#but i noticed it and i just thought i’d leave this here

[tubatwo]

once more to see you - huening kai

summary: where meeting TXT Bank’s new intern makes y/n come up with any excuse to see him

pairing: gn reader x huening kai

genre: fluff; 2.1k words

a/n: I don’t even know what this bank thing is for yet I just saw this pic and immediately had to write. also this is literally not how bank visits go but LMAO. aren’t silly stories just perfect!!! nothing makes sense!!!

working in food service in one of the busiest cities meant that each night would end in tips galore. thankfully, your regular checks were enough to pay the bills, so you usually stuck with depositing cash tips at least once a month.

this was a regular routine that worked for you. walk into TXT Bank, talk to the strict bankteller whose name was apparently taehyun, show your ID, hand money over, boom. done.

but one day, this routine ended up falling apart. you walked in, and instead of taehyun, you were met with the face of the adorable new intern.

kai was deeply focused on the computer in front of him, desperately trying to figure out the client case taehyun showed him earlier. his cat-like manager’s instructions kinda went in one ear and out of the other, so it was crucial to figure things out as soon as possible if he wanted to secure his full-time position. that is, until he noticed your figure approaching with his peripheral vision.

the two of you locked eyes, eyes sparkling as if you each had just spotted an adorable puppy. kai’s cheeks grew red and your ears started to feel hot as you walked closer to him.

“hi, excuse me? i’m here to deposit cash to one of my accounts.” you look down and start to play with the zipper of the bag holding your tips, the eye contact from before making you overwhelmed as your brain practically malfunctions. where the hell is taehyun? and did he have to leave someone so cute in charge?

kai clears his throat before putting on his best customer service voice, “of course! i’d be more than happy to help you, ma’am.”

you look up and see his name tag: ‘KAI HUENING - INTERN’ the word ‘intern’ snapping you out of your temporary trance from before.

“oh um, is this the right desk? i noticed your tag says intern…” the furrow of your brows and confusion all over your face makes it near impossible for kai to hold back his smile as he responds. “no worries! i’m in the midst of receiving a full-time position here. i may be an intern, but i can assure you that i’m approved to work on deposits. we’re just a bit short-staffed at the moment.”

kai’s warm, gentle gaze washes over you, so much that even if he was straight up lying, you wouldn’t even blink an eye. his brown eyes were slightly hidden by the strands of hair falling over his face, which also happened to be decorated with soft moles all around. his mullet-like haircut also complimented his button-up, making him look like the lead singer of an old pop-rock band.

“ma’am?” kai’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts, making you flinch a little. “oh, i’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

you wave your hands and apologize, “i’m sorry! i suppose i started drifting off a bit. here is everything you need.” you pull your ID and the cash out of your pouch, handing it to the intern and trying to calm your heart after your fingers brush against each other. after everything is finalized, kai hands your ID back to you. “alright, everything is set!”

you look at his nametag once again, “thank you um… kai?, i really appreciate it.” kai’s cheeks grow red again at your voice saying his name so sweetly. he chuckles nervously and scratches his head. “yep, that’s me! well, did you need anything else?”

you try to rack your brain for any possible thing that could extend your stay, but nothing comes to mind. “no, that’s all! thank you again.” you say, slightly disappointed. kai smiles. “it was my pleasure, make sure to visit us again!”

and you did. many times. like waaaay too many times.

after meeting kai, you couldn’t help but want to see him more. your usual monthly trips to the bank turned into weekly, and then almost daily. every time you collected your tips for the night, you made sure to visit the bank again in the morning.

as you visit more frequently, you and kai’s interactions start to become playful, and you become a bit more closer. you both still get shy as you lock eyes, but jokes are often thrown in here and there. kai found himself taking extra time to count your money when you came in, desperate trying to hold onto every second of your presence.

“hey!” you try to hold in your laugh, “as the intern, shouldn’t you be learning to count faster not slower?” you joke. kai’s hearty laugh fills the room before he pretends to look offended. “excuse me? it’s only natural that I get a little distracted when a pretty person enters the room”. his words make your entire body grow warm, and you can’t help but try to shift the focus away from you. “o-oh? I don’t think that line was part of your training.” you giggle.

kai giggles with you before thinking of a rebuttal, “you’re right actually. our handbook specifically says to not flirt with customers... buuut i’ve never been great with remembering the rules.”

“well, if you’re gonna be a bankteller then you should probably start studying before you end up in jail for fraud or something.”

the two of you burst out laughing, failing miserably when it comes to keeping quiet. you let out a few giggles again before you’re left in a comfortable silence. “I guess you got me there, but seriously y/n, i’m happy I can always help you.”

after a few months of visiting kai (and seeing the bank more than your own family), you wake up one day to head over before realizing that you don’t have any tips to deposit. “shit.” you whisper to yourself, closing your eyes in frustration. you had the day off yesterday and don’t go back to work until tomorrow. you were left with a completely free day to do whatever you wanted.

any normal person would have taken the chance to relax, maybe get some chores done, even some shopping? but the only thing you cared about was hearing kai’s laugh again. there had to be more reasons to visit the bank, right? yeah! you could come up with something…

after cleaning yourself up and getting ready, you felt slightly embarrassed at how much effort you put into your appearance. were you trying too hard? would kai get the wrong idea and think you were meeting with someone? by the time you had answered your own questions, you were already at the front door of the building. you took a deep breath and headed inside, expecting brown eyes to meet yours again.

well, they did. but they weren’t the ones you were looking for.

“how can I help you?” kang taehyun asks after seeing you walk in. his eyes go back to his computer, and he begins typing something up. you’re so caught off guard that you can’t even come up with a response. you already didn’t know what to come here for, and now that taehyun is in front of you, you feel stupid for even showing up.

“I want to… um…” you trail off, causing taehyun to pause his work and stare at you, waiting for an answer. you look around nervously before quicking spewing out, “open a bank account! yes! I um, want to open a new account.”

taehyun goes back to type some things into his computer. “ID?”

“huh?”

“ID. I need your ID to confirm your identity, ma’am.”

you suddenly realize what you’re doing and awkwardly feel around in your purse, looking for your wallet.

well shit.

“s-sorry, it’s uh… it’s gotta be in here somewhere.” you stall. as taehyun pinches the bridge of his eyebrows, a familiar figure exits from one of the staff rooms.

“hey taehyu-” kai notices you in front of him, a worried look etched across your face as you dig through your bag. taehyun motions kai over, “come watch, kai. you can see how we deal with customers who clearly show up unprepared.”

kai’s voice and the mention of his name immediately make your head shoot up. you look at him embarrassed, desperately wishing you could go back in time to when you were still in your bed. you feel frozen as the two men stare at you, waiting for you to do something.

“hey,” kai reaches out to lightly touch your arm, “are you okay? do you need help?”

you brush him off, not wanting to worry him. “no, i’m okay hyuka, i’m sorry.”

before kai could react to you apologizing to him (for what seemed like no reason), taehyun eyes the two of you suspiciously. “do you two know each other?” he asks. kai looks over and nods before speaking, “yeah, we’re uh… friends…?” he looks over at you with a mix of hope and hesitation in his eyes, not sure if you felt the same way.

“oh!” your eyes widen, “yes! we’re friends. i’m sorry, i’m just so used to running into him here now.”

kai feels relieved hearing you agree, and his heart beats faster at the thought of being somewhat of a constant in your life, even if it’s just to deposit cash into a bank account. he quickly brushes off his thoughts before coming to your defense. “see? everything’s okay. they’re just a regular customer, that’s all. you don’t have to scare them to death.” he jokes.

“no! it’s my fault,” you admit, “I don’t need to do anything actually… I even forgot my ID on the way here, i’m really sorry for bothering you guys.”

kai looks at you confused. he doesn’t know why you keep apologizing, and he really doesn’t know why you showed up if you didn’t have any requests to make. taehyun, however, is able to read between the lines. “i’ll leave the two of you alone.”

kai doesn’t even glance at taehyun as he walks off. his only focus is you and making sure that you’re okay in this moment. “you’re never bothering us, but is something wrong? what’s the matter?”

you let out a deep breath and decide to be brave. you can do it. just tell him. if nothing works out, you can always just deposit in the future through an ATM or something…or maybe get a new bank.

“okay well, this is super embarrassing but I didn’t have a reason to visit today, kai,” you pause, looking him in the eyes, “I just really wanted to see you...” you trail off, feeling even more embarrassed than you did before.

kai laughs softly at this while you continue to ramble, “which technically is a reason! y’know?”, he takes your hands in his, causing your brain to malfunction like the first time you ever saw him.

“did you really come all the way for me? even without needing a deposit?”

you laugh to yourself and how lame the two of you sound, probably something straight out of a nerd fantasy book. “yeah, even without the deposit.” you smile, squeezing his hands lightly. kai blushes and smiles to himself, trying to come up with a joke to mask his sudden shyness. “are you sure it was worth it? i mean, taehyun’s pretty scary.”

you smile and nod your head, “you’re here in front of me, right? i’d say it was pretty worth it.” you and kai both look around the building only to find that there’s no one else here. just the two of you.

you look back at each other, eyes drifting down to each other’s lips as you gravitate closer. before your lips meet, kai whispers.

“can I kiss you?”

you nod and press your lips against his. one of his hands come up to hold your cheek as if it were made of glass, and you allow your arms to wrap around his waist. as the kiss continues, you chuckle, making him pull away, wanting to see your smile once more.

“can I take you on a date? after I get off of work?” he asks, lips suddenly feeling cold after pulling away. “I would love that, kai.” you smile as you hug him. “it’s a date then! I promise i’ll finish work as fast as I can.”

“oh, no you won’t, I need you to focus instead of rushing.” a certain voice interrupts the two of you.

you look over to see taehyun smirking with his arms folded, almost as if he was silently taking credit for getting the two of you together. kai rolls his eyes playfully at taehyun, “yeah, yeah, I didn’t mean it literally!”

taehyun looks over at you with an apologetic look in his eyes. “i’m sorry for my bluntness earlier. it gets pretty stressful around here, but i shouldn’t have taken it out on a regular customer. I don’t know how kai keeps his composure sometimes.”

“I get to see y/n almost every day, how could I not love every second of it?

[buckiverse]

☆--- summary: you went out to a club, and it took an unexpected turn when you spotted athlete!sylus, the man you can't seem to avoid. Is it a coincidence, or is he just everywhere you go?

☆--- a/n: athlete!sylus is taking over my brain...

You shouldn’t be going out tonight, but you couldn’t say no when Tara invited you. It was the first time in forever that someone had pulled you away from your constant grind of training, case studies, and class. The local club near campus was always buzzing on a Friday night, and here you were, questioning why you had agreed to come instead of staying in to catch up on everything you had to do.

"I know it’s not really your thing, but try to have fun with me!" Tara shouted over the music, her excitement infectious.

You managed a smile. "Girl, of course! Let’s have fun."

The club was exactly what you expected—dark, slightly dingy, with bright strobing lights that made the sticky floors and faint smell of spilled drinks a little more bearable. People crowded around more than they danced, but it was still early, barely midnight.

Tara led the way to the bar, effortlessly weaving through the group of people. She ordered something colorful and sweet, and you opted for a shot to shake off the weird, anxious feeling you couldn’t pinpoint.

Maybe it was the week catching up to you—training, school, and the guy who had somehow taken up space in your mind.

Sylus.

You hadn’t even spoken to him beyond that moment—a quick, half-snarky exchange in the law building after you accidentally collided with him. But you couldn’t help how your eyes searched for him every time you walked in as if you might spot him again.

So, when you saw him across the room, leaning against a table with his usual calm, unbothered air, you nearly choked.

He stood out even here. It wasn’t just his height, though that was hard to miss. It was how he seemed completely at ease as if this crowded, chaotic club was just another room he’d decided to occupy for a while. Two men, maybe twins, surrounded him if their matching outfits were anything to go by.

"Okay, I’m heading to the dance floor! Join me when you’re done!" Tara’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. She winked before disappearing into the sea of people, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the view of Sylus.

You told yourself to look away, to mind your own business, but it was like some magnetic pull kept your gaze on him. What was he even doing here? He didn’t strike you as the guy who hit up clubs on the weekend.

Or maybe you didn’t know him at all.

The shot must’ve hit you harder than expected because, before you realized it, you were walking toward him. It wasn’t a decision you made—it was instinct or maybe a lapse in judgment.

By the time you reached him, Sylus had already noticed you. His sharp red eyes flicked to yours, a hint of recognition sparking in his expression.

"Hey," you said, your voice raised to be heard over the music, though your nerves threatened to betray you.

His smirk was instant, crooked, and a little too knowing. "Didn’t think I’d see you here," he said, his tone teasing.

You folded your arms, suddenly feeling defensive. "Why’s that?"

"Thought you’d be too busy watching where you’re going," he joked, the grin spreading just enough to make you want to wipe it off his face—and maybe laugh at the same time.

Your jaw dropped. "You’re seriously still on about that?"

He shrugged, leaning casually against the table. "It was a memorable first impression."

"Well, I don’t even know your name," you shot back, trying to regain some ground.

He tilted his head, clearly amused. "Sylus," he said smoothly. "But I was starting to think you’d never ask."

You rolled your eyes, trying not to let his charm get under your skin. "Y/N," you replied, crossing your arms. "So, what’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

Sylus chuckled, his gaze flicking briefly to the two men beside him. "Apparently, letting my teammates drag me out for ‘team bonding.’ Not sure this is what they meant."

His words caught you off guard, and you laughed before you could stop yourself. Standing there with him, bantering like this, was easier than you thought it’d be.

"Well," you said, your confidence returning, "don’t let me stop you from bonding."

He didn’t look away, his smirk softening into something almost unreadable. "Maybe I won’t."

The crowd seemed to blur around you for a moment, and you swore his eyes lingered on you just a second too long.

[midnightwritingsessions]

Yours and only yours

Summary: While on a date with Louis you run into your ex and Louis doesn’t like the way he’s looking at you. [1.4k]

Masterlist

Requested

-

The evening had been perfect so far. The two of you were seated at your favorite cozy Italian restaurant, tucked into a corner booth that offered just enough privacy. The low hum of conversation and the gentle clink of glasses filled the air, but all Louis could hear was your laugh as you teased him about his persistent refusal to try pineapple on pizza. “It’s unnatural, love” he said with a mock grimace, his blue eyes sparkling in the candlelight. “Fruit doesn’t belong on pizza. End of discussion”. You rolled your eyes playfully, resting your chin on your hand as you gazed at him. “You’re so stubborn. One day, I’ll win this argument”. He smirked, leaning closer. “Not a chance, but I do love your optimism”.

The waiter brought over your plates, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics as you enjoyed your meal. Everything felt easy, warm, and just… right. That is, until someone approached your table. “Y/N?” You froze mid-laugh, your smile faltering slightly as you turned to see the voice’s owner. Standing there was someone Louis instantly recognized from the stories you’d told. Your ex, Jake.

“Jake” you said, your voice a little tighter than usual. You offered a polite smile, clearly caught off guard. “Hi. It’s been a while”. Jake returned the smile, his eyes lighting up in a way that immediately set Louis’s nerves on edge. “Yeah, it has. You look incredible, by the way. I almost didn’t recognize you”. Louis stiffened in his seat, his jaw tightening as he instinctively moved his hand to rest on your knee under the table. His thumb stroked over your leg in a steady rhythm, his presence grounding, but his posture had gone from relaxed to visibly on guard. “Thanks” you replied politely, a little thrown by his sudden enthusiasm. “Uh, this is Louis, by the way. My boyfriend”.

Jake barely glanced at Louis, his focus entirely on you. “Boyfriend, huh? Lucky guy”He grinned, his eyes lingering on you a little too long. “You always did have great taste, Y/N”. Louis’s hand tightened slightly on your leg, the shift so subtle you almost didn’t notice. “Cheers for that” Louis said coolly, his voice cutting through the moment like a blade. Jake seemed unfazed, leaning a little closer to you. “So, how’ve you been? Still into photography? I always remember you had such an eye for it”. You smiled politely, not entirely catching the way Jake’s tone dripped with something more than friendly interest. “I still dabble here and there, yeah. What about you? How’s life been treating you?”

“Oh, you know, just working, traveling. Nothing too exciting. Though running into you might be the highlight of my year” Jake said, his grin widening. Louis’s blue eyes darkened, and his hand stopped its soft motion on your knee, gripping it firmly instead. You glanced at him briefly, only to find his jaw set and his lips pressed into a thin line. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner” Jake said, though he made no move to leave. Instead, he leaned against the edge of the table, his gaze fixed firmly on you. “But maybe we could catch up sometime. You know, for old times’ sake” he threw a wink at you which twisted your stomach.

Your brow furrowed slightly, the implication behind his words finally starting to sink in. “I don’t think that’d be appropriate, Jake” you said, your tone firmer now. You glanced at Louis, whose icy stare was locked on Jake, daring him to say another word. Jake raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk still playing on his lips. “Alright, alright. Just thought I’d ask, test my luck invade he was treating you right. Well, it was nice seeing you, Y/N. And… Louis, was it? Nice meeting you.”

Louis didn’t respond, his jaw clenched so tight you were surprised he didn’t crack a tooth. Jake lingered for a moment longer before finally walking away, leaving behind a palpable tension that settled over the table like a storm cloud. “Louis” you said softly, watching as he picked at the edge of his napkin, his usual playful energy replaced with a brooding silence. “Talk to me”.“There’s nothing to talk about” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the table. “Louis” you tried again, reaching for his hand. He pulled away gently, leaning back in his seat with a sigh. “So that’s Jake, huh?”. “Yes” you said, your voice even. “But it’s not what you’re thinking at all” the thought alone nearly made you shiver.

