold and unfeeling, belongs to someone with hair like blood in the snow. You can feel yourself shiver, whether that be from nerves or them.

“I-“ Your words are caught in your throat, but you muster up enough courage to speak. “I’m leaving.”

They look at you with an unreadable expression. “You’re leaving?” they ask, but it sounds more like a statement.

“Yes. Are you going to stop me?” you question with mock confidence. They look at you with an analyzing and calculating look. You pray that they can’t see the way you’re shaking like a leaf.

After a pause that lasts too long, the corners of their mouth slightly twitch up, as if they’re trying to hide their amusement. “I won't stop you.”

Suspicion overwhelms you, but you keep up your act. “Good,” you say. You look back to the entrance and hesitantly step out, then turn your head back to them. They nod their head, signaling that it’s okay. Without a second thought, you bolt.

You run and run and run, the adrenaline making you faster. You laugh like a madman, ecstatic to be free. You’re out and you’ll never go back. What a stupid king! His arrogance saved you. You don’t know what you’d do if he had soldiers wandering about. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you escaped.

Eventually, you make it to a forest filled with vines and shrubs. Sunlight is nonexistent here except for the small rays that show through the gaps in the leaves. The darkness may shield you, but it also shields potential enemies. You tread slowly and carefully through the countless obstacles, swiping away the branches that scratch your skin.

This place is never-ending, just like that damn shrine. You’re growing exhausted; you just want a place to rest. A place to start a fire for when it gets dark, a place to catch your breath, a place to just be for a minute. However, that feat seems impossible at the moment, which makes you curse in frustration.

Then you hear it. The snap of a twig. A lot of twigs actually. Your heart jumps and you freeze. However, you find nobody around you, so you decide to keep walking.

Another snap of so many twigs makes your anxiety skyrocket. Normally, you would contribute it to some animal but your exhaustion is clouding your judgement, making you paranoid. What do you do? Do you stay here frozen in place? Do you scream? Play dead?

Run! your mind screams. Run!

Your legs move without your permission and you rush forward. You’ve significantly slowed down due to your fatigue but you don’t let that stop you. However, you’re forcefully stopped anyway when you trip and crash onto the forest floor. Pain explodes throughout your body, especially from your knee. A groan escapes your throat as you sit up. Your knee is bloody and raw. You blow on it to dry the blood, but your knee suddenly feels like fire. “Fuck!!!”

You immediately cover your mouth. Any noise could alert your surroundings of your presence.

You hear a low laugh from a distance. “Stupid girl, hiding like a little mouse.”

You stay deadly silent, afraid to even breathe.

A moment passes.

Then, you see him.

He’s tall. Unnaturally tall. His chest is broad and there is not one inch of him that’s not sculpted by muscle. He has…four arms. No…no it can’t be him. You hesitantly bring your gaze to his face. Half of it is distorted by some scar? A burn? The scar holds two large eyes that are pinned on you. The other side of his face looks relatively normal except for the fact that he also has two eyes on that side as well. Tattoos adorn his face and his body, some covered by the kimono tied around his waist since he couldn’t be bothered to put it on fully.

You recognize him, and your face must show it because his face morphs into a toothy grin.

“You know who I am?” His voice rumbles.

You can’t answer because all words die from your throat. You know who he is. He knows that you know.

“I know who you are,” he says as he gets closer. “I know that you thought you could get away. I suppose nobody told you that I like a little chase.”

The realization dawned on you. That snow-haired person must’ve said something. Of course they wouldn’t just let you go. Why would anyone who serves that demon ever defy his trust? Especially when the consequences of that would be dire.

The demon king kneels down, though he is still impossibly tall, and gently grabs your face, squishing your cheeks and making your quivering lips pucker. He brings his face down until his nose is practically an inch away.

“None of that matters now. All that matters is that…” he mutters with a sneer.

“I’ve caught you.”

Ask in the comments to be added to the tag list!

[catssluvr]

sweet scent, travis martinez

butch!lumberjack!travis martinez x college!fem!reader (616 words) (request)

in which your girlfriend (gladly) disrupts your peace while you're making dinner.

꩜꩜

You hum along the song playing on the radio, wiping your hands on your apron as you finish washing the various vegetables.

Moving to the counter, you start chopping them as your dog shuffles to lay by your feet. The last rays of sunshine flash through the window in front of you, warming your skin in a pleasant way.

The pan on the stove starts to leave a delightful smell in the air, your stomach growling slightly at the thought of a nice and warm meal.

You want nothing more than to finally hear the door open, followed by Travis and her way too good looking while sweaty face. She's been out for the whole day, fixing the fence that broke last week.

Not that you haven't kept busy for the whole day, writing and finishing most of your assignment while you still can and have the quiet that it requires.

Almost as faith, you hear the door slam shut. Followed by the sound of your girlfriend taking off her boots and settling them down.

Her steps follow down the hall, catching the sight of her raven hair as she walks into the kitchen from the corner of your eye. The golden retriever by your feet practically jumps, throwing himself on her while barking happily.

"Hey, bud. I missed you too." Travis scratches behind his ears, smiling widely at the pet.

She moves swiftly, coming to wrap her arms around your waist from behind.

"Hi, baby." She says gently, pressing a long kiss to your jaw and nuzzling into your neck.

"Hey there." You smile, reaching to squeeze her hand where it's resting on your stomach.

"Smells really good." She hums and you're not sure if she means the food or you, her nose pretty much buried in your neck.

"Making you a warm meal. You deserve it after that day you had." You express, moving to throw the already chopped vegetables into the pan.

"You didn't have to." Her cheeks turn into a soft shade of pink, always shy with the attention she's receiving. You can't help but grin at her, heart warming at the way her eyes glint.

"I know. I wanted to." You retort softly.

"Thank you." Her lips press to your shoulder messily.

You finally have the opportunity to turn and look at her. She has her checkered button up tied around her waist, arms exposed to the warm air because of her white and slightly stained tank top. Her black pants hang low on her waist, giving you the best view of her toned abs.

"What?" She questions after you look at her for a second too long.

"Nothing. You're just very handsome." You confess moving to press your lips to her for a quick peck.

"You're too nice, baby." Travis giggles, hiding her face on your hair.

"Wanna go shower or are you too hungry?"

"Don't feel like it just yet." She says, opening the fridge to pull out a cool beer.

You hum, "M'kay. We'll just shower later then." You confirm, catching the way she grins at the word 'us'.

"Great." She answer, pulling herself up to sit on the counter while you finish cooking.

Calling your name softly to turn your attention back to her, you almost don't catch the way her lips move to mouth a soft 'i love you'.

You smile with teeth, shaking your head to yourself at the all too teenage like feeling. You reach to squeeze her thigh, not having to say the words to know she understands you feel exactly the same way.

[auchrauch]

A (not so) detailed post about the current project I'm working on

Bringing here a slightly more extended version of my post from bluesky.