His blue eyes snapped up to meet yours, a flicker of frustration crossing his face. “Not what I’m thinking? He was practically undressing you with his eyes, Y/N. And you didn’t even seem to notice”. You blinked, taken aback. “I didn’t- Louis, I wasn’t trying to encourage him. I was just being polite”.

“Polite” Louis repeated, his tone tight. “Love, he wasn’t just saying hello. He was flirting with you. Right in front of me”. Your stomach sank as his words hit you, the pieces finally clicking into place. “I didn’t realise” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “I wasn’t paying attention to him like that. I was too busy thinking about you”.

Louis’s expression softened slightly, but the tension in his shoulders remained. “I know you weren’t. It’s not you I’m upset with. It’s him. The way he looked at you, like he still had a chance…” He trailed off, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “It just got under my skin”. You reached across the table, placing your hand over his. “Louis, you’re the one I’m here with. You’re the one I love. Jake doesn’t matter”. He hesitated, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, love. I just… I hate the thought of anyone thinking they could take you away from me”. “No one can, especially not him” you said firmly, squeezing his hand. “Jake is my past. You’re my present and my future. There’s no competition”.

By the time you got home, Louis’s mood had improved slightly, but the unease still lingered. He went straight to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and leaning against the counter with a sigh. “Alright” you said, stepping into the kitchen and crossing your arms. “Let’s get this out in the open”. Louis glanced at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “You don’t let anything go, do you,”. “Not when it comes to you” you replied, moving closer. “Talk to me, Louis. I don’t want this hanging over us”. He set the glass down and ran a hand through his hair, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable. “It’s just… you’re everything to me, Y/N. And sometimes I look at you and think, ‘What did I do to deserve her?’ And then some idiot like Jake comes along, acting like he’s got a chance, and it just… it messes with my head”.

Your heart ached at his words, and you stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “Louis, listen to me. You don’t have to feel that way. I’m with you because I want to be, because I love you. Jake can flirt all he wants- it doesn’t change the way I feel about you”. He looked down at you, his blue eyes searching yours for any hint of doubt. “You mean that?”. “Every word” you said, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. He kissed you back, his arms wrapping tightly around you as if letting go wasn’t an option. When you pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, a small smile playing at his lips.

“I’m sorry” he murmured. “For letting him get to me. I know I shouldn’t have”. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel” you said softly, brushing your fingers through his hair. “But next time, talk to me about it, okay? We’re a team”. He nodded, his smile growing a little more confident. “Alright. No more sulking. I promise”. You laughed, leaning into him. “Good, because I don’t think I could handle another moody Louis Tomlinson dinner date”.

“Oi” he said with a mock scowl, tickling your sides until you squealed. As the laughter faded, Louis pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thanks, love” he said softly. “For always knowing what to say”. You smiled against his chest, your heart full. “That’s what I’m here for”. And in that moment, you knew there was no one else you’d rather navigate life’s ups and downs with than him.

[starrrcane]

The Underworld Beneth Piltover Chapter four:The Quiet Declaration

summary: sevika comes to borrow a book from you and ends up realizing maybe she wants to be more then friends and panics

warning: gay panic.

notes: this actually took forever to write I’m so sorry. But I finally got it done now that I’m on break😁😁 I love you guys stay safe during the holiday seasons xoxox

The faint knock on your apartment door startled you. You had just gotten home after a long shift, eager to sink into the couch and let the exhaustion melt away. Setting your bag down, you hesitated. You weren’t expecting anyone.

“Who is it?” you called, a trace of unease creeping into your voice.

“It’s Sevika,” came the familiar voice on the other side.

Your shoulders relaxed immediately, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Sevika. Of course. She hadn’t been at work today, and you’d caught yourself missing her presence—a fact you weren’t quite ready to admit even to yourself.

You opened the door, finding her standing there. Her usual stoic expression was replaced with something lighter, though she was clearly trying to play it cool.

“Hey,” she said, hands tucked into her coat pockets. “You promised.”

You blinked, confused for a moment, until she clarified, her tone teasing. “You said if I stayed off my leg, you’d give me a book to borrow.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at her. “Wait a minute. That’s not what I promised. I said I’d *make* you read, remember? You teased me about books being for nerds.”

She grinned, unbothered. “I don’t recall saying anything like that.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let her in. “Fine, come on.”

As you led her into the living room, her gaze fell on the three towering stacks of books sitting on your side table. Her eyebrows shot up.

“This is how you keep them stored?” she asked, pointing at the precarious piles.

You crossed your arms, mock offended. “Yes, what about it?”

“No bookshelf?” she teased, smirking.

Your eyes flicked to the pile of unassembled wood and nails in the corner of the room, and you sighed. “I haven’t exactly had the time to build it yet.”

Her grin widened, a quiet chuckle escaping her. “You? Too busy to build something? Hard to believe.”

You shot her a playful glare, giving her shoulder a light smack. “Don’t start. Now, what are you looking for?”

She paused, her smirk softening as her expression grew thoughtful. “Something to help me escape this madness” she murmured.

You nodded, turning to the stacks. After a moment of searching, you pulled out a worn but beloved fantasy novel. “Here,” you said, handing it to her. “This should do the trick.”

She took it, eyeing the cover with a skeptical sigh. “Fantasy, huh?”

“Anything to get your mind off the real world,” you replied.

Her lips quirked up in a half-smile, but you noticed the way her shoulders slumped. She flipped through the first few pages, her eyes skimming the words, and you realized she wasn’t eager to leave.

“Tea?” you offered suddenly, already heading toward the kitchen.

“Sure, whatever,” she said, but her tone was lighter, and you caught the briefest flicker of excitement in her eyes.

You smiled to yourself as you poured water into the kettle, setting it to boil. When the tea was ready, you brought two mugs into the living room, handing one to Sevika.

“This is cheesy,” she remarked, still flipping through the book as she took the mug.

You shrugged, sitting down beside her. “It’s supposed to be. Just give it a chance.”

She hummed in response, sipping the tea as she read.

“What’s your favorite book?” she asked after a while, not looking up.

You hesitated, glancing at the stacks. “I can’t choose. I love all of them the same,” you said with a small shrug.

She hummed again, quieter this time, almost nonverbal. You noticed how her usual sharp edges softened in these moments—how comfortable she seemed.

“How’s your leg healing?” you asked gently, breaking the silence.

“All better now,” she said, her tone casual, though her eyes flicked to you with a faint glint of something warmer. “Thanks to you.”

You ducked your head, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

The quiet lingered, heavy with something unspoken. Sevika’s smile faded suddenly, her expression closing off.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, frowning.

“Nothing,” she muttered, standing abruptly. “I should get going.”

“But—” You stared, bewildered, as she left her tea untouched on the table and headed for the door.

“Thanks for the book,” she said over her shoulder, and before you could respond, the door clicked shut behind her.

For a moment, you just sat there, confused and a little hurt. The warmth she’d brought into the room seemed to vanish with her, leaving you alone again.

---

As the door clicked shut behind her, Sevika paused in the dimly lit hallway, her back against the cold wall. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts swirling in a way she couldn’t control.

What the hell was she doing?

She’d gone to your place intending to keep things simple—a quick stop to grab a book, tease you a little, and leave. But then you’d smiled at her, the kind of smile that made her knees feel weak. The kind of smile that made her heart ache in ways she didn’t want to name.

She clenched her fists, trying to steady her breathing. You were just... you. Sweet, patient, and stubborn as hell when it came to her well-being. But you also had a way of looking at her—like she wasn’t just Silco’s enforcer, the muscle of the Undercity. Like you saw her as something more.

That terrified her.

“Pull it together,” she muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

But the truth was, every time you smiled or laughed, she felt her carefully built walls start to crack. She didn’t know what to do with that—didn’t know how to handle the warmth you brought into her life.

And then there was the way you’d looked when she’d left. Disappointed. Hurt. It had gnawed at her the entire night as she lied in bed.

She raked a hand through her hair, glancing down at the book in her hand. She didn’t care about the damn book, not really. She cared about you.

Sevika’s jaw tightened. She had to make it up to you. She couldn’t keep running every time things got too close, couldn’t keep pretending she didn’t care.

The next day, she found herself at your apartment again—not to see you, but to do something she hoped would show you how much she appreciated you, even if she couldn’t say it out loud.

Building the bookshelf wasn’t about the books. It was about you. The way your face lit up when you talked about your favorite stories, the way you defended your messy stacks like they were treasures.

When she finished, she stepped back to admire her work. The bookshelf wasn’t perfect—she wasn’t a carpenter—but it was sturdy and solid, and it felt like a piece of her she was leaving behind.

As she closed your door softly behind her, Sevika let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She still didn’t understand everything she felt when it came to you. But for the first time, she didn’t feel the urge to run. Instead, she hoped you’d see the bookshelf and understand what she couldn’t say.

---

When you got home that evening, though, the sight that greeted you stopped you in your tracks.

The pile of wood and nails in the corner of your living room was gone. In its place stood a perfectly built bookshelf, solid and sturdy. The books that had once been stacked precariously on your table were neatly arranged beside it, left for you to decide how to organize them.

You stared at it, your mouth falling open in disbelief. Running your fingers along the polished edges, you couldn’t help but smile.

“Sevika…” you murmured to yourself, shaking your head in quiet amazement.

Somehow, this simple act of kindness felt like the loudest declaration she could have made.

[the-ineffable-dance]

Thinking of Nanny

A narrative poem for the weekly GOetry prompt, from Warlock's POV

My life has always seemed to be like a revolving door

Of teachers, coaches, servants, too, and oh so many more.

They swirl though my memory, their faces come and gone

But always there still remains alone a single one.

My parents were both quite busy, I didn’t see them much

But Nanny, she cared for me with cold words and gentle touch.

She was strict, and quite severe, and taught me many things,

Of war, death, famine, pestilence, and how I would be king.

And every night when I lay down, she’d sing me straight to sleep

Then after I had drifted off, a watch o’re me she’d keep.

And then, one day, she wasn’t there from my eleventh birthday

I never got to say goodbye before she went away.

-

It’s several years now since she left, but she’s often on my mind

For though she was so very stern, I know that she was kind

A business trip to London Town found me in St. James Park

Where He was sitting feeding ducks, all tall, and thin, and dark

And there wasn’t a single doubt about who it could be

This fellow sitting on the bench was certainly Nanny.

I don’t know how I recognized the person sitting there

So different from how she used to look but still with flame red hair

In my heart no single doubt had I so I went to see

If my old Nanny possibly could remember me.

At first he didn’t notice, he was so lost in thought

With ducks milling at his feet, eating the peas he brought.

-

I sat down on the bench next to the man Nanny had become

He glanced at me with sunglassed eyes, he looked so lost and numb

But then he smiled with her smile, with the smile of a rogue

And spoke just like she used to do, in her clipped Scottish brogue

“Well look at you, I’d never think that I would see you here.”

I was so nervous when I said, “You’re Nanny,” in his ear

“And you’re young Warlock, all grown up.” 

                                                                           “Not all grown up just yet.

But Nanny, please just call me ‘dear.’” 

                                                                           “Yes… as you like, my pet.”

“I’ve not seen Brother Francis in oh, so very long.”

Nanny turned his head away, pursed his lips and said, “He’s gone.”

“Oh… Nanny, how he fancied you, how ever could that be?

I was so very young back then, but even I could see.”

-

It took a moment for his reply, but then he said real low,

“He didn’t have a choice, you see.  I know he had to go.

But even knowing doesn’t help this fear that’s left inside

That we never could have made it work, even if we’d tried.”

He cleared his throat and straightened up, emotions locked away

“Don’t listen to me, dear. I’m glad to see you here today.”

He touched my cheek and looked quite proud, and I smiled wide

And just like that for a little time, we sat quietly side by side

Nanny I have many questions, was what I want to say

Where have you been, why did you leave, and why couldn’t you stay?

But as I watched him sitting there, one thing I realized

Fate had brought me here today to catch this fleeting prize

-

“Nanny, do you think you might find time to visit me?

It would mean so very much, but only if you’re free.”

My words took him by surprise, I watched as his breath caught

It seemed to touch him even more deeply than I thought.

“I’d like that, dear,” he finally said. “And now my name’s Crowley.”

I smiled and nodded, but in my heart, you’ll always be Nanny.

@isiaiowin @goodomensafterdark

[hollyhomburg]

(Angst) I have this headcannon for the angsty alternative ending for BILY, that when the pack are in their ‘living apart, no idea where the m/c is or if she’s safe/hurting/needs them but trying to be respectful of the fact that she does not want to be apart of the pack anymore’ era sometimes… her mating mark starts to feel like an ache, and the loneliness burns through her no matter how much she tries to ignore it.

And she tosses and turns in her little attic apartment aware that she doesn’t even have their numbers anymore because it’s been a year or two too long, she doesn’t even remember what yoongis might be. But she knows where the house is, she knows how to get too it.

So…she goes, looks at it from the street first, the warm windows upstairs, the dark downstairs, the soft light in taes library room. Sometimes she gets angry by the fact that she can’t turn back time, can’t go back.

Other times- when the touchstarvedness feels like a gaping wound, she ascends those steps and sits on the outdoor furniture, just for a bit. Just to soak in the little bit of the packs scents, just a tiny bit of their comforting presence. Aware that someone is watching from the window, that there is light under the door, that it’s probably not locked, she could go in but-

She doesn’t. She just sits out there and closes her eyes and then leaves. Sometimes she wishes the packmate watching her would come out and yell at her, shake her by her baggy hoody, and ask her what the fuck shes doing- sitting out here like a stray dog when she’s the one who ran away but they never do.

Once she falls asleep and wakes up to a blanket covering her. Unsure who noticed her out there cheeks burning angry suddenly at no one and nothing just- angry at how things played out. And she leaves- without ever knowing who in the pack is still holding a flame for her.

If I had to put my money on who it was, I’d say jimin. Because logically- anyone else would confront her, spook her with their concern, or worse. But jimin has always been a calculating alpha, has always been able to picture the long con.

He takes in everything- her clothes, not dirty (so she isn’t Litterally homeless, which is good because then he might not manage to resist dragging her inside), but that her wrists- thin and her cheeks- hollow. more hollow than they’ve ever been before (which is not good, because if she dies yoongi dies and she might- she needs)

She looks like rage and grief and trauma are eating her alive again. And jimin would be startled by this- but he sees it every day in yoongi so- he’s a little too used to it.

So Jimîn turns his instincts down to a simmer, and settles for the long hunt

Maybe once or twice when she comes over jimin notices and comes outside- doesn’t say anything just sits next to her, neither of them offering a hand- but maybe a cigarette every now and then. The smoke burning out the words they can’t say- or maybe they actually do talk. Eventually, after the first few times. I imagine it’s one where she comes to him and her hands are visibly shaking. It’s not even winter out anymore- it’s not even cold but she couldn’t lift a glass to her lips without spilling it.

And jimîn wonders if it’s Parkingsons? Drugs? Hunger? It’s hard to tell.

So instead jimîn asks, “do you need money?”

“No, why?” Her voice sounds the same, and jimin does not cry hearing it. Somehow he thought she’d sound different. But it’s the same voice that tae hears in her nightmares, the same voice that jimin once heard begging for namjoons life- the same voice he hears on one of the few recordings yoongi has on his old phone that seem to be the only thing that helps these days.

It’s the same, and jimin almost thought she might not be able to talk still.

He breathes deep, because those times have passed now. They’re both here. Mostly Alive. Jimin geastures with the cigarette.

“To stop whatever that is.” But she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything but shove her hands in her pockets. She leaves- and jimin almost lets her go without saying anything.

“You could come inside you know.” Jimin drinks in the way she looks back at him, half hidden in the shadow at the edge of the streetlight already.

“I know, I just don’t want too.”

And that hurts, that leaves jimjn smoking a whole pack on the porch until the sun starts to rise and his eyes are bloodshot But she comes back, she always comes back.

Jimin starts to store little facts about her. The faded x’s on the back of her hands, the sometimes stamps, the tattoos poking out from under her sleves the thick one over the mating mark on her neck, a rose- is that for tae? Can she smell taes scent from here? does she know that tae fell asleep tonight crying? Jimin’s drenched with the smell of her displeasure. Jimin did notice- the second he walked out- the flare of her nostrils. He doesn’t want to say it.

Good. He thought. She should know

We all miss you

They sit like that. Burning out one cigarette between the two of them, then another, then another before jimin speaks.

“Tae published another book”

“I know, I saw, I even bought the damn thing but-“

“it’s about you, you know”

“I know, I could tell from the damn cover” she takes another puff. “I’m not gonna read it.”

“her readers are eating it up, might even get made into a movie, you know how much teenage girls love starcrossed lovers and all that.”

The m/c would pause, looking jimin up and down, “I know”

another time the m/c offers him a cigarette and jimin says “I quit” and maybe it’s because he already looks guilty that has the m/c asking for more.

“why?”

And then he’d say slowly like he didn’t want to admit it, “jins pregnant again, you know what they say about second hand smoke.” And jimin would- feel not quite so vindicated about the brief look of betrayal across her face but- at least a bit soothed by it. At least she has emotions for them, at least she might want- “more for me then”

and jimin might try and reach up, might try and knock it out of her hand- but she flinches back from the touch, denying it.

Maybe they never touch, maybe that’s one of their rules. I bet she doesn’t come back for a good long while after that. And then one night, jimîn sees her - the back of her head catching the porch light, the distant coos of the new pup upstairs, namjoon’s voice soothing. He pauses looking at the back of her head. Waiting long enough that namjoon calls down the stairs soft “minnîe? Is there something on the porch?” And namjoon might be able to see jimjn from the top of the steps, sees the alpha school his expression neutral, aware that the m/c has turned at the sound of his voice and that she’s looking at jimin and-

And someone’s hurt her. Someone- it had to be someone. Her eyes is swollen, her lip is bloody. Jimin’s heart kicks up and his scent goes sour- upstairs the little pup starts to cry instead of coo, picking up on it.

But jimj schools his scent into something manageable says “it’s nothing hyung, just a stray” And jimin goes back upstairs to get namjoon a bottle but by the Time he gets back down she’s already gone.

There’s a bit of blood on the cushion though. And a note shoved under one of the cushions. Shoved inside a empty pack of cigarettes. “I thought you’d told them I was coming here.”

And when the m/c gets back to her apartment after a long night of work (as a bartender or maybe manager probably) she finds a note under the coffee pot in her kitchen, the edge sticking out.

‘Of course I didn’t tell, I’ll always keep your secrets’

[the-au-thor]

ʙᴀʙʏꜱɪᴛᴛɪɴɢ ᴍᴜɴ | ᴘᴛ.4 | ᴇ.ᴍ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: "Eddie Munson has a whaaaat?"

Yep, he has a heart, and it angers you so much.

And he also so has a good taste in clothing which is...weird.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fey!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Click here

[¹][²][³][⁴][⁵][⁶][⁷][⁸][⁹][¹⁰][¹¹][¹²][¹³][¹⁴]

You wouldn’t look at him. Since leaving Los Angeles, flying over the beautiful skies of the United States toward Indiana, you hadn’t made eye contact with him—not even once. It hurt a lot more because you could look the others in the eye but not him.

“So… all your friends and your dad are in Hawkins, but you bought a house in Indianapolis,” you said, holding the notebook you always carried for work while watching Eddie’s driver carry his luggage into the massive house Eddie had bought a few years ago.

“Exactly,” he admitted, watching as questions piled up on your face. But instead of asking them, you adjusted your glasses, which sent the loose strand from your bun falling across your face. You nodded, handing him the keys to his truck.

“Alright. Here are your truck keys. Tomorrow, you’ve got a solo radio interview, and the guys will be traveling here from Hawkins for the concert. We already advertised that any kid wearing a Hellfire Club shirt gets an 80% discount on merch, and I sent VIP passes to all your friends and your unc—your dad.” You corrected yourself quickly.

Eddie took the keys to his truck and stuck his tongue out behind your back. You were too busy studying your notebook to notice, looking neither impressed nor fazed.

“Aren’t you going to ask anything?”

“Nope. I’ll be at my hotel room. Try not to call me because you decided to steal a giraffe from the zoo or throw a hobo party, alright? Great talk,” you said as you walked toward the house's foyer to grab your jacket.

“Oh, come on, Fey! What do you mean, your hotel room? There are, like, ten bedrooms here,” Eddie protested, following you, his arms flailing impatiently.

“I booked a room with the rest of the concert staff. Like it should be,” you explained, still avoiding his gaze as you straightened your jacket, pulling your hair out from under it.

“Come on, you’re not staff—you’re my assistant. What if I need something at night or something?”

You laughed.

“What, to give you a bottle and burp you? No thanks. See you later, Eddie.”

He clenched his teeth.

“How long are you going to stay mad at me, Fey?” he finally asked, pointing out the elephant in the room after four days without contact and two excruciating hours of travel.

“I’m not mad at you, Eddie. I just think we need boundaries,” you explained. “Boundaries will help make sure what happened at the party doesn’t happen again.”

“Don’t call me Eddie,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

You looked at him, but not really—your eyes settled somewhere on his forehead as if you were digging a bullet-sized hole there.

“That’s your name. Or would you prefer I call you Mr. Munson?”

Eddie puffed out his cheeks and lightly punched the wall beside him.

“Dammit, Fey, you drive me crazy,” he muttered.

You smirked, victorious.

“Sorry to hear that, Mr.—”

“Oh, don’t you dare,” he cut you off, his tone almost a warning. But to you, it wasn’t threatening—it was entertaining. “And cut it out with the ‘Mr.’ and ‘Eddie.’ That’s not us. I’m Mun, and you’re Fey.”

You blinked rapidly, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“That’s not my name,” you replied flatly.

Eddie rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Enough. I’ll have your luggage brought in. We have a lot to talk about. My friends are arriving Wednesday, and one of them has a birthday. I need you as my conscience because apparently hiring nuns to serve drinks isn’t a great idea, according to Robert.”

“I agree with him, which I never thought I’d say. Tomorrow, after the interview, we can grab lunch and talk about it,” you said, quickly jotting something in your notebook.

“You’re killing me, Fey. Why do you have to make everything so hard?”

“Others would say I’m actually making it easier.”

Eddie let out a humorless laugh.

“Oh yeah? Who? I’d like to meet them.”

“I don’t know—maybe someone like Will Walsh,” you quipped, emphasizing the name with sarcasm before snapping your notebook shut and heading for the door. That remark only made Eddie angrier.

“See? SEE?! I KNEW YOU WERE MAD—”

“What’s going on here, son?” Wayne’s voice echoed through the house, interrupting the endless, pointless argument. He had just come inside using the keys Eddie had given him when he bought the house. Both of you looked at him in silence, and of course, Eddie spoke first.

“I’m trying to deal with this woman!”

Offended, you glared at him, eyebrows raised in anger, and your mouth opened instantly to protest.

“Don’t call me that!”

Eddie nodded, pretending to reflect, placing a hand on his chin.

“You’re right. The more accurate word is child,” he said, turning to Wayne. “Wayne, I’m trying to deal with this hellish child.”

“I’m leaving,” you muttered, sighing in frustration, unwilling to hear any more of the nonsense Eddie had to say. Pausing in front of Wayne, you attempted to compose yourself, offering him a polite handshake and a nervous smile. “Sorry you had to see this, Wayne. Nice shirt. See you at the concert, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let this brat get under your skin,” he murmured the last part to you, making you puff out your cheeks and purse your lips angrily.

“It’s a little late for that,” you replied, leaning toward his ear, earning a chuckle that only irritated Eddie more. He rubbed his face with his hands and started tying his hair into a high bun.

“Fey, can you at least take this?” he asked, rushing to one of his massive suitcases and pulling out a package adorned with a bow. He placed it in your hands when it became clear you wouldn’t lift a finger to take it.

“Who should I send it to?” you asked, studying the package as if it were a foreign object.

“To your hotel room,” he replied, mocking you in a childlike voice. “It’s yours.”

Suspicious, you raised one eyebrow.

“Does it contain an explosive that’ll go off when I pull this ribbon?” you asked, flipping the package over in your hands.

“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing his mouth. “The only thing you’re pulling is my balls,” he grumbled through gritted teeth.

You nodded silently, clutching the gift to your chest without letting the comment bother you.

“Thanks,” you said.

Now it was Eddie who was giving you a strange look.

“That’s it?”

You glanced at Wayne and then back at him, unsure.

“Yeah. I’m leaving now, Eddie.”

“Damn it!” he growled, the words ripping out of his throat like they were strangling him as he watched you close the door. Then he turned to Wayne. “Don’t ask me to explain, because I don’t know how.”

Wayne laughed, amused.

“It’s pretty clear to me. For once, you’re not messing with a girl—a girl’s messing with you.”

“Ha-ha,” Eddie deadpanned, not even pretending to find it funny. He threw an arm around Wayne’s neck—the man who was as close to a father as he’d ever had. “How about you tell me how life’s been over a couple of beers, huh?”

When the car dropped you off at the hotel, you were honestly exhausted. Thankfully, after the Indianapolis concert, there’d be a two-week break before the tour picked back up in New York. That would wrap up the U.S. leg before heading to Europe in about a month. The idea of seeing even a bit of London or Scotland had you a little excited. You’d always wanted to visit those places. Of course, it wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined it, but you weren’t going to get picky. You had a job that paid the bills and let you see some nice places when you weren’t, as Eddie so eloquently put it, “pulling his balls.”

You couldn’t figure out why it irritated him so much that you were keeping your distance. You’d have thought he’d enjoy it. He was like some hormonal teenager—distant when his parents were around but thrilled to have space to sneak girls into the house. So why was he so bothered?

If you were being honest, though, you were enjoying it. It was about time Eddie Munson, rockstar extraordinaire, got a taste of his own medicine in the form of a little frustration.

You bit your thumb nervously, staring at the package sitting on the bed. You had no idea what in the world it could be. Eddie didn’t give you gifts. Eddie gave you generous bonuses, usually as extra pay for using your free time—or what should have been your sleep time—to clean up his messes.

You knew he was generous and cared about the people close to him, but you weren’t his friend. The only reason you knew anything about his private life was because that’s what you were hired for: don’t ask questions (but do, if necessary), fix problems, and anticipate potential disasters in both the public and not-so-public life of Eddie Munson.

When you’d agreed to an interview with Robert at his office, you’d pictured something completely different. But the man had set a trap. Just like he had an eye for rising stars, he also had a talent for spotting desperate, broke souls.

Anyway, back to the package. Eddie didn’t give anything without expecting something in return. And you hadn’t done anything for him that wasn’t already paid for. So what was in that package?

You muttered a curse under your breath and tore into it, showing no mercy for the expensive wrapping paper or the intricately tied bow, which now bounced somewhere on the hotel room floor.

Inside was more paper—a kind of thin, translucent cushioning for something delicate.

“What, no maze for me to solve, too?” you muttered as you worked to unwrap it.

Finally, you uncovered the contents: a beautiful piece of fabric that appeared to have at least three layers—the lining, the inner layer, and a layer of tulle on the outside. You picked it up and realized it was a gorgeous dress, floor-length and elegant. The lining and inner fabric ended mid-thigh, but the tulle extended all the way down to brush the floor.

It had one sleeve, while the other arm was left bare. A black evening gown, delicate, expensive, and absolutely stunning. It even smelled of a fragrance far too luxurious to come from a convenience store.

You glanced back at the package and noticed a note tucked inside. That messy handwriting was unmistakable.

“Fey,

Here’s something you can wear next time you treat yourself to one of my record label’s boring parties.

Happy belated birthday, and sorry if I’m an ignorant ass.

—Mun xx”

You read the note a couple of times, then stared at the gorgeous dress for a few minutes. You felt the warmth in your chest building, transforming second by second into something else.

When you realized what it was, you threw the dress onto the bed angrily, glared up at the ceiling, and screamed.

Damn. Eddie. Munson.

[wispstalk]

wip wednesday

been tagged by various people over the past few weeks and didn't have much to share but now y'all get...

🚨🚨 IDLE IN THEIR THRONES SECRET BONUS CHAPTER 🚨🚨 i'm editing a version of my fic for my man, bc he wants to read my shit. but the problem is that my intended audience for the Oblivion fic is "people who have played oblivion" which he has not.

I made some mostly-minor changes to contextualize events/characters but Tanis's university B-plot warranted another chapter. Includes one microfic I've already posted, but the rest is new. fair warning: 4k words under the cut. tagging everyone who tagged me: @nuwanders @jiubilant @dirty-bosmer @sylvienerevarine @ehlnofay @everybodyknows-everybodydies (and a special shoutout to Talviel because I referenced her menus for the last section)

--

“Impressive, Apprentice!” Julienne Fanis, the Master Alchemist, watches with delight as the angry weal on Tanis’s neck smooths and seals over. “Sorry, Journeyman, isn’t it? Now that you have your staff. Traven ought to have bumped you up a few ranks after what you went through to get it…”

Tanis makes a noncommittal noise. He had thought, perhaps stupidly, that being ambushed by necromancers was only a test of his mettle. Only when he made an offhand remark to Delmar, the Master Enchanter, did the Elder Council fly into a flurry. The University has been abuzz ever since, and Tanis attracts stares everywhere he goes.

He rubs at the healed cut, which has begun to itch with a fury. “Trouble with spiddal stick,” he says, “is that it burns out the infection, and then keeps burning. But I thought with a pinch of frost salts—”

“Ah, but the cost…” Julienne’s eyes widen as Tanis produces a sizeable jar of salts. “Well! If we must be plagued with these Oblivion gates, I should count myself blessed to have a student bold enough to enter them.”

He offers her a half-grin and pinches some salt into his calcinator. “Or mad enough to go flower-picking in the Deadlands.”

“Well, should you decide the frost salts aren’t worth the risk, I’d try lady’s smock leaves. That ought to counteract the irritation.” She regards him, head cocked. “You seem to have a talent for healing. I’m more inclined to banecraft, myself, but I try to make my students understand that it’s not so different, is it? Here you’ve just made a healing salve from a poisonous flower.”

Yena would like this woman. “Just toyed around with it and got lucky. I’d like to learn more. Who’s the Master Restorationist here?”

Julienne gives him a strange look. “The University does not have a Master Restorationist. I teach apprentices how to make basic restoratives, and the Master Alterationist covers spellwork. But if you’re looking to further your studies, there is always work in the infirmary. I could have a word with the chief medic.”

Tanis blinks up at her. Yena would really like this woman. That was all the old witch ever wanted for him— a life as a healer. He wrote her off, could never tolerate working in a temple, but perhaps here…

“Excuse me, Master Fanis.” The reedy voice of a young woman cuts through the workroom. “Master Polus has requested Tanis Irathi’s presence in the tower lobby.” The grey-robed assistant does not wait for a response, but only ducks her head and shuffles out.

Tanis raises an eyebrow. Julienne Fanis gives him a tight smile. “One of Raminus’s little errands, no doubt.”

“Can’t it wait?” Tanis complains, and moderates the heat beneath his calcinator.

“You’d best go. Your reduction won’t go to waste, I’ll finish it.” Julienne sighs as she glances around the workroom. “I do hope you’ll keep attending lectures. I lose some of my most promising alchemists this way. The Council tends to take notice of mages with… certain skills.”

She throws a look at his swordbelt, slung over the edge of the worktable. He has, perhaps, made himself stand out. No one else wears a weapon around campus, unless he counts staves. And after what he went through to earn his, he paid the Master Enchanter to tip it with an ebony spearhead.

He leaves Julienne to experiment with his cache of Daedric ingredients, and makes for the tower.

—

Two days later, Tanis storms into the tower lobby, saddlesore and filthy with road dust. Raminus looks up at his arrival, and his face turns white when Tanis slaps a book down on his desk.

“You sent me after a book,” Tanis says, low and menacing. “So here is a book.”

“Er, Tanis, there—” Raminus clears his throat. “There was never any book.”

“There was never any book,” Tanis agrees.

“The Goblin with the Golden Arm,” Raminus reads from the cover. “Ah. A fiction. Consider your point made, mage.”

Tanis hadn’t put quite that much thought into it; he picked this one off the shelf because he liked the illustrations. “Give me that,” he snaps, and snatches it from Raminus’s hands. “So. What the fuck?”

Raminus takes off his spectacles and rubs at the bridge of his nose. “I’m truly sorry for the lie. Our relationship with the Count is tenuous at best, and Traven thought that sending a high-ranking official to Skingrad would alert the necromancers to our presence and drive them underground. After how capably you handled the necromancers that attacked you among the stave-trees, we thought you a good candidate for this mission.”

Praise, Tanis notes with annoyance, does soften his outrage. “Well, it’s done.”

“Please, tell me everything that happened.”

“Well, to start with, you told me to retrieve a book in the Count’s possession, so I rode all the way to fucking Skingrad, and—”

“I haven’t forgotten, Tanis. Just tell me what you found.”

Tanis had visited the castle once before, when he and Coradri closed the Oblivion gate outside Skingrad’s walls. He had known that Count Janus Hassildor was unlikely to grant him audience. But the castle steward, Mercator, was notably more unfriendly when Tanis identified himself as a representative of the mages guild.

Mercator informed him that the Count would meet him after dark, north of the mineshaft outside the city walls. So, after sharing a few rounds with the patrons at the West Weald Inn, Tanis made his way there.

“It was a trap,” Tanis tells Raminus. “Mercator and two of his friends met me instead. Summoned wraiths from thin air, cast a silence spell over me, and attacked.”

“My word, this is worse than we thought.” Raminus’s expression grows grave. “The Count sent him to kill you?”

No, Tanis continues, the Count arrived just as Tanis finished them off. Janus Hassildor was white with fury, or so Tanis thought— then he caught the strange glow to his eyes, his sallow cheeks. The flash of long canines as he gave Tanis an earful.

I suspected Mercator was involved with the necromancers, Hassildor said, but I would not move against him without knowing the identities of his allies. Despite what your Council may think, I would never throw in with such a cult.

“And he told me,” Tanis concludes, “the next time you want something from him, you come yourselves.”

“I see.” Raminus sighs and rubs at his jaw as he takes it in. “Tanis, please believe me when I say it was never the Council’s intention to put you in harm’s way.”

“Oh, piss off with that. I was four beers deep and had no fucking clue what was going on, but those three couldn’t have left a scratch on me.”

The Master Wizard lets out a humorless huff of laughter. “In any case, we are aware of Count Hassildor’s… condition… but it isn’t public knowledge. For that reason I didn’t share what we knew with you. We will not make that mistake again. And if Hassildor shares in our suspicions about this burgeoning cult, perhaps we can count him among our allies.”

Tanis folds his arms, skeptical. “And you lot aren’t worried that a vampire—”

“He hides his nature well, though he can’t hide it from the Council of Mages. We’ve come to certain accords. And if those agreements are strained of late, the fault doesn’t lie with you.”

“No shit.”

“You’ve done the guild a great service,” Raminus says. “And for that, you earn the rank of Evoker.”

Tanis blinks. While he grasps for something to say, Raminus unlocks the cabinet behind his desk, and comes around with something glittering in his fists. A silver chain with a pendant of citrine, carved with twin hands and the Eye of Magnus. When Tanis takes it into his palm, he senses the warding spell enchanted within it.