Please be nice because I might have one more thing to share with TGCF fandom.

I want to make a short visual novel featuring hualian in post-canon. Emphasis on "want to" because with a project of this scale I can't guarantee that it'll end up as a fully finished thing.

The original idea behind me starting this was simply "hualian having a wholesome day", though the mood slightly shifted towards something a bit more melancholic after I picked up a poem after which I named the game. (The poem's "Spring morning" by Meng Haoran). There is no continious heavy plot, just various SFW and NSFW routes which aren't connected between themselves (or are they?)

I tried to include different dynamics, so you can expect to see the classics (Top HC/Bottom XL) as well as versatile hualian (these routes can be hidden if someone doesn't fancy it). I also should mention that my understanding of characters and their dynamic can differ from what's considered the "norm" in the fandom, but I refuse to slap OOC label on my work because that's how I perceived these characters while reading the book and I'll be sticking to it. Oh, and I'm also following the revised version so there could be offhand mentions of events from the new extra or other small details like that.

I'm planning to release the final SFW version of the game for free (if it'll be finished at all), though I'm still not sure if I should hide NSFW version behind a paywall. Maybe I'll make one-time purchase posts for intermediate beta-builds too, so people can have a glimpse of what is in the works. Ideally I'd like to have at least some monetary support while working on this project, but providing consistent updates and materials in the patreon format wouldn't work for me, since, aside from commissions to pay my rent, the other project I'm involved with as an artist already takes a lot of my time.

So I can't give any dates and promises and will be simply working on this at my own pace.

So far, I have a complete (not proofread and not fully edited) script for all the routes as well as a working base for the game in renpy. I'm also almost done with UI and I made a couple of backgrounds, but that's nothing compared to how many more of them I still need. (You'll be subjected to looking at the picture attached to the post over and over again at the every start of the game).

For the next step, I'll probably focus on one route at a time and start filling them with visual assets.

I also can't decide whether I should stick to British or American English because:

1) This stupid gaijin can't differentiate between the two anyway.

2) I already started using "arse" yet I lost all the "u"s from my "ou"s and now I don't know which to change.

I'd like to hear which one people prefer more.

If you want to help in some way—I'm having trouble with sound design part as I'm locked out of purchasing anything from international sites/commissioning someone from overseas, and I don't want to risk commissioning assets for a NSFW lgbt game from anyone local since it' simply not a safe move. If you know any good resources that distribute sfx/sounds/music under a free flexible license please share! I'm using GDC royalty free archives but this obviously doesn't cover all my needs.

Idk what else to say here. Send help? Prayers for my sanity? Donations so I can pay my rent??? God, what am I even doing.

Here's the assortment of some early wips I already shared elsewhere:

[kittenninja14]

WELPPP the time for me to ramble has come loll. HEHE >:3

anyways one of my fav parts of the new trailer is this part in the interview... like the way he says it... the anguish, the frustration, the desperation in his voice...

and like I've seen some hate circling about this scene with people saying that Superman getting all emotional Is just him being "angry and "acting juvenile". Some are even going as far as calling it a "temper tantrum" and while maybe on the first watch it might seem like an accurate way to describe this scene...

but rewatching it, i've come to realize that it's actually not a temper tantrum or him being "overly emotional or juvenile"

This is actually such a really interestingly complex, yet beautifully appropriate reaction for Supes.

Because, take it from Clark's POV. He's trying to help. In his mind he saved thousands. And the questions that are asked paint him as a villain. As the "bad guy". All because he wanted to help.

Him getting emotional and frustrated is completely valid imo.

I just love how David portrayed Clark here... because like... this is Superman.

In his mind, its not about what others think or which country it happens in, in his mind its "if I have these powers I'm using it to save people regardless of politics, race, differences, etc" and like... I love it?!?

The way David so beautifully shows the almost-offended, indignant, desperation of Clark in that moment is amazing.

The frustration in his voice when he says "I wasn't representing anybody except for ME" ADTFDSBSD YESS EXACTLYYY

Because Superman isn't JUST for America.... He's for the world.

THATS who superman is.

ANd you can see how much it frustrates him that him saving peoples lives makes him the bad guy just because it doesn't fit the government's agenda. AJHGBMSSFBNF LIKE HELLO!??!? THIS IS SO AMAZING!!

AND LIKE... THAT PART "PEOPLE WERE GOING TO DIE" BROO HE SOUNDS SOOO GOOOD?!?!

LIKE YOU CAN HEAR THE ANGUISH AND, LIKE, HOW IT SOUNDS LIKE CLARK'S ALMOST ABOUT TO CRASH OUT BC LIKE HE CANT IMAGINE WHY PPL ARE HATING HIM FOR DOING NOTHING BUT GOOD AKJFYTSHFDSNBFS

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH THIS PART REALLY WAS AMAZING TO ME I JUST LOVED IT SMM BC IT REALLY SHOWS SUPERMAN'S HEART HERE.

He isn't just the Man of Tomorrow--the Beacon of Hope--only for the United States... He's that for everyone.

and he WANTS to be that for everyone.

but he can't without being hated upon.

but that's why I find Gunn's version is so interesting. Because it asks the question, "can Superman work irl with all the politics and conflicts"

AHHHHHH THIS MOVIE IS GONNA MAKE ME CRY I SWEAR STGFNHGS <33

https://kittenninja14.tumblr.com/post/731916269075480576/hey-yall-i-just-found-this-incredible-video-and

[kallie-den]

Best Timeline

A magical girl is defeated by a time-warping villainess who alters the past in order to alter the magical girl’s personality

Another patron-voted story, featuring reality warp, gradual corruption, and an upbeat magical girl getting turned into a dumb little henchwoman :)

If you like my writing, please consider supporting me on Patreon!  For less than the price of a cup of coffee each month, you can get immediate, early access to everything I write - 4 pieces of hypno-smut a  month, including the latest chapters of all the multi-chapter stories I write. Your support helps me keep writing and is greatly appreciated <3

---

Luster Red could hear almost nothing over the sound of the bells chiming as she stood at the top of the huge clock tower and faced down her nemesis. She was surrounded by a hundred leering clock faces, each one registering a different time and yet sounding in eerie unison, a temporal paradox the magical girl had long since stopped trying to make sense of. The only mercy Luster Red—or Naomi Kanaka, as most knew her—found in the din was that it stopped her from hearing the pounding of her own fearful heart or the mocking laughter of Lady Kaira, the time-warping villainess she had come to stop.

Yes, Luster Red was afraid. After all, Lady Kaira’s countless minions had incapacitated all four of her teammates, leaving her to fight alone against the darkness. But fear wasn’t all that she felt. Luster Red summoned up all the rest—all her hope, all her justice, all her love and loyalty for her friends—and let them shine out from her in a gentle, luminous glow that, somehow, held even Lady Kaira’s darkness at bay.