“Again, you have my apologies.” Raminus inclines his head. “I will speak to the Council.”

It bothers Tanis to find himself placated by this. Promote him, bestow some magical trinket on him, and he will gladly continue being a useful idiot for the guild. At least, he hopes, the Council will see fit to use their idiot well.

—

“Explain to me,” Tanis says, watching the ghost of his ancestor swoop and howl through the practice room, “how this doesn’t count as necromancy.”

Anaht’s nictitating membranes slide over her eyes in exasperation. “You do not want to get into this with me.”

“Don’t tell me what I want to get into,” he insists, and releases his focus, letting the restive shade return to the other side of the veil. “Say I’m attacked— bandits on the road, say, and say I kill the first one and make him get up and defend me against his fellow rogues and blaggards. That’s beyond the pale, and if I’m caught Traven throws me out on my ass.”

Her tail swishes with impatience. “Those are the rules, yes.”

“But dredging up my pissed-off card out of the ash is fine, and conjuring daedra— daedra, when they’re running thick as rabbits in the countryside— that’s all well and good.”

“Odd for you to be beating the moral drum,” Anaht says finely, “when I happen to know from Proctor Renault that you put your cohort to shame during the conjuration practical. A flame atronach, no less, while the rest of them were nearly bursting blood vessels just to call up a scamp.”

“Morals?” Tanis blinks. “Who the fuck said anything about morals? I’m a lout with a sword who does what I’m bid. It’s just that I can’t make heads nor tails of how you wizards think.”

Anaht relaxes then. “You will find,” she says, sweeping an arm for him to follow her out of the room, “that if there is a single thing that all wizards think, it is that we agree on nothing.”

In the Archives they find Tar-Meena, harried, drawing one claw down a list of requisitions, muttering to herself. “I need the key to the incinerator,” Anaht announces to the Master Archivist.

Tar-Meena throws Tanis a dubious glance, and speaks to Anaht in Jel, unaware that Tanis can parse it. “You are taking that one? Raminus’s hunter?”

“He was my hunter first,” Anaht sniffs, "and like any good hunter he knows when to be quiet."

With a skeptical lift of the brow ridge, Tar-Meena hands over a jangling ring of keys and returns to her work. Anaht leads him through the darkness and hush of the stacks, all the way to the end of the maze of shelves, to an unassuming heavy door.

More crammed bookshelves, to no one’s surprise. Sealed off from the carefully-controlled environment of the stacks, there is a window letting in the afternoon light, and a large round table scattered with a half-finished card game, books and papers, a mug of cold coffee dregs. It seems this vault of forbidden knowledge serves as a sort of employee break room.

No fires to be found, though, not so much as a reedlight. Like the stacks, this room is only to be lit by spell, with polished steel sconces on the wall to reflect the mage-glow.

“Why’s it called the incinerator?” he asks, drawing his reading glasses from his pocket.

“Yes, Arch-Mage,” Anaht says, taking a posture of mock obeisance. “We've found another treatise on the Black Arts, and we'll throw it straight in the fires.”

On the shelf before him, a veritable buffet of taboo: Necromancer’s Moon, Pathway to Lichdom. A journal purported to be authored by the Wolf Queen Potema. Even a title written in Dunmeris, On the Veneration and Summoning of Ancestor Guardians. The very spell he’d just opened his palm and offered his blood to learn.

And, tacked to one corner of the shelving timbers, a small folio: The Black Arts on Trial, by Arch-Mage Hannibal Traven.

“In the interest of being even-handed. A little joke among the scrivs,” Anaht says by way of explanation, then nudges him aside with her hip. “Now move, you big oaf, and let me look for something.”

He takes the folio with him and settles down at the table. The contents of this inflammatory writ are oft-bandied on the University grounds, but he’s never gotten around to reading it, what with all the… everything else.

While he reads, Anaht waltzes around the room, her tail jewelry jangling, occasionally plucking a book like a choice pear and stacking it on her arm.

“This gra-Kogg makes a lot of sense,” he says, holding a finger to mark his place. “Actually think her arguments were better than this other fella’s, but Traven’s conclusion doesn't consider her at all. Why include the debate, then?”

“Keep reading.” Anaht does not look back, but the tip of her tail shakes with mild amusement.

“Oh,” he says, squinting down at the afterword. “Reckon I ought to have seen that coming.”

“These will get you started.” Anaht drops her books to the table with a heavy thump, and delicately pats the top of the stack. Tanis grumbles; there has to be a dozen of them, and he’s already up to his ears in daedric research and work in the infirmary.

She perches lightly in the chair to his left. “Yes, Master gra-Kogg was a necromancer,” she says, and folds her jeweled claws beneath her chin. “But?”

“But,” he sighs, now seeing the point of that menacing bookpile, “that doesn’t make her wrong. Raminus has me running all over Cyrodiil flushing them out of their dens, but I don’t know a damn thing about how to fight them. Can’t interrupt their casting, can’t tell what they’re calling up, don’t know what they’re after.”

“If you insist on being the Council’s hunting dog, I will not have you go forth unprepared.” She taps the silvery-thin scar on the side of his neck, the one he’d earned while ambushed in Wellspring Grove, collecting wood for his mage’s staff. “So long as Traven invites the necromancers' wrath, we archivists will maintain this bulwark against them.”

“Oh, I'm sure it's all very noble."

She ignores the barb, tucking the books in her striped haversack and foisting it on him to carry. “Now come. Let us go to the King and Queen. You owe me dinner.”

Tanis follows her out the door. "What for?"

She swats at him with her tail. “You think I do all this tutoring for free?”

—

After dinner, he sees Anaht back to the University grounds and makes his way to Luther’s boarding house. Coradri is waiting for him in the common room, bouncing off the walls in her effort to rush him right back out the door.

“Good, you’re already dressed for dinner,” she says, breathless. “We have to get to the Tiber Septim Hotel now.”

“I just fucking— the Tiber? Are you trying to bleed me dry?” He lets himself be towed down the street, then digs in his heels. “The plaza district’s the other way, s’wit.”

“Ugh! This city is so big and stupid,” Coradri says with some venom, and steers him in the opposite direction. “Listen, it’s almost ninth bell and we have to hurry. I might have agreed to a private audience with the High Chancellor on your behalf.”

“It better be on his drake, then.” He looks askance at her— dressed in a billowy silk tunic, soft buckskin trousers, and an embroidered vest. “I see you’ve been helping yourself to my purse.”

“I knew you wouldn’t mind.” She dips into a little curtsy. “Can’t show up dressed like some Colovian poacher, can I?”

“You look nice,” he admits grudgingly, and they pass through the gates of the Talos Plaza district.

This part of the city is far more palatial than the Elven Gardens, where they have taken up residence for the past several weeks. The people who stroll the streets are aristocrats by their dress and bearing, and the ancient Ayleid architecture has been well-maintained.

Coradri walks into the sumptuous hotel as if she does this sort of thing all the time. The host identifies them as the Chancellor’s guests, and leads them away from the common dining room to a private balcony overlooking the square.

“Good sir. My lady.” The host drops into a deep bow. “Chancellor Ocato sent a page ahead to inform us that he has been delayed in Council deliberations, but will arrive shortly. He has requested that we bring out the first course while you wait, and a bottle of his favored wine— Tamika’s 415 vintage.”

A serving boy lays out plates of charred fennel and horse carpaccio. The host presents the bottle laid across her arm, then pops the cork in one deft motion and offers it to Tanis.

He takes it, baffled. The porter beams expectantly at him. “Ah, thanks,” he says. “That’ll… be all.”

Coradri erupts into laughter once the servers leave. “You’re supposed to sniff the cork.”

“How d’you know things like that?” Tanis rubs at his temples and stares at the spread before them. “Damn you, scribling. I split a slaughterfish pie with Anaht just before you dragged me here.”

“Tough luck,” Coradri says through a mouthful. “Have at the wine, then. I don’t want any.”

“And I’m already drunk,” he sighs, and pours himself a mug.

“You won’t have to talk much. You were too busy with your studies, so I went to the Elder Council without you. Waved Jauffre’s writ around a lot. Said I was a real Blade. Told them about Brother Martin, even. They won’t send us any legionnaires, I already know that, but I’m not giving up.”

“Fuck me.” Tanis takes a long drink. The wine— there is no other way he can put it— tastes expensive. It blooms at the back of his throat, deep and rich and mellow. “At least the wine’s good.”

“So’s the food,” she says, and reaches for another slice of horsemeat. “I’ve never had anything like this.”

Despite himself, he samples a bite from each platter. “Tell you what, let’s make a pact: after we win the priest his throne, may we never piss him off. Once I see how they live in the White-Gold Tower, I won’t want to go back.”

“Arensha,” she grins. “Do you think we’ll leave for the temple soon?”

“Ah… Raminus wants me to check in on some researchers. They’re excavating a ruin near Cheydinhal. But I can probably slip off after that. We could go there, take the Blue Road back. You getting bored while I’m playing at being a scholar?”

“No. I find plenty to do in this big, stupid city.” She props her chin on her hand and gives him a searching look. “But I miss Brother Martin. Don’t you?”

Tanis narrowly avoids choking on his wine. Just then, Ocato sweeps in, with a trail of attendants behind him, and burbles out apologies while dismissing his retinue with a wave.

The second course, a creamed nettle soup, arrives on the table just as the wizened, willowy Altmer settles into his seat. He greets them graciously and calls for more wine.

Tanis learned his etiquette from frequenting Cyrod merchants; whether it's tea or a full banquet, negotiation will not commence until all parties have sated themselves. Ocato makes polite conversation about the city’s various pleasure gardens and noteworthy watering holes, with Coradri’s occasional interjections to egg him on.

When the final course is cleared— a good two hours later— the real discussion begins. Ocato tents his fingers and looks to Coradri.

“I’ve kept you quite long,” he says, “but of course you didn’t come to the city to drink wine and listen to me blather on, so perhaps we can discuss the matter at hand.”

“Of course we can,” Coradri says. “And I hope the Chancellor will forgive us bringing him out so late, after working so tirelessly in the Council chambers.”

Tanis takes a long draught of wine to stifle a snort. Where does she get this shit?

“Nothing to forgive, of course,” Ocato says with a stately nod. "Your pleas before the Council haven't fallen on hard hearts, I hope you understand."

“The legion can’t be spared, I know, but of course the Chancellor agrees that the safety of the heir is important.”

“The utmost,” Ocato says gravely. “And of course I see the urgency of your request, but the generals simply will not divert the Legion.” He leans in and speaks lowly. “It’s no secret that the ranks have thinned since this crisis began. The Imperial Army has already pulled forces from the provinces, and that may yet cost us. Word has reached us of gates as far-flung as Black Marsh and Skyrim.”

“Of course we understand,” Coradri says. “I mean no insult to the Empire, Chancellor, but Irathi here is a legion in one. Six gates opened outside the cities, you’ll remember, and he closed each of them alone.”

Tanis opens his mouth to protest— Coradri had been with him outside Chorrol and Skingrad— but she stomps on the toe of his boot, the universal sign to shut the fuck up.

“Many of the counts and countesses have written to the Council of your deeds.” Ocato nods in Tanis’s direction. “And of course the whole of Cyrodiil is grateful for your protection. Quite a feat for one man alone.”

“In some ways, it makes him more effective,” Coradri says. “Irathi can move independently. Of course the Elder Council would have responded, we all believe that, but I imagine it would take some time to move enough forces to all six cities?”

“Of course,” Ocato agrees, then shakes his head. “With fourteen of us, the deliberations can go on for— well, I don’t have to tell you, do I? Once again, I do hope you can forgive my late arrival.”

“Of course we do,” Coradri says. “We wait at the Chancellor’s pleasure. The Mythic Dawn may not do the same, but no harm will come to the heir so long as Bruma is defended. And the Hero of Kvatch” —she gestures grandly to Tanis— “is the future Emperor’s own sworn sword.”

“You are the Hero of Kvatch?” Ocato’s eyebrows shoot near up to his hairline. “Of course! Who else could withstand such a trial? Then the Empire has you to thank not only for the security of its cities, but for its heir.”

With his hands under the table, Tanis has been counting off on his fingers. If they say it one more time, he’ll have a perfect round dozen. He likes his lucky numbers.

“Of course,” Ocato says thoughtfully, “as emissaries of the Blades, the council could grant you substantial resources in the army’s stead.”

“As an emissary of the Blades,” Coradri says smoothly, “I can assure you we would put them to good use.”

Ocato clasps his hands together. “It may take some doing— you’ve seen how the Council sessions can drag on— but consider it done. And I expect the Imperial battlemages would be quite interested to know how one man has come to run courses around them.”

A silence falls. Ocato regards Tanis with keen eyes, and Coradri gives him a small secretive smile.

“You… want me to tell you how I close the gates.”

“How you survive them,” Ocato says with a sudden fervor. “How you manage it alone.”

Gold— that’s what Ocato means by substantial resources. Enough for arms, for mounts, for mercenaries, and all he has to do is get to the other end of a story.

Tanis spreads his hands. “Of course.”

[umbravirtus]

He moved forward when beckoned, his steps careful, trying not to betray how his heart pounded in his chest. When he reached Eris, he glanced at the intricate laces with a touch of awe.

“Of course,” Hans replied softly, his voice steady despite the tension thrumming through him. “Let me help you.”

He worked deftly at the laces and garments, his fingers steady and nimble. Each thread required precision and patience. As he worked, his eyes briefly caught on the frayed sleeve and the smudge of lipstick on Eris’s hand. This was a creature worn thin by the weight of power, its demands leaving even someone like Eris marked and weary. It was a small revelation, but Hans kept his face carefully blank as he worked.

Hans carefully folded each article of clothing as he removed them, following Eris’s instructions to find suitable nighttime attire. He noticed the pants were worn and threadbare, likely one of the only true comforts the man allowed himself. Everything else seemed a calculated display of power, but this—this was real.

He treated those pants with the utmost respect as he put them on Eris, though he swallowed hard upon seeing just how well-equipped the fae lord was. He thought grimly about how that would probably hurt later.

At Eris’s question about being called "Pet," Hans paused briefly, his fingers stilling for the smallest moment before resuming their work. He chose his words with care.

“Call me what you like, Master. It would not distress me at all, though if it’s all the same, I’d prefer Hans.” He offered the faintest smile, cautious but not lacking sincerity.

When Eris gestured to the bone comb, Hans followed the motion with his gaze, hesitating. His stomach tightened. This wasn’t just about survival anymore. There was a strange vulnerability in the request—almost an invitation—that Hans wasn’t sure how to navigate. But he also understood the power of acts of service, of showing himself useful in even the smallest of ways.

Hans retrieved the comb and returned to Eris’s side. “I have steady hands,” he said, his voice low but sure, “and a bit of practice with fine work.”

Carefully, he began combing through Eris’s hair, working with gentle precision. His movements were deliberate and unhurried, giving his full focus to the task. Despite himself, he admired the copper and gold strands as they gleamed under the light, almost alive with an inner fire. There was an earnest awe in his touch, though he didn’t voice it.

“I used to work on ships in bottles,” Hans offered quietly, unsure why he was sharing. “Tedious work, but you learn patience. And precision—you have to braid tiny ropes and shape fine sails.” He carefully smoothed out another section of hair before asking, “Would you like it braided, Master?”

He had heard that among fae, long hair was often a symbol of power and that it was essential to wear it down in public. In private, however, a braid could offer comfort and practicality.

Hans understood the assignment. He crafted a loose A-shaped braid, twisting it into a bun that wouldn’t press against Eris’s head as he lay down. Using one of his shirt laces to secure it, Hans demonstrated the design with care.

“Should you need to unbraid it quickly when leaving your chambers,” he explained, pulling on a thread. The braid unraveled seamlessly, falling back into a smooth cascade.

And just as quickly as he undid it, Hans began working at it again. “Pardon the delay, Master. You’re ready. Is there anything else I may do to serve you?”

He kept his tone neutral but respectful, his words free of sarcasm or mockery. He was playing the long game here—earning trust, or at least tolerance, while keeping himself useful enough to avoid being discarded.

And perhaps, just perhaps, finding some small thread of control in this impossible situation.

Tired, worn out by the court session, by so many eyes and hands and minds on him, Eris didn't want to deal with this. He didn't want Hans here. He didn't want anyone here. He stood still, listening as Hans spoke, then turned to look at him. When he did, he wanted to snap, to use cruel words and send the man scurrying far from him, to send him running off to hide in some hovel where Eris would never have to think of him again. But, he reluctantly acknowledged, he couldn't do that. He owed Hans his allegiance and protection, just as Hans had given him his free will.

"Master is a sufficient title," he said, and held out a wrist, silently beckoning Hans to come to him. "The laces are intricate." To say the least. "If you don't mind, I would appreciate the help. I've drunk myself rather stupid tonight."

Trying not to think of you.

The delicate tips of Eris's ears showed through his long hair. There was a hint of lipstick on his hand, from someone desperate to leave their mark when they kissed him. One of his sleeves was slightly frayed from someone tugging on it so often for his attention. Eris was tired and frustrated, but he remained patient--and cooperative. If Hans did indeed help undress him, he would find Eris to be somewhat like a horse; although he wanted to be in bed, he would move as his caretaker required to assist with removing his ornate clothing, aware that this was far easier if someone was helping him than if he tried himself. Pretty clothes, hidden knives, worn leather boots, and patience frayed almost to the breaking point, Eris just wanted to be done with tonight--especially done with thinking. Despite all of that, the royal fae retained his dangerous beauty. Eris's body could make a sculptor weep, he was so beautifully shaped by many years of training, and even when he was tired, he seemed to almost gleam with the subtlest inner light--fire burning somewhere deep within him.

"What of you, Hans? I wish to call you Pet. Will that distress you unduly?" Eris tried to sound haughty, but he was too tired to put on a good act; he sounded sincere and hated himself for it. Sincerity was the death of advantage, and advantage was necessary for any measure of safety.

"And there is a comb, carved from bone, on the table over there. I don't suppose human hands can manage such a task gently?" He gestured to his hair, which fell nearly to his waist in a cascade of copper and gold. Eris knew he really he should just twist it up and crawl into bed and forget about-- about all of this. But the need to simultaneously needle at Hans and ask for affection--because what else would it be, to let someone else touch his hair?---left Eris tense and almost standoffish, a feral cat who craved a gentle hand without quite knowing how to ask.

[nyx-lyris]

so y’all know the scene in s2 where azi is driving back to the bookshop right before shax gets into the bentley?

when he asked it to play something modern (not be-bop)?

the bentley started playing the doctor and rose’s song from doctor who

aziraphale and shax in the bentley

the doctor and rose dance

and what were the doctor and rose doing in that scene? dancing.

"well, perhaps you could tell me... while we dance."

"you don't dance."

👀

EDIT: something i meant to add - since he turned this on right before the 1941 flashback (and since all the other flashbacks appear to be from azi's perspective), i think that this is a Clue that something more happened in 1941 than we saw in season 2. what is that something more, you ask?

well.

throughout the show it's known that a nightingale sang in berkley square is their song. it's also established that they know it's their song (no nightingales). but we, the audience, have no idea how they know that's their song.

i think 1941 may have been where they first heard the song. and i think it's possible that they had a scene not unlike the one i linked with the doctor and rose - except, in the end, they don't dance.

[hiraethwrote]

Imagine trying to escape an annoying ex who just will not leave you alone. And one day, around lunchtime, you’re so unlucky as to run into them in a cafe. They start badgering you about grabbing a bite together when you just blurt out “I’m actually here on a date!”

They instantly start grimacing and asking all sorts of questions about who this might be, causing you to panic. “Aah, there he is!” You desperately grab the arm of the next person to enter the cafe, hoping they’re able to read the situation and then have the decency to play along.

That random individual is no other than Satoru, who looks absolutely baffled by the abrupt encounter. His eyes darts between your ex and you, pleading with your eyes to help you out.

It takes him less than a second to make up his mind, slinging his arm over your shoulders and flashing your ex a smug grin — and then he commits wholeheartedly to the bit. He starts lying through his teeth about how much he enjoyed your last date, that he just picked up that book you recommended and he thought you might want to go to a botanical garden for your next meeting.

Eventually, your ex has had enough of the sight and leaves the cafe — you exhale deeply and relief washes over you. And once you begin to thank the stranger, he notices just how pretty you are. Kind eyes, a warm little smile that lingered after having laughed along to his performance, and a frame that simply seems to fit next to him.

The little unexpected interaction has caused you to run late. Rushing out a million little thank you’s, before pulling out your wallet. You pay for what you came for, then hand him some cash, “I’d love to pay for your lunch but I have to run. So just, take this, thank you again!” You chuckle lightly before quickly backing out of the cafe.

In your hurried haze, Satoru barely gets a word in. What really bothers him, is how he never managed to get your name before you’re out of there, and from that moment you’re stuck on his mind.

©hiraethwrote 2024 . all rights reserved. reposting, translating and otherwise plagarisim is prohibited

[mostly-imagines]

Guard Dog vol. II

jason todd x fem!reader

aka don’t fuck with jason’s gf pt. II

3 in 1 blurbs

warnings: mild standard gotham violence, in the 3rd section: attempted sexual assault and panicky thoughts afterwards from reader

“Sweetheart, this is…not good.”

You turn your head over to him, where he’s frowning, hands on his hips as he inspects your bedroom window.

You tilt your head, looking it over from your place on the couch. “What’s wrong with it?”

He sighs, “Well for one, the lock is broken. But even if it weren’t, this thing would be so easy to break.”

“It’s the lock the place came with.” You shrug. At least it has a lock. In Gotham that’s kind of asking a lot.

“Yeah, I can tell.” He frowns at the window once again, moving over to stand behind the couch. “I’m getting you better locks.” He looks to you, “I can install them tomorrow?”

You tilt your head up to look at him, “You don’t need to get me new locks, Jay…”

“Okay.” He kisses your head, “I’m getting them.”

You sigh in defeat, though your smile makes it lose its credibility. “Tomorrow’s fine. I assume you’re staying the night, then?”

He makes his way to the kitchen as he says, “Well, I’m not leaving you alone here with this piece of shit the only thing between you and Gotham.”

“I’ve lived here for two years.” You say flatly.

“Don’t remind me.” He mumbles as he moves behind the counter. “Actually, your door chain’s broken too, isn’t it?” It is, but that’s his own fault.

You had a long day a couple weeks ago and had a very long, very hot shower the second you got home. Unfortunately, it had slipped your mind to text him that you were home safe and he’d broken through the chain in one try to make sure you were okay.

You hum, “It wasn’t doing much anyways.” Clearly.

He grimaces as he heats up the stove for dinner.

You laugh lightly, “What?”

He looks back at you with a frankly adorable frown, “I don’t like that.”

You’d never thought much of it. You hadn’t had any—well, many—problems living here before, and you still had your deadbolt and handle lock.

“It’s okay. I’m safe here.”

He looks like he strongly disagrees. He comes back over, sitting next to you, taking your face in his hands. “Will you please let me set up some security measures around here?”

“Did Jason Todd just say please?” You say in faux-shock.

He rolls his eyes at you, “I’m serious.”

You sigh, contemplatively. “I don’t want my apartment looking like the Home Alone set.”

He laughs at that, “It’s not going to. You won’t even notice most of them. Just do it for me, please?”

“I’ll agree, but only because I know you’re going to do it anyways and I’d like to pretend I have control over this.” That’s not true, you’d agree to literally anything if he said please that sweetly again, but that’s your business.

“Fair enough.” He smiles, kissing your cheek.

No, it’s not fair at all.

It’s late. You’re not even sure how late but the city has calmed from its usual noises, indicating that your boyfriend will be home soon.

You’re coming up heavy on cramps tonight and according to the mockingly empty spot in your medicine cabinet, you’re out of ibuprofen. Yeah, it’s late, but the store on the corner is a three minute walk and fuck your stomach hurts. Jason wouldn’t like it if you went out without telling him though, so maybe you should wait until—

The sound of the living room window sliding open breaks you away from your thoughts, followed by a clatter of something hitting the ground.

You walk back into the dimly lit room, finding your boyfriend sliding the window shut again, holsters abandoned on the ground. He turns and collapses onto the couch face first, body immediately gone limp.

“Hey, baby.” You bite back a laugh, coming over to rub his muscled back from behind the couch. He groans into the cushion in response. “Why don’t you go get in bed?”

He hums almost imperceptibly, sitting up and rubbing his eyes roughly with his palms.

He stands and takes your hand in his as he passes by, tugging you towards the bedroom. The deep ache in your abdomen reminds you of your earlier train of thought. You pull your hand back, stopping in your tracks.

He turns back to you with a frown, wanting to know what could possibly be getting in his way of falling asleep, holding you close.

“I gotta go pick up some ibuprofen. I’ll be right back.” You say quietly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the night for him. His frown deepens as you head towards the door, watching you.

You’ve got your purse in hand and are reaching for the handle when you hear his footsteps following in suit. “Hey, it’s okay. Stay here, I’m just going to the 24 hour store on the corner.”

He shakes his head, “You’re not going out in Gotham alone at two in the morning. Put your coat on, it’s cold.”

You do as you’re told, shrugging the coat on as you glance over at him. “Jason, it’s okay. You’re exhausted, go to sleep.”

He ignores you, throwing a sweatshirt on to cover up his armor, and follows you out the door; albeit far more sluggish than usual.

He was right though, the night air is bitter and slaps your face with every step forward you take. He lingers a few steps behind you, honest to god almost falling asleep mid step a couple times.

Frankly, you’re not even sure what kind of fight he’d be able to put up in this state. Though, he’s surprised you plenty of times before. In any case, his head snaps up every time there’s any sign of movement around, instantly on alert.

He trails behind you as you browse through the narrow aisles, hands stuffed in his sweatshirt.

As you’re standing at the store counter paying, his neck is craned forward, resting on your shoulder. You rub soothing circles into his hand with your thumb, though you’re sure it’s not doing anything to help his exhaustion.

You’re walking back home, the bite of the air a bit more forgiving in this direction. There’s another man walking down the sidewalk approaching, hands in pocket.

Jason’s too tired to bother with subtlety, glaring directly at the passerby before he could even think of trying anything. And it works, because the guy averts his gaze real quick and speeds up past you.

He continues working at his post from just behind you all the way until you’re back inside your apartment.

He takes the medicine container out of his pocket and cracks it open for you, wordlessly filling up a glass of water after. You gulp down a couple of the pills, and he takes the glass and bottle out of your hand the second you’re done, setting them on the counter.

He turns to you, eyes barely open, mumbling, “Can we sleep now?”

You smile at his fatigued state and take his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

Your neighbor likes you. You know it, Jason knows it.

The worst he’d done was flirt with you, badly, and shut his mouth real quick whenever your boyfriend emerged from your apartment.

And Jason let that go; he knows better than anybody that you’re heavenly and sweet and clever, of course this fucking guy likes you. Jason set an unspoken rule with himself, that he won’t get violent with any guys unless they put their hands on you. Something he knows for absolute fact your neighbor has not done.

At least he hadn’t until a couple of hours ago. You’d been in the hallway at the mailslots, your boyfriend nowhere in sight, when he decided it was the perfect time to make a move. Make several moves, actually.

You’re sitting on the couch, knees to chest, still trying to wrap your mind wround what had happened when Jason sees you. You stopped crying a while ago and you’ve entered the phase of…well. That happened.

Your hear keys jingling outside the door, followed by your boyfriend's entrance. He’s carrying some grocery bags and has a book tucked under his chin.

He lets the bags slide off his arms, and sets the book on the counter with them, beaming, “You’re never gonna guess what b—“ His smile drops when he sees you. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, “Nothing.” But your blinking feels off all of a sudden, and you can’t remember what you usually do with your face when you’re not lying. It doesn’t matter though, you could be an academy award winning actress and you’re still sure Jason would be able to see right through you with a single glance.

He frowns, “Don’t lie to me.” He moves towards you, kneeling down in front of you. “Please. What’s wrong?” His eyes are worried now, more than usual.

You don’t want him to worry about this. He already worries about you too much and he’s got all his vigilante stuff and…you just want to believe that this is a manageable situation and not a problem. Not something that affected you.

“It’s just…it’s not a big deal, okay? I can handle it—”

His posture stiffens and his voice suddenly goes low and serious, “What happened?”

You know where this is going. “Jason. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

His brow furrows, and his frown turns to something closer to anger. “Did someone put their hands on you? Who?”

“Jason—”

“Who did it?”

“The neighbor, b—” he immediately snaps to a stand and starts towards the door. You hurry to grab onto his hand before he can escape your proximity, “Jason. Please don’t.”

The break in your voice is enough to make his rage falter and turn back around to face you.

“Baby, if he touched you—” His eyes are pleading, begging you to let him go take care of this. If not for you, then for him.

“It wasn’t—he didn’t do anything. He didn’t get to. I hit him and he backed off.” Which is…sort of true.

He stares at you. “In the hallway?”

You blink. “…Yeah?”

He takes off towards the bedroom wordlessly. You follow quickly on his tail, watching him sit on the edge of your bed, opening his computer and clicking through it quickly.

You slide over next to him, and see that he's pulling up a file under the name of your building and today’s date. It takes you two seconds too long to realize what he’s doing, the thought only sinking in right as you see the hallway security camera footage on the screen.

“Jason—” you try to close the computer but he bats your hand away.

He forwards through the footage, as you scramble trying and failing to reach past him, various building occupants coming in and out of frame rapidly.

“—please just listen to me.” But he did listen to you, and he heard that someone tried to hurt you. That was all he needed to hear.

He stops when he sees you enter the frame, watching closely. He sees you flipping through the mail. He sees your neighbor slither out of his apartment and stand far too close to you. You take a step back only to be met with two steps forward by him. He says something to you, probably asking where your boyfriend is.

The angle doesn’t show his face, but it does see yours, and you look incredibly uncomfortable. You don’t answer him, which evidently was enough of an answer in itself.

Your neighbor tries to brush some of your hair out of your face but you snap your head away, stumbling back a little. He uses your lack of balance as an “excuse” to grab onto your waist, pulling you close to him.

Your hands are out in front of you and you’re shaking your head as he pushes towards you. His lips land on your neck and you try to move backwards, but he grabs your wrists and holds you in place.

You fight against his grip, and upon realizing that your struggling doesn’t matter to him at all, you dig your nails into his wrists so hard you draw blood. He groans in pain and his grip on you loosens.

You snap your hands away and push yourself away, locking yourself in your apartment. Your neighbor lingers for a moment, shouting something at the door before trudging back into his apartment and slamming the door.

Jason snaps the laptop shut, coming to a stand once again. His fists clinch at his sides. “That was not nothing.”

No, it wasn’t. But you feel so helpless right now. You sure as hell felt it in the hallway, and it keeps lingering in you and you’re not sure why. You couldn’t do anything then, you can’t do anything now…it feels like all the bad things in the world are closing in on you and you just have to let it happen.

“I…I don’t want anyone to die because of me…” your words aren’t quite matching your thoughts, but this is the closest you can get right now.

He pulls back to look at you, brows furrowed. “It’s—it’s not because of you. It’s because of him. Baby, if I were on patrol and saw him grab some other girl like that I’d do the same thing.”

You know that. You know that. But communication seems impossible right now even though it’s the only tool you have to stop things from closing in.

“No, I know that. I know…it’s just…” Things are closing in anyways. Alright, this is happening now. Your eyes start watering and your voice trembles.

“Fuck, baby.” His hand flies to the back of your head, other arm wrapping around your middle, pulling you to him.

You feel a bit silly, crying over the potential death of someone who tried to hurt you, in front of the Red Hood of all people.

“I’m sorry, I—I don’t know. It’s—it’s too many bad things. I can’t…”

“Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’ll stay here. I’m staying here with you, okay?” You nod into his chest, tears dampening his shirt.

This is a temporary solution, you know that even now. But you think once it expires, it might be easier to accept whatever Jason’s going to do later.

He’s quiet for a few minutes, holding you in his arms as you sway back and forth lightly.

“Will you forgive me if I kill him?” He whispers into your hair.

You roll your eyes but smile nonetheless. “Don’t.”

“Is that a yes?”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, face setting. “I’m getting the feeling you’re going to do something regardless of how this conversation ends.” He says nothing. “Just, please, don’t kill him.”

He holds you tighter and you do the same, laying your head against his chest again. You feel him press a kiss to your head as he takes a deep breath.

You think on it for a moment, figuring it needs saying, “And don’t get in trouble.”

Your neighbor comes home late that night, trudging through the front door with a perpetual frown. He opens the door to his notably unlocked apartment. He drops his bag on the ground with a thump and flicks on the lamp next to the door. He shuts the door and turns the lock when the red elephant in the room pipes up.

“Hey, bud.”

He jumps, spinning around, “Who the fuck—oh, shit.” He freezes the second he sees him, sitting in the armchair across the room. The Red Hood nods, loading the gun in his hand.

Your neighbor stutters, “What—what are you doing here?”

He looks up at him, cocking the gun. “You put your hands on your neighbor, yeah?”

He looks fake-shocked at the accusation. “What? No, I would ne—which neighbor?”

He can’t see it, but Hood��s face drops into a deadpan. “That is really not helping your case.”

Your neighbor eyes the gun nervously.

Hood sighs, “I’m not going to kill you. I’ve been told it’s bad manners to execute someone the first time you meet.” He glances down the nail marks on his arm and steels his jaw. “No. What’s going to happen is you’re going to break your lease and move out. Within the next week.”

The neighbors eyes widen, “A week? Are you insane?”

Hood tilts his head a bit before shaking it, “Nah, you’re right. By tomorrow night.”

“This is my apartment. I live here, I’m not going anywhere. And unless you’re secretly Saul the landlord under there, you can’t do anything about it.” He crosses his arms, clearly feeling very proud of himself. Well, killing him isn’t the only option, is it?

Hood stands, making his way across the room casually. “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” He clocks him hard on the head with the frame of his gun. He goes down quickly and loudly, clutching his head, groaning. “The alternative is getting beaten half to death and hoping whatever hospital you end up at knows what they’re doing.”

Honestly, neighbor boy is pressing his luck as is. Maybe it was a bad idea for Jason to bring the gun.

“Fuck! Fine! I’ll go!” He wails.

Hood kicks his abdomen with the side of his boot, though not nearly as hard as he wanted to. “Shut up. You’ll disturb the neighbors.”

The neighbor groans again, quieter. He mumbles something about Hood being crazy but it gets lost under the grunts of pain.

Hood crouches down next to him, patting him on the head with the barrel of his gun. “Don’t worry, bud. I’ll check up on you. And if I ever see you so much as look in the general direction of another girl I’ll put a bullet in your head. Sound good?”

Your former neighbor drops his head to the ground, hand still clutching the growing swell on his forehead.

[vunblr]

What if...?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex, dirty talk, slight dom! Bucky. A little angst.

Summary: Bucky navigates his insecurities and guilt from his past as he grows closer to his new neighbor, a nurse.

Word Count: About 8.4k.