“Lady Kaira!” Luster Red cried, ribbons and pigtails billowing dramatically as she adopted her signature pose. “Prepare to face the sparkling light of justice!”

Beyond the reach of her magic’s glow, the shadows were thick and oppressive—and amid them stood Lady Kaira. A demonic being from another world on the threshold of apotheosis, she was beginning to shed her mortal form like a moth discarding its cocoon. Its corporeal boundaries seemed to fray with the dimming of the light, and from her protruded long, reaching, shadowy tentacles that were slick and wet with an unearthly vileness. All the same, she was unnaturally beautiful; tall, willowy, shapely, and with a forceful seductiveness that Lady Kaira often put to good use. Her face, too, was captivating, even as her eyes shimmered with impossible colors and her malicious grin stretched far, far too wide for any human face.

“Foolish girl,” Lady Kaira cackled, seeming to grow in stature as she brought her strength to bear against Luster Red. “Just like your insipid friends, you will fail and you will-“ She broke off and hissed abruptly as the glow around Luster Red surged, repelling her shadows. “Impossible!”

“No.” Luster Red shook her head slowly, bringing her fist to her chest. “With love, everything is possible.”

“But how can one girl have such strength?”

“Because it’s not all mine.”

Luster Red opened her fist. In the palm of her hand, floated not merely her own spark—but five. Five magical gems, each one the source of a magical girl’s power, orbiting one another like stars. Yes, her friends had fallen to Lady Kaira and her army of mindless, uniformed grunts, but they had bequeathed their magic to Luster Red, their leader.

And she wasn’t going to let them down.

“Minions!” Lady Kaira screeched. “Defend me!”

Half a dozen women leapt forward from behind her. Each wore a skin-tight, sleek, shiny,  black, rubber uniform on their bodies—emblazoned, of course, with the symbol of their mistress—and a look of mindless, slavish devotion on their faces. Luster Red wasn’t sure where Lady Kaira got her grunts from. She just knew they were completely brainwashed and surprisingly strong.

After a few well-placed blows and magical blasts, they were left lying on the ground in a heap.

Lady Kaira hissed venomously. “More!”

“There are no more,” Luster Red informed her. The glow surrounding her was brighter than ever. “You’re alone, Lady Kaira. This is the end.”

The final battle. The final confrontation. Luster Red had been scared of this for so long, even though she tried not to show it. She wasn’t scared anymore. Her friends were all lying unconscious, but they were still with her. She could do this.

“You are nothing,” Lady Kaira spat, but she coiled her tentacles back around herself defensively. “I hold mastery over time itself. I can change the timeline with a snap of my fingers. Take one step toward me and I’ll make it so you were never even born!”

Luster Red took the step.

“Empty threats,” the magical girl retorted, when nothing happened. “You’re not as strong as you pretend to be, Lady Kaira. I can see right through you. If you can wipe me out as easily as that, why didn’t you do it a long time ago?”

Lady Kaira said nothing, but the livid, mutinous look on her face let Luster Red know she was on the right track.

“Just now, I figured it out,” she went on. “It’s because there are some things you simply can’t change. I’d always heard that becoming a magical girl was fate. I didn’t realize how true that was. Me getting this power… that’s fate, isn’t it? You can’t change it. Which means you can’t stop me.”

It was true. She could feel it. It was funny; Naomi had spent so much time doubting herself. Doubting that she deserved to be Luster Red. That she deserved to be the leader her friends needed. But now she knew. It was written in the stars.

How could she possibly lose?

“I grew up,” Luster Red began slowly, “in a poor neighborhood on the South Side, watching shows and news reports about magical girls with stars in my eyes. I grew out of it, but then, when I was seventeen and feeling lost and confused, I joined a silly little magical girl fan forum online, and I realized that looking up to magical girls could help me find my way.”

The light shining from within her grew. It was a blaze. It held the darkness at bay.

“I always struggled with being shy,” Luster Red went on, “but on my first day of college at Juban U, I decided to be brave just like my magical girl heroes and reach out to some of the other girls. It was the best decision I ever made. Now, we’re the best of friends—and ever since graduation day, when our magical girl sparks chose us, we’ve been fighting at each other’s sides.”

She took another step forward. The light moved with her, beating back Lady Kaira’s shadows. Even the deafening clocks all around them seemed to grow quiet.

“Now, I just turned twenty-three. I’ve been a magical girl for two years. I’m not a shy, uncertain little girl anymore. I’m a hero. I’m a leader. I am Naomi Kanaka—Luster Red!” Luster Red dropped into a fighting stance and smiled the brilliant, gentle, confident smile that had soothed the hearts of so many she’d saved. “And in the name of all that is light and good, I’ll punish you!”

It felt good to make that little speech. To gather up all her convictions, and the life that had led her to them, and fix them firmly in her mind. Now more than ever, Luster Red felt ready to confront Lady Kaira.

Until the supernatural villainess threw back her head and howled with mocking, cruel laughter.

“W-what’s so funny?” Luster Red asked. She no longer sounded quite so firm.

“You foolish girl!” Lady Kaira crowed. “You’ve just given me exactly what I need.”

Luster Red’s blood ran cold. “What do you mean?”

“You’re right that you’re destined to be a magical girl,” Lady Kaira conceded. “I can’t stop that from happening. But you’d be surprised by just how little that really means. No; what was keeping you safe was simply that I didn’t know who you were. I didn’t know when to go back to, or how best to change your timeline. But you’ve just given me everything I could possibly ask for, in a single, self-righteous little instruction manual.”

At once, all the blood drained from Luster Red’s.

“No, wait!” she cried, and surged forward, fists blazing with crimson magic. She had to end this. She had to stop Lady Kaira before she could-

Luster Red hadn’t made it a single step before Lady Kaira raised a hand and snapped her fingers.

***

Naomi Kanaka couldn’t help but blush as she clicked on the link to the magical girl forum. Seventeen really was too old to be so into magical girls, wasn’t it? Sure, everybody knew that they were out there, fighting bad guys and keeping people safe, but none of the other students at Naomi’s high school seemed to spend very much time thinking about magical girls. They were passé. A childish fascination. Something you were meant to grow out of.

Not for Naomi.

But then, she’d never been much like those other girls. Naomi was awkward, gangly, uncertain, and shy. She wasn’t pretty. She had a strong sense of justice, but it never seemed to do anything but get her into trouble. Naomi was isolated. She was alone.

No, worse than that—she was nothing. She didn’t know who she was, or how to define herself. Naomi felt like a ghost. She drifted through her daily life, and nobody else seemed to actually see her. Naomi was beginning to doubt that there was anything for them to see.

Amid her teenage depression, as part of her quest to figure out who she was, Naomi had decided to turn to the one thing she knew that, deep down, she’d always loved most: magical girls. Naomi had grown up on magical girl stories, glued to the news for the slightest hope of catching footage of a magical girl in action. As embarrassing as it was, it was a passion, and Naomi was hoping that reaching out to connect with other people with the same passion might help her feel less alone.

Naomi created an account on www.magigirlsuperfans-forum.com and logged in. She was just about to start browsing discussion topics when her browser was lit up with a notification. It was a direct message! Excited, Naomi clicked to view it:

LadyK: Hello Naomi. Let me show you around.

Naomi shivered. Someone was actually messaging her! It felt amazing—even if she was a little unsure how ‘LadyK’ knew her name. Maybe it was on her profile somewhere. She didn’t think so, but she wasn’t going to let her uncertainty stop her from connecting with a fellow fan.

Kanana99: omg hi! yes please!! was just gonna write a lil introduction in the newcomers thread but then I’d love that <3

The reply came right away:

LadyK: Don’t bother with that. I have something much more exciting for you to see. Click this.

She sent a link along with the message. Naomi was cautious, of course—but this stranger was being so friendly. She didn’t want to put them off. So, she clicked the link. To her surprise, she was taken to a small sub-forum she didn’t seem to have access to before, and when her eyes scanned over the thread topics and preview images, they widened in scandalized disbelief.

It was porn. All of it. She had been linked to a sub-forum for sharing magical girl porn.

Naomi’s cheeks burned—but she didn’t look away. After all, it wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about it. She’d had fantasies about magical girls for as long as she could remember. Naomi had always chalked it up as an outgrowth of her childhood fascination. She’d never told anyone, though. It had always seemed so shameful. But if there was an entire community of people just like her…

Kanana99: wow, um… wow. this is really something ><            LadyK: That’s right. Much more interesting than a bunch of insipid, upbeat fawning don’t you think?

Naomi wasn’t so sure about that. She loved fawning over her favorite heroes, after all. But before she could register a protest, she received another message:

LadyK: Did you see this thread?

Another link. Naomi clicked and found herself staring at a long thread devoted entirely to, of all things, villainesses—and more particularly, to their minions. There was post after post of masked, uniformed grunts, photography and artwork, most of them dressed in the kind of shiny, skin-tight that, for some reason, villainesses seemed to favor. And all of it was shamelessly, scandalously erotic.

As she scrolled through the pages, Naomi’s eyes just kept widening. Her lips were parted breathlessly. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She couldn’t believe how it was making her feel. It was as if something was being awakened inside her. She’d thought about magical girls before, yes, but not about villains. Not about grunts.

But it made so much sense. Hadn’t she always idolized them as much as the magical girls, in her own way? Hadn’t there always been a delicious stirring in her stomach whenever she’d seen a powerful, beautiful villainess crowing over a defeated hero, or cruelly punishing her weak underlings?

Now that she thought about it, wasn’t it getting her shamelessly hot and bothered?

Another message. Naomi glanced at the chat window:

LadyK: Haven’t you ever wondered what it must feel like to be one of those lowly, brainwashed grunts, utterly loyal and devoted to your glorious, domineering mistress?

Naomi wasn’t sure she had—but she certainly was now. She kept scrolling, and it was all she could think about. With each moment that passed, the idea cemented itself deeper into her young, impressionable mind. It was the uniforms—sleek, tight, shiny. It was the brainwashing—twisted, evil, all-consuming. It was the loyalty—the sense of purpose, of devotion, unshakeable. It was the punishment, even; being subjected to the cruel, sadistic whims of an all-powerful villainess. And so many of them were just so, so beautiful…

Before she knew it, Naomi’s fantasies with stained through in a new, dark color. And being an evil villainess’s brainwashed, devoted slave was all she could think about.

Just barely, she managed to shake herself out of her dreamy stupor so that she could reply to her new friend, but when she looked, the chat seemed to have closed. Naomi tried to navigate to LadyK’s profile, but she couldn’t find it. It was like it had never existed at all.

Her new friend was gone. But somehow, Naomi wasn’t dismayed. Right in front of her eyes, on this sub-forum full of porn, were hundreds more new friends to meet. Naomi had found herself. She had found her people. Sure, it was a little embarrassing that her people were a collection of villainess-loving perverts, but her newfound sense of euphoria was more than enough to blot that out.

Without a second thought, Naomi returned to scrolling through the forum thread about villainess grunts, and let her hand gradually stray between her thighs.

***

Luster Red’s head throbbed dangerously. It wasn’t just the sound of the bells of Lady Kaira’s clocks as they rang out discordantly around her. It was the sensation of her own memories warping and distending as her own past was rewritten.

"You… that was… you?” Luster Red asked, overcome with desperate confusion. “On the f-forum… but… but that didn’t happen? But I…”

“I assure you, it most certainly did,” Lady Kaira laughed. Her eyes shone with an unnatural, crimson glow that made her seem more inhuman than ever. “Now that I’ve inserted myself into your timeline.”

“No!” Luster Red gasped.

But there was no denying it. As she strained against the pain to look clearly at her foe, Luster Red could see the entire world shifting around her—rippling, like disturbed water across the surface of the pond. The walls, the floor, the sky outside—all of it. Lady Kaira stood alone at the very center of the ripples, untouched by them, her very presence the source of the temporal corruption Luster Red was witnessing.

And she was so unbelievably hot.

Beautiful. Sinister. Evil. Monstrous. Perfect. All those words and many more came into Luster Red’s mind as she stared dumbstruck at Lady Kaira. Perfect most of all. She was exactly Luster Red’s type, to a truly embarrassing, flustering degree. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before.

No, wait, she thought to herself. Noticed… before? But it hadn’t been true before… had it? Luster Red wasn’t sure. She couldn’t keep the two timelines straight, as they overlapped in her head. The truth—the original truth—was rapidly slipping through her grasp. Luster Red clasped at her head and groaned as she struggled to remember.

She remembered plastering her college dorm with posters of villainesses. She remembered embracing her fantasies about being turned into a brainwashed minion every time she needed to get off. She remembered blushing from the irony when she’d been chosen to become a magical girl. She remembered how flustered she’d always been whenever she and her friends had found themselves fighting against Lady Kaira and her schemes.

Always?

Yes, always.

Luster Red blushed deeply as she tried to look directly at Lady Kaira without letting her attraction show. This was no time for the lurid fantasies that threatened to flood her head. She was in danger. Extreme danger. Shamefully, after just a few seconds, she was overcome by how hot her nemesis was and had to avert her gaze. Glancing down at Lady Kaira’s prone, latex-clad minions did little to help her plight. All it did was add a flicker of envy to Luster Red’s churning emotions.

“Luster Red,” Lady Kaira purred, extending her shadowy tendrils toward the magical girl. “Naomi. Consider this: join me. I’ll even spare your friends.”

Luster Red hated the way she shivered with pleasure as she saw those tentacles drip with unholy ichor.

“J… join you?” she whimpered.