She knew exactly who he was the first time they bumped into each other when she ran toward the stairs of her apartment building, and he suddenly emerged from them, lost in thought. He wasn’t wearing his gloves, and the glint of metal was pretty noticeable when he reached out to grab her elbow to prevent her from falling backward. The touch was brief, since he retired his hand promptly when he was sure she would not fall, his blue eyes revealing something akin to regret.

“I… I’m sorry,” he stammered, his voice low and gravelly as he retracted his hand, tucking it into his jacket.

“Oh, don’t be,” she responded, the corners of her lips lifting just slightly as she waved her hand dismissively. “I should’ve been more careful. The elevator’s out, and I was in such a hurry… ugh. We always tell the kids not to run in hallways and stairs because accidents can happen, and here I am-" She cut herself off, realizing she was rambling, and gave an embarrassed smile. “Anyway… hi. I’m Y/n, I just moved in yesterday.” She extended her hand.

He reached out, his grip firm but gentle. “James Barnes, but most people call me Bucky.”

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, and as she straightened her nurse uniform, she bit her lip. Handsome. The cute wrinkles that creased the corners of his striking blue eyes, were the kind that hinted at a man who had both smiled and seen more than his fair share of hardship, and it was hard not to notice. His body, the epitome of perfection. She mentally slapped herself for staring. “Well, Bucky, I’m running late for work, so I need to go, but I’ll see you around. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

He nodded, watching as she hurried down the stairs, her uniform swaying slightly with her steps. He stood there, rooted to the spot for a moment longer than he should have, replaying the soft smile on her lips.

The days after that encounter passed in a blur of awkward run-ins. Each time, she greeted him with the same soft smile, and each time, Bucky found himself lost in thoughts he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

It started with a polite nod, maybe a smile here and there, but soon, their brief encounters turned into casual conversations. Small talk about their days, the weather, even little jokes about the state of their shared building. He found himself looking forward to those moments, however fleeting they were, because it felt so easy to exchange a few words with her, how her laughter always seemed to come just when he needed to hear it. He’d often catch her gaze lingering on him a second too long before she looked away, a faint blush coloring her cheeks and it was enough to make him wonder if maybe, just maybe, she felt the same pull that he did.

Then, one evening, as they both stood waiting for the elevator, she quirked a brow at him. "You know, Bucky," she started, her voice light, "if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me."

He blinked, caught off guard, but the playful glint in her eyes made him relax. He let out a small chuckle. "Well… I could say the same about you." She laughed, and once again, the sound made him feel almost normal.

His therapist had been telling him for months that he was isolated, and that he needed to socialize, form connections. She had even suggested dating, but every time he tried, it hadn’t gone well. The interactions felt awkward, forced, and he often found an excuse to leave early, or worse, sometimes he didn’t even bother with an excuse, just walking out of there without a word.

There was something about Y/n that set her apart, mostly the ease with which their conversations flowed. He wasn’t the type to talk much, often keeping things curt and to the point, but she had this way of making the silence between them feel comfortable, never pushing him to share more than he wanted. He didn’t have to try so hard to keep up with standard appearances. But the pull toward her wasn’t just about feeling comfortable, he wanted her. He caught himself watching her more often than he’d like to admit, she was exactly his type, soft and curvy in all the right places. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to touch her, to run his hands over her body, feel her warmth beneath his fingertips. But every time he got close to asking her out, fear crept in, locking the words in his throat. Fear of rejection, of being too damaged, of her seeing the parts of him he was ashamed of. It always stopped him.

Tonight felt different, though. There was something in her playful approach that made the fear feel less suffocating, less overwhelming. The elevator doors opened, and as they stepped inside, Bucky turned to her, his heart hammering in his chest. He could barely believe he was about to do this.

"Y/n?" he asked, his voice lower than usual.

She glanced at him, her eyes curious. "Yeah?"

He swallowed hard, feeling the moment's weight as he stood before her, and almost panicked. This wasn’t something he was used to. He could fight in gruesome battles, survive impossible odds, flip a fucking armored truck with a tug of his arm… but asking someone out? That felt like a whole different battlefield. It was terrifying in a way those other things weren’t.

For a moment, he almost backpedaled. His mind scrambled, desperately searching for something else to say, some way to deflect his intentions and change the subject. But nothing came. He was stuck. He’d already opened his mouth, and there was no way to retreat now without looking like a fool.

Taking a deep breath, he jumped.

“Would you like to grab dinner with me sometime?” The words came out gruff but honest. For a second, doubt crept in, making him wonder if he’d just made a mistake.

Her eyes widened in surprise before lighting up, a smile spreading across her face that eased the knot on his stomach. “Oh, I’d love to. It’d be fun to do something outside the building for a change. We run into each other so much, that I actually thought about asking you to hang out, but you always seemed rushed, like you couldn’t wait to leave. I’m glad that’s not the case.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. “You know, we can be neighbors and friends. There’s nothing in the building rules against it.”

Bucky blinked, his heart sinking at the word friends. He forced one of the practiced, uncomfortable smiles his therapist suggested. Friendzoned -a term he’d only recently discovered- wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but he hadn’t spelled it out, either. Of course she thought he was just trying to be friendly, he hadn’t given her a fucking hint of his real intentions. He hadn’t flirted, hadn’t made even the slightest move to swoon her.

The old him would’ve had no trouble conveying his interest. He would’ve been smooth and confident, knowing exactly how to charm her and make his intentions clear. But he wasn’t that guy anymore. He hadn’t done this in decades, and the rules seemed to have shifted in ways he didn’t fully understand. Hell, he had shifted. He sighed. 

"Uh, Y/n?" he started, his tone careful and tentative. She looked back at him, her eyes curious. "I just want to be clear," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, "I meant it... as a date. Not just neighbors or friends grabbing a bite."

For a moment, she didn’t respond, still processing what he had just said. His words hung in the air, heavy with significance. And then, something clicked. A blush crept up her neck as her smile turned more thoughtful. He wanted to spend time with her not because they lived in the same building or happened to bump into each other, but because he was interested.

"Oh. Sorry, I didn’t realize… I mean…” she stumbled with her words, “I didn’t know you meant it like that." She has had her fair share of men in her life but being honest with herself, in a million years, she wouldn’t have guessed someone like him would be asking her out. Not Bucky, the quiet, handsome, brooding neighbor with the sharp jawline and the weight of a thousand untold stories in his eyes. For months, she had brushed off the little moments between them as neighborly interactions, nothing more. It had been easier that way. Safer, maybe. But now, standing here, the truth of his intentions was undeniable.

He waited, his expression still calm, but the vulnerability in his eyes was unmistakable. She almost laughed at herself, the absurdity of it all. Of course, she had noticed him. How could she not?

Her smile softened, "I’m glad you clarified." she finally said, her voice quieter now. "And yeah, Bucky. I’d like that, a lot."

Bucky gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if he’d been holding his breath and had just now allowed himself to exhale. A faint smile crept onto his lips, one that actually reached his eyes, softening the hardened edges he usually carried.

"Great," he murmured, his voice low but warm. "I’ll, uh, figure something out."

They shared one last look before the elevator doors opened, and as they stepped out, Bucky’s heart was still racing, but this time, it wasn’t from fear.

The first date had been simple, almost quiet in its ease. He brought her flowers, a small, hesitant gesture that made her eyes light up. They went to a bistro and talked about life, interests, and the kind of things you only share when you feel a certain sense of safety with someone. Bucky never said more than necessary, but she learned to read the way his eyes softened when he listened, the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when she said something that caught him off guard. It was easy and comfortable as their previous interactions, and yet, in the back of his mind, there was always the whisper: do you even deserve this?

The second date was at the small café on the corner of their building. There had been more laughter this time, the conversation flowing easily. As they sat across from each other, their knees brushed under the table. It was subtle, almost unintentional, but the warmth of the touch lingered. It happened again, and neither of them moved away.

They walked back in silence, a comfortable quiet settling between them, though there was an undeniable charge in the air. As they reached her door, she turned to face him, and for a moment, the space between them felt heavier, thick with the weight of everything unsaid.

His hand hovered just near her lower back, not quite touching, but close enough that she felt the warmth of his body through the fabric of her dress. For a brief second, she thought he might pull her closer to break that last sliver of space between them, but he didn’t. His hand lingered for just a moment longer before falling away, his expression betraying a flicker of hesitation.

Bucky’s gaze dropped briefly to her lips, his brows furrowing slightly, before he looked away, almost as if chastising himself. His old-fashioned upbringing, perhaps, held him back and kept him from making the move she half-expected, the one she wanted.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than usual. His tired eyes lingered on hers just a little too long, as if he were still debating, still fighting the pull to act on the desire he was clearly feeling.

She nodded, trying to ignore the flutter on her chest and to respect his boundaries, even though her hands itched to reach for him, to pull him closer and start what he wouldn’t. “Goodnight, Bucky,” she said softly, her own voice betraying the emotions swirling beneath the surface.

They stood there for a heartbeat longer, the short distance between their doors now feeling like miles. He gave her a small, almost hesitant smile, then turned toward his own apartment, the quiet between them somehow louder now.

By the time the third date approached, Bucky’s nerves were starting to get the better of him. He didn’t want to ruin this. The cocky Sergeant Barnes -the man who hadn’t yet turned into a walking nightmare- would’ve laughed at him. That version of himself had been bold, self-assured, the type of man who could sweep a woman off her feet without a second thought. He’d have taken the lead with ease, knowing exactly how to handle the situation. But that man was long gone, buried beneath the weight of all he had done, all he had become.

Before leaving for the date, he poured himself an imperial pint of asgardian ale. Just enough to give him a buzz, to take the edge off. Standing there, glass in hand, he caught his reflection in the window and sighed. Could she see it? The darkness? The scars left behind from being Hydra’s puppet? And even if she didn’t... how long until she did? You don’t deserve this, the voice whispered again, unrelenting.

That night, after dinner, they found themselves in her living room, two untouched coffee cups growing cold on the table beside them. The dim light softened the space around them, creating an intimate cocoon that made their conversation flow effortlessly. Yet, beneath the easy chatter, Bucky’s doubts lingered. He couldn’t shake the feeling that any move forward could shatter the delicate balance between them.

He’d been raised with a sense of propriety, a rhythm to follow when it came to courting. There was a dance to it, an unspoken set of rules about when to advance and when to hold back. The trouble now was figuring out how much to let himself move forward, how far to let this go before the weight of his past dragged him under again.

As their conversation naturally ebbed into silence, he noticed her gaze flicker to his lips, lingering just a bit longer than usual. His pulse quickened. She was giving him a sign, even if she hadn’t meant to. For a brief moment, he hesitated, but the look in her eyes, the quiet anticipation, and the ale still running through his system urged him forward.

He leaned in slightly, their knees brushing, the warmth of her body drawing him closer. His hand hovered near her arm, and she responded getting closer, her lips parting ever so slightly as if inviting him in without saying a word.

Slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance between them, his heart pounding in his chest. The kiss was meant to be soft and chaste, but all restraint flew out the window the second their lips touched.

His hand slipped to the small of her back, pulling her closer, the kiss growing hungrier, more urgent, as if months of longing were unraveling in that single moment. With a gentle, almost teasing flick of his tongue against her lower lip, he urged her to open her mouth. She complied, her lips parting as she allowed him in, and things turned molten. His tongue slid against hers, and the heat between them spiraled when she let out a quiet, breathless moan. The sound sent a jolt of desire pushing him further. His metal hand remained firm on her back, pulling her as close as possible, while the other slipped into her hair. She responded eagerly, her fingers gliding up his chest and tangling in his now messy bun, tugging him closer as if she couldn’t get enough. The kiss was all-consuming, urgent and messy, as months of tension finally broke free. Eventually, they slowly pulled apart, heavy breaths mingling in the charged air between them. His gaze dropped to her lips, now swollen and flushed from their activities, and he felt the undeniable pull to dive back in.

Then he noticed it. His vibranium hand had slid down to her waist and was gripping harder than he intended. Much harder. He swallowed and looked at it, the realization sinking in. His hand, still gripping tightly, could harm her. He sighed, frustration and self-reproach tugging at him, unable to find a balance between his longing and his fear of hurting her.

She caught the sigh, her eyes following his downward gaze until they landed on his hand, still gripping her waist. And then it clicked, she understood. It wasn’t just the pressure of his hand; it was everything behind it. The strength he was constantly aware of, the control he had to maintain, the fear of hurting someone he cared about without meaning to. It wasn’t just about this moment, it was about everything he carried with him.

Instead of pulling away, she did the opposite. She shifted slightly, pressing closer into his hand, her body language reassuring him. With that small gesture, she was telling him she trusted him, she wasn’t fragile, and she wasn’t going to break. He didn’t need to hold back with her.

He exhaled softly, and a question bubbled up, one that had been lingering in his mind for far too long. “Have you ever thought how things would have been if we had met under different circumstances?” His voice was quiet, almost tentative, the weight of the topic heavy in the intimate space between them.

Her brow furrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. “Different how?” she asked, leaning in a little, her eyes searching his.

Bucky took a breath, his gaze drifting again as if he were caught somewhere between the past and the present. “I mean… if I hadn’t been…” He trailed off for a second, a shadow crossing his expression. “If I didn’t become what I am. If I’d been just… me.” His voice was low, barely above a whisper, as though speaking the words out loud might break something fragile between them.

She stayed quiet, giving him the space he needed, her hand gently resting on his arm, a subtle reassurance.

“I think about it sometimes,” he admitted, his eyes still distant, fixed on a point somewhere beyond her. “If we’d met before all the... before everything.” His lips pressed into a thin line, guilt flickering behind his blue eyes. “Maybe in another time, I could’ve been just a guy. Someone who didn’t have…” He paused, his metal hand still against her back. “Someone that wouldn’t have been so messed up. Someone normal and approachable.”

Her heart clenched at the weight of his words. “Bucky…” she started, her voice soft, but he shook his head slightly as if to wave off her sympathy.

“I don’t know,” he continued, quieter now. “Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve…” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.

Without hesitation, she entwined their fingers, squeezing gently. “You do deserve this,” she said firmly, her voice unwavering as she met his gaze. She wasn’t going to let him retreat into the dark place where his self-deprecation lived. “You deserve to be happy, Buck. You’re a good man.” She sighed and shifted beside him, her head resting back against the couch as she considered his previous words and then an idea popped up.

“Let’s see… if I had been born before 1920, I’d probably still be a nurse.” Her lips curved into a small smile as she looked at him sideways, eyes gleaming in the dim light. She watched him closely, seeing how he would react, her heart thumping just a little faster as she waited. “I’d have enlisted to work in a field hospital. And… who knows, maybe we could have met there when you were serving.” She let the thought linger in the air, light and playful, hoping it would lift the heaviness that had settled between them.

Bucky’s brows lifted slightly, and he tilted his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He shifted closer to her without even realizing, his hand still resting lightly on her waist. “You would’ve been responsible for making sure I was fit for duty,” he mused, his tone a little lighter now as if the idea of an alternate history didn’t seem so bad. “Keeping an eye on me, seeing my injuries, maybe even patching me up yourself.” He added with a playful edge, allowing himself to immerse in the scenario.

She grinned, shaking her head, eyes twinkling as she imagined the scene. “Oh, from what I heard about you, I doubt you would have visited the hospital very often, Sarge,” she teased, nudging his knee with hers playfully, a grin tugging at her lips.

Bucky chuckled, the sound low and genuine, as his thumb began tracing slow, soothing circles on her back, a gesture she was growing fond of. “Probably not,” he agreed, leaning in slightly, his voice dipping into something softer. “But I would’ve noticed you from afar. Even if I had no reason to be there, you would’ve stood out.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed the back of his hand, a smile playing on her lips as she waited for his answer.

Bucky glanced down at their intertwined hands, his rough, calloused fingers brushing against her softer ones. He looked back up at her, his voice steady, but with a hint of something deeper. “Because you’re beautiful,” he said simply as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

She blinked, caught off guard by the casual sincerity in his tone. “Beautiful, me? Pfft!” She laughed softly, with a playful spark in her eyes. “But... now that I think about it, pin-up girls were a thing when you were serving, weren’t they?”

Bucky leaned back into the couch, pulling her with him, his arm wrapping firmer around her waist, a slow grin forming at her words. “Yeah, well, nurses were definitely included in the ‘interesting’ category too,” he teased. His eyes flicked down, tracing the curves of her body as his hand tightened slightly around her waist, making her feel self-conscious. “Especially ones with curves like yours.”

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head, but before she could say anything, Bucky continued, his voice lower now, a bit more serious. “You’d have been popular among the guys in camp, you know. They’d have been lining up, falling over themselves to get your attention.” He paused, his gaze flicking back to hers. “But trust me, I would’ve noticed you first. And I wouldn’t have let anyone else have a shot.”

Her cheeks flushed as she tucked her legs beneath her, giving him a playful nudge. “Oh, so you would’ve asked me out?” she teased, her curiosity bubbling to the surface as she edged closer to him, her eyes locked on his.

Bucky turned slightly toward her, the hand resting on her arm sliding down slowly, his fingers brushing her skin in soft, teasing strokes. “Oh, I wouldn’t have just asked,” he said with a smirk. “I’d have made sure you had no reason to say no.”

She felt her heart quicken at the subtle heat in his voice, the playful edge giving way to something more intense. Her breath hitched slightly, and she bit her lip as she gazed up at him. “Is that so?” she murmured, her voice soft, a bit more serious now. “And how would you have done that?” She leaned in a little, her shoulder brushing against his, her warmth radiating into the small space between them. “How was the game back then? Brought flowers? Invited me to dance?”