The time-warping ripples were beginning to ebb. As they did, Luster Red noticed the skirt of her magical girl costume retreat several inches and her blouse tighten noticeably around her chest. She recalled once being told that the state of her costume reflected the purity of her heart. So much for that, then.

Moments later, she stopped thinking about it at all. After all, her costume had always been that way.

“Just think about it,” Lady Kaira implored. “I can tell you have a certain… longing for the dark side. A certain yearning for the boot of a powerful woman such as myself. I promise you, you would be perfectly at home amongst my minions.”

Luster Red gasped—and, against her will, started to drool a little. How did she know? Then, she caught what, exactly, Lady Kaira’s piercing gaze was directed at. As a gust of wind blew through the clock tower Luster Red’s skirt had lifted slightly, exposing her hip. And on it, as the very last temporal ripples faded, there appeared a small, black tattoo of the crest of Queen Nelenia—one of the most infamous villainesses of all time.

Luster Red blushed even deeper than before. She had gotten that tattoo on impulse, and she still didn’t regret it. It felt amazingly sinful, after all. But it certainly did make her costume’s short skirt even more embarrassing.

In light of that, the magical girl certainly couldn’t deny that Lady Kaira’s words had a ring of truth to them. Luster Red had always felt the allure of the dark. Ever since she’d developed her shameful little erotic fixation on villainesses and their minions at a crucial, formative moment. Even now, fantasies of corruption and submission clung to her. But that was just one part of what made Naomi Kanaka the girl she was.

And the rest of it was far, far more important.

“No way.” Luster Red steeled herself, and held Lady Kaira’s gaze. “I would never betray my friends like that! They’re my strength. They put their faith in me when they chose me as their leader. I won’t let them down!”

“Your friends, hm?” Far from dismayed by Luster Red’s refusal, Lady Kaira seemed only to be gleefully contemplating further malice. “Then it sounds like that’s where I should go next. College, yes?”

“No!” Luster Red cried desperately, as she realized what was about to happen. “Stop!”

Once again, Lady Kaira snapped her fingers.

***

Naomi Kanaka couldn’t resist the urge to clasp her arms around herself and make herself small as she peered around the corner to where the small group of four other freshman girls were talking. It was her first week of college and, so far, she had met absolutely nobody. It had been just as bad as she had feared. Naomi was simply too shy. Too introverted. She didn’t know how to get to know people. She’d tried looking for advice online, but it hadn’t helped.

‘Connect via mutual interests?’ How was she supposed to do that, exactly, when her main interest was fantasizing about evil villainesses?

Just around the corner from her, though, four other freshmen were getting to know each other. At first blush, they didn’t seem to have much in common, but it was clear that a shared desire for fellowship was bringing them together as they traded names, opinions, and stories. All of them seemed so nice and welcoming. It would be so easy to simply walk up to them, introduce herself, and ask if she could join in.

Except that for Naomi, it seemed like the hardest thing in the world.

Anxiety tied a bitter knot inside her. No matter how hard she tried to muster her courage, Naomi simply couldn’t quite bring herself to head around the corner.

What would her heroes do? That was what Naomi normally reached for when she was trying to motivate herself. Only, in this situation, it didn’t really help. Nowadays, all of her ‘heroes’ were cruel, evil villainesses. They didn’t care about making friends.

“What are you doing, Miss Kanaka?”

The strange voice, laced with abundant authority and sadism, made Naomi jump as she wheeled around to face whoever was speaking to her. She was about to cry out from the shock, but when she saw the woman looming over her, her voice died away into speechless awe.

The woman was tall. Impossibly tall, even. Her hair and clothes were jet black and her skin deathly pale, and her face was somehow terrifying. It was somehow as if she was puppeting herself, moving and holding her own body in an odd, disjointed reminiscent of no actual person. Her eyes, with their cold, red glow, seemed to betray her awful, inner truth, and the shadows clung to her in ways Naomi could not make sense of, wrapping around her like a cloak one moment, and the next, extending from her in a way that gave the impression of reaching, surging, dripping tendrils.

Naomi shivered. It was almost like she was speaking to a villainess.

But it couldn’t be, of course. There was just no way a supernatural villainess would be at Naomi’s college, talking to her.

That was simply too good to be true.

“C-can I help you?” Naomi squeaked, before something occurred. “I-I-I mean, um… who are you? H-how do you know my name?”

Speaking to her wasn’t easy. Between anxiety and attraction, Naomi found herself almost completely tongue-tied. Villainess or no, this woman was exactly her type. Embarrassingly so.

“Oh, I have a position here,” the woman told her, smirking. “You can call me… Professor Kaira.”

“P-p-professor!” Naomi squealed, turning bright red. “I’m s-s-sorry for being so r-rude!”

Instinctively, she bowed her head. She wanted to do much more than just that, of course. She wanted to throw herself on her knees before this dark goddess. To kiss her feet. To worship her. To beg and plead for praise and punishment.

Surreptitiously, Naomi pinched herself. She needed to get a grip. And perhaps she needed to limit her consumption of villainess porn a little.

“I came to fetch you,” Professor Kaira announced, laughing faintly at the look on Naomi’s face. “You’re late for your first training session, Miss Kanaka.”

"My… first…?” Naomi paled. She had no idea what the sinister professor was talking about.

“Fortunately, you’re almost in the right place. Over here.”

Professor Kaira took Naomi by the arm and, before the freshman could mount another protest, hauled her through an adjacent door and into a nearby practice room. Naomi’s confusion doubled when she saw practice mats all over the floor, and burly students wearing tight-fitting uniforms and protective headgear. She shook her head. No way. There had to be some mistake.

There was absolutely no way a girl like her had been signed up for the college wrestling team.

“Well?” Professor Kaira beckoned, smirking. “What are you waiting for?”

“I…” Naomi spluttered weakly. She wanted to protest, but Professor Kaira’s presence was overpowering. It was so hard to go against her. “B-but… I think…”

“Kanaka?” came a rough, commanding voice from inside. It was the coach, by the looks of it, bellowing in their direction. “That you? Get your ass in here! You’re late already!”

Another shivering pang speared Naomi’s stomach. Once again, her weakness for domineering women was proving to be her undoing. She felt herself bowing instinctively to the coach’s instruction, even though it was clear there had been some kind of awful mistake.

“Uh… um…” she replied nervously, already stepping forward. “B-but I have class in just a few-“

“Don’t worry about that,” the coach interrupted impatiently. “I’ll give you more than enough sports credits to make up for a little spotty attendance. You’re here to be an athlete, not a nerd.”

“Well…”

Naomi wasn’t so sure about that. While never close to the top of the class, she’d always been decidedly on the nerd side of the jock spectrum. She didn’t fit in very well with athletes, and she’d always needed plenty of study time to get her head around difficult concepts. Joining the wrestling team and skipping classes was definitely going to take a toll on her brains and her grades.

But what if that wasn’t such a bad thing?

Suddenly, Naomi saw this weird mishap for what it was: a blessing in disguise. She would never have joined the wrestling team on her own, but wasn’t it a great way to meet people? A chance to make something out of her college years? Naomi had promised herself that when she made it to college, she’d start saying ‘yes’ instead of ‘no’ to chances and opportunities. Seize the day!

Besides, now that she was looking at them, those tight-fitting wrestling squad uniforms were really, really hot. Not quite latex, but close enough to stroke Naomi’s kinks.

“Hurry up!” the coach bellowed. She was a burly, middle-aged woman, attractive in her own coarse, severe way. Naomi could get used to letting a woman like that order her around. “We need to get you on the mat and see what you can do. A scrawny little thing like you is gonna need to do some serious bulking up. I don’t tolerate half-assing, understood?”

“Y-yes, coach!” Naomi replied. Despite herself, she was smiling. She could already tell. This was going to be a good thing for her, even if it wasn’t what she’d expected from her first week as a freshman.

A new path. A new lifestyle. But she had already made her decision to embrace it wholeheartedly.

Naomi turned briefly so that she could thank the professor who had directed her there—but Professor Kaira was nowhere to be found. Naomi was only a little disappointed. She’d have to keep an eye out. There was something fun about having a crush on a cruel older woman in a position of authority.

Just before she turned back so that she could step across the threshold and join the wrestling team, Naomi cast a single, longing glance at the group of freshman girls she’d been eyeing before. They looked to be headed off somewhere together—to the canteen, maybe, or to a lecture. Away from her. Naomi was sorry to see them go. They had seemed like a lovely group. But Naomi didn’t need them. She’d found her place, and she had no regrets.

She was going to spend her college years as a meathead, spending time pumping iron at the gym, writhing around on a mat with other girls, and getting bossed mercilessly by her domineering coach.

And Naomi Kanaka couldn’t have been happier at the prospect.

***

Luster Red’s head wasn’t just throbbing. It felt like it was about to split apart. As the magical girl reached back into her memories each thought redoubled upon the last, the echo becoming a painful pulse that made her clutch at herself in desperation. She opened her eyes, hoping it would help with the dizziness, but that proved to be a mistake. All around, reality itself was warping and distorting in mind-rending ripples, all emanating from the shadowy, inhuman villainess standing before her.

The world itself was echoing. Temporally. Metaphysically. Two different, incompatible histories fought for primacy. One true. One false.

And Luster Red was already struggling to figure out which one was which.

“In college… you?” she cried. “I-I must have… did I forget? No, no, that didn’t happen! I-it couldn’t have. We only spoke on the forum, until… no, wait. No, no, no.”

“Of course it happened,” Lady Kaira cackled. “I’ve made it so! You’re welcome, by the way. It looks like you made quite the wrestler.”

Confused, Luster Red glanced down at herself—and her eyes shot wide open at what she saw.

She was ripped.

At first, she chalked it up to a trick of the light, but in moments, it was undeniable. Beneath her revealing costume—itself rapidly growing to accommodate her new gains—her body was big and powerful like never before. Luster Red’s sleeves were struggling to contain her thick, sculpted biceps, and the contrast between her short, pleated skirt and the thick, muscular thighs beneath. It was the same all over. Luster Red had never felt stronger, but her body was no longer her own.

Until, suddenly, it was.

Memories flooded in to explain what the magical girl was seeing. Memories of long hours spent in the gym, steadily piling on the weights until she could lift more than she’d ever dreamt. Memories of those first few months, with all their aches and pains and struggles, and then of those slowly giving way to a newfound sense of brash pride as she developed confidence and strength. Memories of devoting herself to her new diet, her new workout regimen, and her new timetable of wrestling meets and competitions.

And of, in the process, letting her academics go completely down the drain.

Luster Red couldn’t shake a certain sense of horror as all her memories of academic hard work and success were gradually but inexorably smothered. Earning those credits and grades had been agonizing, but she’d been proud of the achievement. Now that was all ebbing away; in her new timeline, it seemed, she’d ended up coasting on a sports scholarship. Luster Red clutched at her as she tried to cling on to the grades, to the hard work, to the intelligence, to something—but in the end, the sense of swaggering ease that was now associated with her college memories was just too comfortable to resist.

She could remember taking more than a few knocks to the head, too. And plenty of cracks from Coach Dominguez about what a dumb meathead she had become. Luster Red supposed that figured. No wonder she was having so much trouble wrapping her head around what Lady Kaira was doing to her. She’d always been the dumb muscle of their particular magical girl group.

No. No, wait. That wasn’t true, was it?

“I…” Even Luster Red’s voice was deeper as she spoke to herself, hoping speaking it out loud would help to ground her.  “I’m… the leader?”

The uncertainty in her voice was palpable. The pitying, malicious look on Lady Kaira’s face was even more crushing.

“I-I am!” Luster Red tried to insist. “I’ve… always… always?”

Lady Kaira sneered at her pointedly, and Luster Red found the blood rushing to fill her cheeks with warmth. The fact that she was so muscular, so visibly strong, somehow made the fact that she wanted villainesses like Lady Kaira to conquer her even more embarrassing. It wasn’t her fault, the magical girl tried to tell herself. All those years spent with Coach Dominguez breathing down her neck and barking orders had made her shameful little predilection so strong, it was almost irresistible. Hell, as she’d been beating up those grunts earlier, she hadn’t been able to stop one treasonous little thought crossing her mind: she’d be so much better at it than they’d been. So much stronger, and with her muscles she’d look even better in those shiny, skin-tight uniforms.

Luster Red blushed deeper as she realized how distracted she was getting. She didn’t have time for that. She had to focus. She had to remember the original timeline, and her weird villainess fetish had no bearing on that whatsoever—after all, she’d always been that way.

“I’m the leader,” the magical girl pleaded. Surely she could hold on to that, at least—but with each repetition, it seemed less and less true. “I’m the leader. I’m the leader. I’m the… the…”

Lady Kaira just shook her head.

“Is that really what you believe?” the villainess mocked.

Luster Red shook her head too—first in defiance, but then, reluctantly, in agreement.

She just couldn’t find it in herself. She wasn’t the leader. She wasn’t leader material. She was the muscle. The headstrong, meatheaded one. Everything just made more sense that way. Besides, why would all the other magical girls in the squad have chosen her to be the leader? They barely even knew each other.

Luster Red’s eyes shot wider than ever before.

“No,” she pleaded. “No, no, no, not that. Not them.”

But there was no stopping it. One by one, her memories of spending college with her friends—the other magical girls—were blinking out.

Years of familiarity, of companionship, of friendship and warmth—gone. Each memory that died left Luster Red with an indescribable sense of loss that was replaced by an equally disturbing sense of calm and comfort when she forgot even what she had been trying to remember. New memories flooded to fill the gaps, memories of spending her college years with other wrestlers and athletes. Those memories were happy, yes, but less warm. Less special.