“Both, probably,” he murmured, his hand now resting on her thigh, his thumb grazing the fabric of her dress in slow, deliberate motions. “Flowers, because they’re classic... and dancing, because it’s intimate.”

“Well,” she whispered, her voice softer now as she leaned her head toward him, lips just inches from his ear, “I guess I would’ve let you court me, Sarge. Tell me about a date with you.”

Bucky’s hand tightened slightly on her thigh, the pressure just enough to make her heart race. His stubbled cheek brushed against hers as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin. “Saturday night,” he whispered, his lips barely grazing the shell of her ear, sending a shiver down her spine, “dinner at the Officers’ Club, followed by a slow dance... and then back to my quarters for a proper goodnight kiss.”

Her breath hitched, her pulse quickening as the warmth of his breath and the weight of his words settled between them. She could feel the tension thickening in the air, her voice trembling slightly as she teased, “Only a kiss?”

Bucky smirked against her skin, his lips hovering near her ear. “Maybe more than just a kiss,” he rasped, his voice low and full of promise, “but only if you wanted it too.”

She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smile. “Hmm, I dunno, Sergeant Barnes... things were done more properly back then, right? No sex before marriage, and all that stuff?”

He let out a low chuckle, his hand already inching higher up her thigh, the heat of his touch sending shivers up her spine. “You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, his voice taking on a teasing edge. “I would've waited until our wedding night…” His hand slid beneath the fabric of her dress, fingers grazing the soft skin of her thigh. “But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t have thought about it. Every. Single. Day.” He leaned in again as he whispered. “How you’d look... how you’d feel... imagining all the ways I’d finally get to touch you.” His breath was warm against her skin, the words heavy with tension.

“Is that so?” she murmured, her fingers sliding up his chest, gripping his collar just enough to keep him close. “You think you could’ve waited?”

His hand tightened again on her thigh. “I would’ve tried... but I don’t think you would’ve made it easy.” Bucky’s playful tone faded into something more serious, his voice dropping to a husky murmur. “Would you have let me… let me have you like that?” His words carried a weight that made her heart race.

She swallowed, her fingers gripping his shirt tighter as she looked up into his eyes, feeling the pull of him in a way that left her defenseless. “I-” her voice faltered, her pulse racing, but she managed to find her words. “Yeah, Bucky... I would’ve.”

Bucky’s metal hand, firm but tender, climbed from her waist tracing a slow, deliberate path up her spine. He then reached for the little buttons at the neckline of her dress, his touch both careful and bold as he unfastened them, one by one. Each undone button revealed more of her skin to his darkened gaze, and the way he looked at her made her feel exposed in a way that went beyond the physical. “I would’ve taken care of you,” he murmured, his lips brushing her collarbone. “Made sure no one else got close to you.”

Her body leaned instinctively toward him, craving the closeness as her free hand ran up his arm, her fingers tracing the firm muscles beneath his shirt. “No one else would’ve mattered,” she whispered.

With a swift, deliberate motion, the hand on her neckline slid down and snaked behind her, grasping her ass and pulling her fully into his lap. She gasped as her hips pressed against his, feeling exactly how much he wanted her. “Every night,” he growled, his voice rough with need, “I would’ve made sure you were mine.” His eyes were ablaze with raw desire as his grip tightened, holding her firmly against him.

Her pulse raced, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them and his mouth crashed into hers in a searing kiss. His other hand slid higher up her thigh, teasing the edge of her underwear, fingers brushing the soft skin. A soft moan escaped her lips, muffled by the kiss, and when he broke it, his lips found the curve of her neck.

“So only one kiss, huh?” she chuckled in a breathed tone, her voice trembling with anticipation as her hips instinctively rocked against him.

Bucky inhaled deeply against her skin, trailing hot kisses down toward her chest. “Well, I would've kissed you every chance I got but believe me, that wouldn’t have been enough...” His words were thick with promise, his breath hot against her skin. He pressed his arousal harder against her, his hand slipping between them, fingers tracing her slick heat over her underwear. The breathless gasp that escaped her was all the encouragement he needed. “… that wouldn’t have been fucking enough.” he whispered against her skin, his voice low and filled with hunger, as his fingers moved with purpose, leaving no doubt about what he wanted.

She bit her lip, her voice soft but laced with playful intent as she fed into the fantasy they were weaving. “Well, if we had ourselves a little house with a white fence, I’d have waited for you to come home every day in a frilly apron,” her eyes locked onto his, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as she added, “with nothing underneath.”

The image she painted made Bucky’s breath hitch, his grip tightening around her ass. His eyes nearly rolled back, his imagination spiraling into wild possibilities. “Damn.” His voice was laced with lust. “If I could’ve had you waiting for me like that,” he murmured, his hand gripping her tighter, fingers digging into her skin as his restraint began to falter “I’d have come home early every damn day just to take advantage of you.” His lips brushed the swell of her breasts, the heat between them spiraling as his imagination ran wild, and he pulled her impossibly closer while teasing over her soaked panties.

Her gaze flicked from his lips back to his darkened eyes. “Oh yeah?” she challenged, her voice a sultry whisper. “Right there on the kitchen table?”

Bucky’s smirk deepened, the raw desire in his eyes nearly swallowing her whole. “Hell yes, right there on the kitchen table,” he growled, his vibranium hand gripping her ass harder, possessively. “I’d bend you over it, flip up that little apron, and bury myself inside you until you screamed my name for the whole damn neighborhood to hear.” He confessed without a hint of remorse or shame.

Her body reacted instantly, hips pressing hard against the teasing hand hovering over her clothed pussy. A soft whimper escaped her, the sound almost desperate. His hand answered her need by slipping her panties aside, his fingers slowly sinking into her heat, stretching her with deliberate, agonizing precision. The sensation sent a shudder through her, her body arching into his touch.

She let out a shaky breath, her playful tone faltering as her body betrayed her. “How kinky,” she managed to tease, biting her lip as she met his gaze, her voice barely steady under the growing pressure inside her.

Bucky inhaled sharply, savoring the way she responded, his hand moving with more purpose now. “Kinky enough to have you blushing for days,” he growled, his teeth grazing up to her jawline before dragging his lips slowly up to brush against hers. His fingers kept sliding deeper inside her with slow, deliberate strokes. “And when the milkman came the next morning…” The hand on her ass squeezed the supple skin harder, pulling her even close against him, while the other continued its relentless torment between her legs. “...you’d be so sore from the night before, you wouldn’t even be able to stand straight. Couldn’t look anyone in the eye without blushing, remembering just how loud you screamed.”

She blushed at his statement, totally immersed in the fantasy. “That sounds… so good, Buck.” She managed to say, her voice trembling with want. She bit her lip again, locking eyes with him and starting to ground herself shamelessly against his fingers, the pressure building quickly inside her. “But... would you only fuck me at the kitchen table when coming back? What about… other creative places? Like the back porch, under the shade of the bindweed?...”

Bucky's eyes closed as her suggestion sparked a flood of heated thoughts. “Hell, yes," he growled, his voice deep and gravelly, thick with desire. He pushed his fingers deeper inside her, his thumb circling her swollen clit, drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. “I’d lift that sexy little apron right up, spread your legs wide open, and fuck you right there under the bindweeds," he murmured, his lips brushing her ear, each word laced with promise. "And you'd moan my name, scream it, while everyone else thinks we’re just having a quiet afternoon tea."

The combination of his filthy words and the relentless pressure of his fingers sent her body trembling with anticipation, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "Bucky…" she moaned softly, her hands tightening their grip on him, desperate for everything he was giving her. Her hips bucked uncontrollably against his hand, her breath hitching as his fingers curled inside her, hitting just the right spot and sending waves of pleasure radiating through her body. The pleasure built inside her, tightening, coiling until every nerve in her body felt alive.

Bucky felt the signals and growled, his fingers moving faster now, each stroke deliberate and calculated as his forehead pressed against hers, his breath coming out in ragged bursts. “I’d had make sure no one could ever touch you the way I did,” he muttered, his voice low and possessive. "Every inch of you, mine." He punctuated the last words with hard, rhythmic rubs at one side of her clit and that was all she needed for the climax to hit her, a wave of intense pleasure crashing through her. Her moans turned into soft cries as she buried her face on his neck, her body trembling violently as his hand continued to work her through it, prolonging her ecstasy.

When her body came down from her high, still trembling from the intensity, Bucky slowly withdrew his fingers. Panting, she looked at his gaze and saw the raw, unbridled desire burning in his cobalt eyes. Without hesitation, she leaned in, her lips finding his stubbled jaw, trailing soft, hungry kisses down his neck, nipping and sucking against his skin while her hand wandered lower and lower on his abdomen, finally unbuttoning his pants with deliberate slowness, venturing inside his underwear.

The moment her fingers brushed against his cock, he tensed and groaned. “W-wait,” he rasped, his voice thick with need and restraint. His hand held hers firmly, keeping her from going further.

Her brow furrowed slightly in confusion, her lips still hovering near his neck. “Why?” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “I want to make you feel good too. You deserve it, Bucky,” she whispered, her words full of tenderness and desire. Her fingers twitched beneath his grip, her intention clear.

Bucky let out a low, shaky breath with a hint of frustration. He knew he had to come clean. “I want it too, trust me,” he muttered, his voice low, strained. “But it’s been so long... too long. If you touch me now…” He trailed off, swallowing hard, the unspoken words hanging in the air. “Let me lead,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. He leaned in to kiss her, deep and slow, pouring all the pent-up desire into the kiss.

She sighed softly, pulling back just enough to reach for the hem of her dress, slipping it over her head in one fluid motion. The fabric lifted away from her body, leaving her sitting in only her bra and panties as the dress was tossed to the side of the couch.

Bucky’s gaze darkened as he took her in, his hands instinctively roaming over her bare skin. But then he groaned again softly, almost painfully, his fingers pausing as his grip tightened around her waist. “What happened to let me lead?” he rasped; his voice thick with restraint.

Her breath hitched at his words, her lips parting as if to respond with a half-hearted apology, but before she could, his hands were already sliding down her body, reclaiming control. His fingers traced her bra straps, slipping them off her shoulders with excruciating slowness. “I need to do it my way,” he murmured, his voice a low growl as he leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. “If you don’t behave... this ends before we even begin.”

The meaning of his earlier words hit her then, her body stiffening as realization dawned. He wasn’t just leading to take his time with her; he was fighting to keep from losing control, from coming right there in his pants. Her teasing grin faltered, replaced with a softer expression. “Oh,” she whispered, her voice quieter now, laced with understanding. “I didn’t realize…” Her fingers gently grazed his cheek, guilt creeping into her tone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you.”

Bucky tensed slightly at her touch, inwardly cursing himself for letting his vulnerability slip. His masculine pride stung. Great job, Barnes. Way to cool the mood. He forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers in an attempt to brush off the tension. “It’s alright,” he muttered, but the strain in his voice betrayed him. His fingers dug into her hips just a little, grounding himself. “I just... got worked up faster than I expected.” He exhaled shakily, trying to ease the tension. Then he started to move.

As his fingers worked at the clasp of her bra, his touch slow and deliberate, he broke the silence with a low murmur, his voice thick with desire, yet laced with a hint of vulnerability. “You know… I liked you from the moment we bumped into each other on the stairs,” he said, his eyes flicking up to meet hers. “I still remember the way you looked at me, even after I knocked you off balance and grabbed your arm. No gloves, metal hand out in the open… but you didn’t flinch.”

She smiled softly at the memory, her breath hitching slightly as the tension between them simmered. When her bra fell away, his gaze dropped to her exposed breasts, and a low groan rumbled in his chest. His flesh hand cupped her gently, his thumb brushing over her nipple in a slow, teasing motion.

“I loved how your uniform looked on you then,” he continued, his voice growing huskier as his metal hand slid to the small of her back, pulling her closer. “I still do. Every time I see you in it, it makes it hard to focus on anything else.”

His thumb continued its slow teasing, but then his expression shifted, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. His voice dropped, a hint of regret slipping into his words. “I wish I’d asked you out sooner. The old me… he would've handled this better. Would’ve known exactly how to...”

She cut him off before he could finish, her eyes fierce, her fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him closer. “Stop,” she said firmly, her voice soft but unwavering. “The moment of ‘what if’ has passed. I don't want the man you used to be.” Her lips brushed against his jaw, her breath hot against his skin. “I want you. Not someone I never knew.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and then opened them fixing his gaze on hers. She wasn’t looking for the version of him with the effortless charm and swagger. She never did. She wanted him, baggage, scars, and everything else.

A slow, shaky breath escaped him, his grip on her tightening as a flicker of vulnerability passed through his eyes. “You don’t know how much that means,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips brushing against her jaw, then down to her neck. His movements were soft at first, but as her hands gripped his shoulders, urging him on, the hesitation melted away.

His mouth found hers again, kissing her hard, his hands moving with more confidence again. “I’ve wanted this... you,” he rasped, his breath hot against her skin. “For so damn long.” She responded with a moan, her body arching into him as he took full control.

Bucky groaned, unable to hold back any longer as the tension between them reached its peak. He gently shifted her off his lap, laying her down on the couch, his hands lingering on her hips for a moment before he stood. His breath was heavy, and though his chest tightened with familiar insecurities, especially about his arm, he pushed forward.

His fingers moved to the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head. As the fabric fell to the floor, his eyes darted to her face, half-expecting some flicker of hesitation or doubt. Instead, her gaze roamed over him, dark with desire as her eyes took in the hard lines of his chest. “Damn... you’re perfect.” Her voice came out breath and soft. Swallowing hard, Bucky quickly slid his pants and boxers down in one smooth motion, kicking them aside. Now fully bare before her, he stood there, his chest rising and falling as her gaze lingered on him. He could see her eyes focused on his size, her lips parted as she let out a soft, breathless sound. The way she looked at him -no hesitation, only hunger- made his insecurities, the doubts about his scars, his arm, everything, to retract to a far corner of his mind.

Without a word, he climbed on top of her, positioning himself between her legs, their bodies pressed together, heat and tension coiling between them. His hands trailed down her sides, gripping her hips firmly as he pulled her closer. Slowly, he guided his cock to her slick entrance, teasing her folds as he coated his shaft with her wetness. A low, rumbling groan escaped his lips as he playfully rubbed the tip of his cock against her clit, the pressure sending jolts of pleasure through her.

Her body reacted instantly, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she writhed beneath him. “Bucky…” she moaned softly, her hips tilting up toward him, her body aching for more.

He moved slowly, sliding inside her inch by inch, and paused as soon as he was fully sheathed, giving her a moment to adjust. Her body clenched tightly around him, a gasp escaping her lips as her nails dug into his shoulders. Her breath came in shallow, uneven bursts, the sensation of him filling her completely overwhelming her. The tight heat of her body had him teetering on the edge, but he held back, determined to give her time.

He pulled back slightly, then pushed forward again, slowly and deliberately, testing her response. Her breath hitched, her thighs trembling around his hips with each thrust. She bit her lip, her eyes fluttering shut as she struggled to find her breath.

“Fuck, Bucky,” she whispered breathlessly, her voice barely audible but heavy with surprise and awe. “You’re… big. I’ve never... God!”

Her words sparked something deep within him, the mixture of vulnerability and pleasure igniting a fire he could barely contain. A low growl rumbled in his throat as his control began to slip. His hands moved to the back of her thighs, gripping them firmly just beneath her knees, then in one swift motion, he lifted her legs, spreading her wider as he started to thrust deeper, hitting spots that made her eyes fly open, a strangled moan escaping her lips. “Bucky… oh my God,” she gasped, her voice trembling as she struggled to take all of him.

Encouraged by her reaction, Bucky picked up the pace, his thrusts growing harder and faster, losing himself in the haze of lust that overtook him. He pulled her thighs higher, spreading her wider, driving into her with relentless force. Each thrust was deeper and rougher, and her moans quickly turned into desperate, breathless cries of pleasure.

The sound of her moans, the way she cried out his name, only fueled him further. “You like that?” he growled, his voice low and ragged as he thrust into her again, deeper, harder. Her slick heat gripped him tighter with every movement, making his pulse race. “Look at me, Doll. You like it rough?”

Her body arched beneath him, her hands scrambling for something to hold onto as the intensity of his thrusts tore through her. “Yes! Bucky… fuck! Don’t stop,” she moaned, her voice breaking as he kept his relentless, punishing pace.

“Oh, I won’t stop,” he growled, pulling out of her with a slick sound, only to flip her over onto her stomach in one swift motion. His hands gripped her hips roughly, pulling her ass up and positioning her on all fours before she had time to catch her breath.

Before she could process the shift, Bucky slammed back into her, filling her completely. She gasped, her fingers clutching at the couch cushions as he drove into her from behind, his pace unrelenting. “Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his flesh hand sliding up her back before grabbing a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as his hips pistoned against her, thrusting deep and hard.

She let out a scream of pleasure, her body trembling as he pounded into her. “Yes! Oh God, yes,” she cried, her voice hoarse, her body helpless under his rough control.

Bucky grunted with each powerful thrust, his grip on her hair tightening, his metal hand digging into her hip, guiding her back onto him. The angle allowed him to go even deeper, kissing her cervix with every push of his hips. Her moans only spurred him on, the rhythm of their bodies frantic and primal, skin slapping against skin.

He released her hair and grabbed both her hips, yanking her back onto his cock with force, losing himself in the haze of lust. “Come for me,” he growled, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp smack, making her gasp.

Before she could recover, his hand slid between her legs, his fingers finding her clit. He circled it with firm, deliberate pressure, his voice rough as he leaned over her, thrusting deeper still. “I want you to come all over me, Doll.” The moment his fingers found her swollen nub, her body responded, hips bucking involuntarily as her breath hitched. The pressure building inside her hit its peak, and with a loud, desperate moan, she shattered beneath him, her body trembling violently as she came hard.