Despite the futility of it, Luster Red fought her hardest to resist. She picked a memory—one of her early study sessions with all the girls—and tried with all her might to keep it clear in her mind. She tried to remember what reading she had been doing. What they’d all chatted about. What kind of tea she had been drinking. Only…

Only, she could now remember meeting them all for the first time years later, at the end of college. She remembered being something of an outsider in the group, given how well the rest of them all knew each other. She remembered resenting it, even. And try as she might, Luster Red just couldn’t reconcile that with the fading memories that seemed to fade to nothing under the slightest scrutiny.

Maybe if she was smarter. Maybe if she had a better handle on Lady Kaira’s weird time magic. But Luster Red had always been the dumb muscle of the group.

“Please…” Luster Red found herself begging. “I just… just…”

She felt stronger than ever—but completely and totally lost. Her friends had always been her anchor. Without them, she was nothing. Her fellow magical girls had entrusted their sparks to her, but she was no longer sure why, or what that meant. Swamped by uncertainty, Luster Red lost her grip on her own magic. She detransformed, her costume falling away into ethereal sparkles to reveal what she’d been wearing underneath: a nice, tight tank top and a pair of gym shorts.

Exactly what she always wore.

“You want them back?” Lady Kaira whispered poisonously. “You can have them—as soon as you join me. You and your little comrades will make fine servants. You can all be together again, at my side.”

Though she was loath to admit it, Luster Red found the offer tempting. How couldn’t she? Lady Kaira was everything she’d spent years touching herself to, and becoming just another brainwashed grunt in her army would be a fantasy come to life. Moreover, Luster Red was no longer quite so sure what she was supposed to be fighting for. Her fellow magical girls? It would certainly suck to betray them.

But it wasn’t like they were friends. Not really.

Mostly, though, the offer was clarifying. It reminded Luster Red: Lady Kaira was her enemy. She was messing with her, and she wasn’t the type of girl to take that lying down. Luster Red was confused about so many things—but not her anger.

“Fuck you,” she spat. “I’ll never join you!”

Lady Kaira wasn’t dismayed, or even surprised. “Just one more little push, I think,” she gloated. “You’re already ready for the final step.”

Once more, before Luster Red could stop her, the villainess snapped her fingers and rewrote reality.

***

Naomi’s eyes bulged in shock as she turned her palms upright to receive the bright, brilliant light that had descended upon her from the heavens. The spark that came to rest there, floating just an inch or two above the surface of her skin, exuded warmth and power. It was like one of the very stars themselves had come to Earth, and chosen her.

It was a magical girl spark.

And it should have been a magical moment. Being chosen as a magical girl was a childhood dream of Naomi’s, the kind she never imagined might actually come true. Admittedly, these days, she spent more time daydreaming about villainesses and their minions—but all the same, being chosen should have felt amazing. It should have made Naomi happy.

Instead, it just left her scared.

Naomi didn’t know what she was supposed to do with that kind of power and responsibility. She was just a meathead from the wrestling squad. Who was she supposed to turn to? She’d seen other sparks falling somewhere else, in a cluster of four, but she didn’t know where, or to who. Without her coach or another confident, older woman to tell her what to do, Naomi wasn’t sure she could find her way. Graduating had already left her feeling lost. Becoming a magical girl at the same moment was just too much.

“Hello, Miss Kanaka. Remember me?”

Naomi’s heart leapt into her throat, and she turned to see a tall, shadowy figure emerging from the evening gloom. Once she overcame her initial shock, she laughed bitterly. It was a villainess, that much was obviously from the shadowy tentacles extending from the strange woman’s body. On any other day, Naomi would have been fangirling excitedly. Today, though, it was just one more helping of misfortune.

Her first day as a magical girl, and she was about to face down a villainess—alone. Great.

“No,” Naomi replied tiredly. “I’ve never seen you before in my-“ She froze, as the villainess got closer. “You… that professor?”

She had certainly seemed far more human the first time around, but Naomi would have recognized that face anywhere. It was seared into her memory. She’d spent hours scanning faculty portraits in the years since, in the hope of finding her.

“That’s right,” Lady Kaira confirmed, with undeniable malevolence. “Me.”

“Then… you guided me to the wrestling team?” Naomi asked. “Why?”

“Oh, I have my reasons,” Lady Kaira hissed. “Let’s just say that I’ve seen your future. And I’ve decided to help keep you on the right path.”

Naomi shivered. Her feelings were just as confused about that as they were about becoming a magical girl. It should have been horrifying. Instead, Naomi couldn’t help but take a secret thrill in the knowledge that, all along, she’d been under the villainess’s boot.

“I…” Naomi glanced at the spark she held in her hand. All she had to do was close her first and claim it, and its power would be hers. “I’m supposed to stop you.”

Lady Kaira laughed. “Is that what you want to do?”

Slowly, Naomi shook her head. “No,” she admitted.

“You don’t need to do what you’re supposed to,” Lady Kaira told her approvingly. “Instead… join me.”

“W-what?” Naomi looked at her sharply.

“Why not?” Lady Kaira put to her. “You’re confused. You don’t know what to do. And here I am to tell you. Isn’t it perfect?” The villainess licked her lips. “Isn’t it exactly what you’d always dreamed of?”

Naomi couldn’t deny it. She was being offered her perfect fantasy. Why would she refuse it? What else did she have? No friends, now that she’d left college. No direction. No purpose. No more coach to tell her what to do. She could try to make her own path as a magical girl, of course. But that just didn’t sound right.

In the end, she just wanted someone else to pick her path for her. And from the sounds of it, that was exactly what Lady Kaira had already done.

“What do I have to do?” she asked slowly.

Lady Kaira drew herself up victoriously. “Kneel,” she hissed. “And offer your spark to me.”

The burly, muscular girl sank to her knees. She held out her hands, palms upturned, magical spark cradled between them. After sparing just a moment to savor her victory, Lady Kaira reached out—not to take the spark, but simply to imprint it with her taint.

Time would take care of the rest.

***

The pain Luster Red had felt before was nothing compared to this. It wasn’t just her head that was being split in two. It was her essence. Her very being. She could feel the forces of destiny battling against what Lady Kaira had just done to her, fighting to maintain the fixed, eternal points in her timeline.

And they were losing.

Not completely. Some things were truly immutable. Luster Red was a magical girl. Nothing could take that from her. But just as Lady Kaira had promised, as her mind fractured into two halves she began to realize just how little that meant.

She hated Lady Kaira—and she loved her. She despised her—and she worshiped her. She fought her—and she obeyed her. Countless hours of slavish, mindless devotion rushed into her head, poisoning everything she’d once stood before. Her justice, her loyalty, her love for her friends—they were all in tatters.

Luster Red could feel it all happening. She could feel her own defeat. It had been years in the making, or so it now seemed. And it was just seconds away.

“Join me, Luster Red,” Lady Kaira laughed. “Not that you have a choice. After all, you already did.”

Luster Red tried to glare defiantly at the villainess, but she could barely see. No, she was seeing double; one Lady Kaira, the enemy rewriting her timeline. The other, the mistress who treated her with such perfect, ravishing cruelty. The magical girl knew she should try to fight what was happening to her—but what was the point? She’d already given it her all. Now, after the changes inflicted on her, she had less to give than ever.

But she resolved to make one last effort. To fight until the bitter end. Wasn’t that what heroes were supposed to do?

“L-Luster Red!” she chanted, summoning up her power. “Spark—activate!”

The chant triggered her magical girl transformation. Luster Red’s spark erupted from her chest in a beam of crimson, pearlescent light before enveloping her body in a brilliant glow. At once, she felt bolstered by it. She always did, when the power of hope flowed into her. Luster Red still wasn’t sure she could win, exactly, but she felt just a little more confident and self-certain than before.

Then, the corruption took hold.

It began as a single thread of shadow, woven into the magnificent rainbow of Luster Red’s light. The thread quickly grew, knotting itself around other beams of light and devouring them, expanding and taking over, its shadow lengthening until sticky, inky blackness dominated. Luster Red felt it enter her, and the moment of panic that caused it was quickly drowned out by a sinister, euphoric chorus of emotions.

There was no fighting it. Her own power was the one thing a magical girl could never fight.

After all, it was fate.

So instead, Lady Kaira’s corruption washed over her. It smothered her. It repurposed her transformation to its own ends, and when the poisoned, umbral glow receded, Luster Red was left changed like never before.

Previously, her costume had been woven from the purest white threads, accented with a brilliant crimson color that matched perfectly her assigned name. Now, there was no white to be seen. All over, it had been replaced with black, and the gentle, soft, enchanted cloth had been replaced with sleek, shiny rubber. It covered her almost completely now; her sleeves, gloves, and tights were all longer, ensuring that not a hint of skin was showing beneath Luster Red’s neck. A little red color remained in the accents, but even those were darkened. Muted. Tainted.

Ruined.

And the final touch was Lady Kaira’s symbol, etched upon the magical girl’s chest.

All in all, she looked just like one of Lady Kaira’s many uniformed, faceless minions—but without the small mercy of anonymity to preserve her dignity and reputation. Her new, rubber costume was skin-tight, but not perfectly smooth; all the details of her old magical girl costume were there. The ribbons, the pleats, the collar. But now, they were made out of black rubber, and polished to a mirror shine. The impression was ghoulish. It left absolutely no doubt that Luster Red was a magical girl who had fallen to the dark side. A horrifying prospect.

Only, Luster Red wasn’t horrified. Not anymore. Etched on her face as she looked up at Lady Kaira was an impossibly wide, unnaturally reverent, impossibly worshipful grin.

“My lady!” Without skipping a beat, Luster Red snapped her legs together and offered the time-twisting villainess a crisp, perfect salute. “At your command!”

Lady Kaira threw back her head and howled with laughter.

Her laughter was nakedly cruel and mocking, but that did nothing but bring color to Luster Red’s cheeks. She adored her lady, in all her sadistic villainy. She had for years now. Ever since the fateful day she’d offered Lady Kaira her spark.

That was one thing Luster Red had never regretted.

“My, my!” Lady Kaira exclaimed. “Aren’t you just perfect?”

Luster Red’s ridiculous grin widened even further. Her mistress’s praise made her positively glow. She lived for it. Besides, she knew Lady Kaira was right. What better minion could a villainess ask for? A corrupted magical girl, and one in such fine condition too! Hoping to impress, Luster Red subtly tensed her muscles. The way they bulged beneath the tight latex, making the material catch the light, was mesmerizing.

“Well?” Lady Kaira snapped suddenly. “Don’t just stand there, idiot! Your friends could be about to wake up at any moment. Bring them to me!”

Luster Red saluted gleefully again, welcoming the abuse, but then frowned in confusion. “My… friends?” she grunted.

“Do you have muscles instead of brains?” Lady Kaira demanded impatiently. “The other magical girls!”

“Oh!” Luster Red’s grin widened even further as Lady Kaira enlightened her. “Yes, my lady!”

Luster Red certainly didn’t think of those other magical girls as her friends. In fact, she despised them for daring to oppose her glorious mistress. But, as always, Lady Kaira knew best. If she said they were friends, they were friends.

Luster Red was nothing more than a dumb grunt. No wonder Lady Kaira always needed to yell at her so much to get her to do the right thing.

One more salute, then she went to turn away and complete her appointed task. But Lady Kaira’s voice called her back.

“Wait!”

Luster Red paused obediently.

“Come here.”

“Yes, my lady!”

She saluted yet again, then rushed to her exquisite mistress’s side. Up close, Lady Kaira had never seemed less human. She had shed her mortal guise almost completely; she now towered above the corrupted magical girl, and the distinction between her form and the shadows surrounding her had blurred into meaninglessness. As she stared down at Luster Red, the villainess’s face was a demonic, leering, grin that filled her minion with delicious, sinful anticipation.

“Perhaps first,” Lady Kaira mused, “I can afford to take a little time to enjoy my fresh conquest.”

Lady Kaira’s shadowy tentacles extended toward Luster Red and began coiling slowly and sensually around her latex-clad form. Each one moved to restrain a different limb, and everywhere they touched her they left a trail of thick, black, gloopy ichor across the shiny rubber. Before long, Luster Red was slick and sticky all over with it, and Lady Kaira was lifting her off her feet—all the better to explore and use her willing, obedient minion.

Luster Red simply giggled dumbly and lustfully as her mistress claimed her. She loved Lady Kaira’s tentacles, and she loved being used as an outlet for the villainess’s rapacious appetites. Admittedly, she wasn’t quite sure what Lady Kaira meant by ‘fresh conquest’. She’d been devoted to Lady Kaira for years, after all. But the discrepancy didn’t trouble her. As always, Luster Red was completely and totally comfortable with the idea that Lady Kaira knew best.

But as one of Lady Kaira’s tentacles found its way underneath her skirt and entered her, drawing great, gasped moans of pleasure out of the muscular henchwoman, Luster Red found herself thinking back to the fateful moments that had led her to becoming the dumb, happy, brainwashed grunt she was now. Her fixation on villainesses and their minions. Her decision to join the wrestling squad. Her encounter with Lady Kaira at the end of her college years. She now knew, of course, that Lady Kaira must have had a hand in each of them. But as her mistress’s tentacle started pumping in and out of Luster Red, obliterating the last remnants of her thoughts with pleasure, the only feeling that crossed her mind was gratitude.

She was truly living in the best timeline.

---

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