The feel of her tight, wet heat spasming around him was too much for Bucky to handle. He let out a guttural moan, his hips slamming into her as his own release took hold. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice ragged as his body tensed, and he came hard, spilling thick, hot spurts into her. His hips jerked involuntarily with each wave of pleasure, the intensity of his orgasm hitting him harder than he’d expected. He gasped, his forehead falling to her back as he rode out the aftershocks, his cock pulsing inside her, still surrounded by the tight, wet heat of her body.

The sound of their heavy breathing filled the room, the intensity of their release leaving them trembling, their bodies slick with sweat. Bucky stayed inside her for a moment longer, his fingers lazily circling her clit, drawing out her pleasure as her body continued to spasm beneath him. But as the haze of bliss began to fade, his mind started to catch up with his body, and a flicker of doubt crept in. Had he been… too much?

Slowly, he withdrew from her, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies. His hand slid up to her shoulder, gentle, almost tentative. “Are you okay?” His voice was low, uncertainty laced in every word.

She turned her head slightly, her cheek pressing into the cushion as her hooded eyes found his. “I’m better than okay,” she murmured. “That was... perfect, Buck.”

He exhaled, feeling the tension in his body ease, but his mind refused to quiet. What if she was trying to play it cool after being on the receiving end of nearly 80 years of pent-up frustration?

Sensing his unease, she shifted, sitting up on the couch. Her hands cradled his face, her thumbs gently brushing against his skin. He looked almost miserable for someone who had, minutes ago, been nothing short of a god of intercourse.

“You didn’t hurt me, Bucky,” she said, her voice firm yet warm. “I meant it when I said it was perfect. Stop overthinking. It was the best I’ve ever had.” Her cheeks flushed as she realized the weight of her words, but she didn’t back down. “I mean it,” she added, her voice softening as her gaze dropped for a moment, the blush deepening. “It really was the best I’ve ever had.”

The tension in his body slowly began to melt away as he absorbed her words, a flicker of relief washing over him. His breathing steadied, and the storm of doubts in his mind started to quiet. He looked down, feeling a pang of guilt for letting his insecurities creep in. Running a hand through his messy hair, he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice low and sincere. “I didn’t mean to ruin the moment. I just... I get in my head sometimes.”

She gave him a gentle smile, her fingers brushing his scruffy cheek again. “You didn’t ruin anything, Bucky, not even close. If anything, the only thing you’ll have to atone for... is setting the bar pretty high.”

Bucky’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile as her words sank in. He exhaled deeply, feeling the weight on his chest finally lift. Without saying anything, he reached up, his hand gently cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing softly over her skin in a silent gesture of gratitude.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was full of understanding, unspoken promises, and the certainty that, somehow, they were exactly where they were meant to be.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

[mywritersmind]

THE BOOTH - LN4

summary : The booth. A notorious club in the heart of london, where y/n and lando met again after two years of silence.

listen up : fewtrell!reader. She sits in his lap. no smut, just hot and suggestive. creepy guy in the beginning! Prob my fav short i’ve written omg

word count : 1732

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“No.” I giggle out of uncomfortableness at the man getting closer to me.

“C’mon, let me buy you a drink.” the man reeks of alcohol and has fucked up teeth. I’ve seen enough. I pull down the bottom of my mini dress as I stand.

“No.” I repeat, pushing past him. The club is crowded and sticky, I see my friends but a hand around my wrist pulls me back.

“Really? Too good for me?” He scoffs in my face but the next thing I know he’s being pushed away from me.

“She is.” The voice comes from the man in front of me, the guy who pushed this dickhead away. “Piss off. She’s with me.”

The guy seems intimidated enough because he gives me a dirty look and leaves. “Thank y-” I pause when the man turns around.

I pause because the man is my childhood crush, brothers best friend, and fucking formula one driver.

“Lando?” I’m genuinely shocked that the britt I haven’t seen in two years is standing in front of me.

“Y/n!?” He looks me up and down, his mouth open, “Fuck… You look good.” I could say the same for him, in a navy button down, jeans, and his jewelry adorning his hands. He’s ridiculously hot.

I laugh, “Careful Lan, my brother could be lurking.” I switch my weight onto one leg as he smirks.

Max loves Lando. Max loves me.

Therefore, Max HATED the thought of us even speaking. We were all friends in childhood but our teens hit and suddenly I was completely off limits. I’m pretty sure he noticed how much I asked about Lando and swore that he would kill both of us if anything happened.

Someone walks behind him, causing him to get closer, his hand brushing against my hip, “Don’t scare me, yeah?”

I bite my lip at the thought, we start walking across the room, Lando’s hand firmly on me now as he ‘guides’ me. “Don’t worry. Idiots in Monaco… which means we have free rein.”

I see his jaw clench, his drink slide onto his lips again, “I’d like to keep my friendship.”

“I’d like to lose my panties.” I’m quick to reply, messing with Lando used to be my favorite thing.

You see, Lando is Max’s best friend. He feels bad lying and this would definitely be considered a betrayal of trust.

But for me… Max is my brother. I can lie and do whatever I want with no remorse. Lando is something I could do easily and as much as it would make me happy to piss off my brother, Norris has always been that one guy in the back of my mind.

“Christ Y/n. Missed your remarks.” We make it to the wall, it’s a bit quieter over here.

“You mean you missed my flirting?” I look up at him, he just bites his lip, hiding his smile.

“I missed you.” He surprises me with this.

“I missed you too.” I push my hand through my hair, “How’ve you been?”

“Good. Really good.” He smiles big and I know it’s because of his racing.

“Watched your win in Zandvoort.” I sigh, “Simply lovely was brutal.” He rolls his eyes, laughing and leaning his head back on the wall.

“Not you too!”

“It was hilarious! I liked it!” I hit his arm and the way he looks at me… it’s like every emotion that I've tucked away and only opened up in the darkness of my bedroom after midnight, comes out then. “I like this too.”

My hand goes to the back of his neck, playing with his curls that shape his baby mullet.

“Don’t do that.” He shakes his head, his eyes cut into me, his voice weak.

“What?” I say innocently.

“You always do this.”

“Do what, Norris?” Lando never was that much taller than me, but something about the two passed years has changed that.

His tongue runs over his teeth, he’s about to say something but two guys appear next to us, “Mate! We’ve been looking for you!” Another British man speaks, Alex Albon to be exact.

“Found a friend?” Carlos sainz eyes me, dressed in all black.

I smile at the drivers, Lando eyes Carlos. “Max’s sister. Y/n.” They both nod and look much too interested in how Lando says it, “Y/n… this is Alex and Carlos.”

“Pleasure.” I smile wide. I am an F1 fan, it’s a bit weird seeing Lando on the grid but I’ll sit and watch with Max almost every weekend that we’re together.

“Pleasures all ours! I’ve always wanted to meet Lando’s childhood crush!” Lando hits Carlos, making him grab his stomach, “Worth it!” The Spanish man chokes out.

Lando scratches the back of his neck, not looking at me. “Are you here with anyone?” Alex asks me, I knew he would be nice.

“Yeah! I’m not sure where they are but…”

“That’s okay. You have us now!” Alex and I end up getting a drink, Lando stays back with Carlos who’s definitely teasing him.

I get a vodka lemonade and four shots. Alex and I are already best friends and laughing so hard that Carlos and Lando won’t stop asking us what’s so funny.

They don’t know that I showed Alex a photo of Lando and I as smurfs when we were five.

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LANDO NORRIS

Describing Y/n is something i’ve done many times. To friends, for context in stories, but if i’d really describe her… I don’t think I would have an ending point.

She’s got long blonde hair. She cut it all off when she was fifteen and I almost fainted when I didn’t recognize her. She loved it.

She’s confident, you can see it in her walk. Her hips sway and the click of her heels is something I'll never forget.

When she talks to you, all attention is on you, her eyes are hazel, appearing brown in the dark but if you get close enough… you’ll see the green.

She never quite had an awkward stage, always been beautiful, probably always will be. I haven’t seen her in years yet she acts like I talked to her yesterday.

Y/n sucks on a lime after her shot, smiling and clapping her hands together, “God, I feel like i’m in highschool!”

I obviously didn’t go to school with her. She’s a year younger and Max would non stop complain about her. She was more popular than him, going out, and was basically friends with everyone.

I remind myself again that Max is the reason why my arm is around the couch and not her waist.

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Y/N

“Norris!” I stand, holding out my hand, “Picture time.” I smile as he stands with me.

“What?” Carlos asks.

“Called the booth for a reason, Sainz!” I grin at the boys, gripping Lando’s hand tight and maneuvering us through the crowd.

There’s one photo booth in the back corner of the club. It’s notorious for famous photos and making everyone look good.

I look back at the boys who all look confused. All except Lando.

We came to the booth when Lando was in town from F2, we were 17 and 18. Max had gone off with some girl and we found ourselves in this exact booth.

We swore never to talk about it.

But I’m all for repeating history.

“Fewtrell…” He warns in my ear as we walk to the starred booth.

I glance back, dragging out his name, “Norris.”

He gets in first, unlike us as teens, only one person can fit. I smile and watch Lando’s face drop, I sit down on his lap, “Playing with fire here, love.” he says in my ear.

“I don’t mind getting burned.” He slips two coins in, his hand moving to my waist and holding me steady.

We smile first.

SNAP

I move a bit and give him bunny ears.

SNAP

Lando clears his throat, gripping my skin tighter as he looks at me. I move again, my skirt riding up a bit. “Trying to kill me?”

I smile and kiss his cheek, feeling something hard against me.

SNAP

“Of course.” I look at him, “The memories in here… You remember?”

“I’d be an idiot to forget.”

His hand moves down my hip, closer to my thigh. I look at him again as the photo booth starts up for the second time, “I shouldn’t.” He whispers, my face centimeters from his. I hear the whistles outside.

I shift once more, turning more to him. He groans, his head falling backwards and his eyes closing, “Give me a good reason.”

SNAP

He opens his eyes, meeting mine. I know I've got him. My hand rests on his neck, my rings pressing against his skin. He mumbles something but it’s too loud, “Speak up, Norris.”

“Never spoken.” His eyes flick to my lips, trying to get me to promise this is a secret.

“Never ever.” He leans in closer.

SNAP

“Come on rule breaker… I believe in you.” I whisper in his ear and it breaks him. I’m pulling his head closer to me, his lips on mine, a relief like no other.

He grabs ass, pulling me closer in the tiny space. I slip my tongue in his mouth, whimpering a bit. He bites my lip. I’m melting into him. It’s hot and needy but so much more than I could have ever wanted.

SNAP

Kissing Lando at Seventeen was scandalous and drunken. Kissing Lando at Twenty Three flat out sexy.

“Need you…” He whispers into the kiss which makes me almost come undone right then and there.

Someone bangs on the booth, “Alright Lovebirds!” Lando laughs but I'm the one to pull away.

“I can’t leave this booth.” He says quickly, his face red and sweaty.

“You’ll be fine-” I understand what he’s talking about when I go to leave and something brushes against my leg, “Oh.”

He looks away from me, blushing.

I smile, proud of myself for the boner and his pink cheeks, “Aw come on! I’ll cover you.” I wink and he rolls his eyes, He walks out behind me, his arms firmly on my waist again.

The two drivers grin at us, “You covering a boner?” Carlos starts but gets punched for the second time tonight by Lando. He holds his stomach again, “Still worth it!”

[dksfml]

what would you do if I went to touch you now? - riki

pairing: younger!nishimura riki x older!reader genre: office romance, flirty niki, workplace tension, niki teaches you japanese. summary: despite your best efforts to maintain professionalism, the undeniable tension between you and riki makes it impossible to resist the connection growing between you. it doesn't help that he calls you "noona" at work. warnings: suggestive, kissing, implied smut word count: 2.7k

your professional relationship with riki had been straightforward when he first started. quiet and shy, he took careful notes during meetings, absorbing the work culture like a sponge. as his mentor, you were tasked with guiding him through the ropes, ensuring he understood the nuances of the company.

“make sure he knows what he’s doing,” your boss had instructed, handing you the responsibility like a personal mission. and you took it seriously. riki was younger by a few years, in need of your guidance. at first, he seemed timid, his questions asked in soft tones, his posture always slightly defensive, as if afraid of stepping out of line. you naturally fell into a nurturing role, steering him whenever he seemed unsure, offering advice when necessary. but as time passed, riki's confidence grew, along with a noticeable shift in your dynamic.

it started subtly—small changes in his attitude. his work improved dramatically, and soon he was strutting around with a smirk, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. his newfound cockiness was relentless, even though you reminded him to stay focused.

“riki,” you sighed, standing by his desk, flipping through his presentation slides. “i told you to cross-reference these with last quarter’s data. this is incomplete.”

he leaned back, arms crossed over his chest, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin. “i was going to fix it, but i thought i’d leave some for you to correct, noona. keeps me humble.”

you narrowed your eyes, unamused. “this isn’t a game. you can’t slack off just because you’re comfortable. these clients are important, and if we don’t get this right, it’s on both of us.”

his grin faltered, but just as quickly, he masked it with a wink. “got it. i’ll fix it. but only if you promise to let me take you out for dinner when we nail this project.”

you shook your head, suppressing a smile. “this is serious. you missed an email i asked you to forward last week. and calling me ‘noona’ here at work? we need to keep this professional.”

riki straightened, the playful glint in his eyes dimming. “right,” he said, his voice softer. “i’ll keep it professional. but you can’t blame me for trying.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, but deep down, you felt a rush of excitement at his boldness. “i want those revisions by the end of the day, riki. and no more flirting until this is done.”

“yes, ma’am,” he replied, a mock salute on his part, and for the first time in weeks, there was no teasing in his tone.

now, the two of you were working on a critical project, preparing a proposal for a japanese client your company was eager to sign. it wasn’t just a regular pitch; this deal was huge—a make-or-break moment that could lead to long-term collaboration. you had thrown yourself into the task, familiarizing yourself with every detail of the project. but there was one problem: the language barrier. the client preferred to communicate in japanese, and while you had learned some phrases, you were nowhere near fluent.

that’s when it struck you—riki was fluent in japanese. you recalled him casually mentioning it one afternoon, and now that you needed the skill, you struck a deal with him: he’d tutor you in japanese after work, and in return, you’d ensure his involvement in the project didn’t go unnoticed by the higher-ups. a fair exchange, strictly professional, you told yourself.

later that night, during one of your lessons, the atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension. riki sat across from you, leaning forward as you practiced reading a passage. you stumbled over a phrase, and his sharp gaze caught your mistake.

“no,” he corrected, his voice low and firm, sending shivers down your spine. “it’s nihon, not nee-hon. you’re stressing the first syllable too much.”

his tone was both authoritative and teasing, igniting a spark of mischief that made your heart race. “let’s go over that phrase again,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding. you nodded, struggling to focus, but the heat radiating from his body made it impossible to think clearly.

“try it one more time, noona,” he urged, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. the closeness sent a jolt of electricity coursing through you, and you instinctively shifted, seeking a little more space.

“um, okay,” you stammered, trying to keep your composure, but the way he looked at you—a mix of amusement and something deeper—made your cheeks flush. “i’m trying.”

riki leaned in even closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. “you’re not trying hard enough,” he teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “what’s the matter? feeling a little shy?”

“shy? no,” you protested, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just—”

“just what?” he interrupted, his gaze piercing into yours, his confidence unwavering. “can’t handle a little pressure?”

your heart raced at the challenge in his voice. “at work, i’m your superior, riki. you need to respect that.”

“respect?” he echoed, leaning back just enough to gauge your reaction. “or maybe you need to realize that i’m not the junior anymore. you’re the one who seems to struggle with that.” his eyes danced with mischief, and you felt a thrill race through you.

“riki,” you warned, but your voice faltered, unable to hide the quiver of excitement that danced beneath your words.

“tell me you’re not interested,” he challenged, leaning closer, their faces mere inches apart. the air thickened with tension, and you could feel his warmth enveloping you. “because i know you feel it too.”

before you could respond, the sudden power cut plunged the office into darkness, leaving only the dim emergency lights flickering above. your heart pounded, and the adrenaline heightened every sensation.

“well, i guess that’s the end of tonight’s lesson,” you attempted to joke, but your voice trembled, revealing your unease.

riki’s eyes glinted in the low light, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “no, we’re not done.” he leaned closer again, his hand brushing against yours, sending a wave of heat up your arm.

you pulled back slightly, heart racing. “riki, this isn’t—”

“isn’t what?” he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a thrill down your spine. “we both know there’s something between us.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but the urgency in his gaze silenced you. your breath hitched at the finality in his tone. the professional barrier you had carefully constructed was crumbling.

“we should go,” you muttered, fumbling to gather your things. but riki reached out, his hand brushing against yours, halting your movements.

“we could go to your place,” he suggested, his voice dangerously low. “finish the lesson there.”

the implications hung heavily between you. you met his gaze, searching for any trace of the playful riki you’d trained, the one who’d always danced around the line but never crossed it. but there was nothing playful in his expression now—only a raw intensity that made your skin prickle.

you nodded, unable to trust your voice, and within moments, you were heading out of the office together. the ride to your apartment was silent, the weight of what was about to happen sitting thick between you.

the door to your apartment clicked shut behind you, and the familiar surroundings only heightened the surreal nature of what was happening. you barely had time to turn on a light before riki was in front of you, his presence magnetic. the silence between you was thick with everything left unsaid, but his gaze—intense, burning—spoke volumes.

for a moment, neither of you moved, both caught in the tension that had been building for weeks. his eyes swept over your face, lingering on your lips as if contemplating his next move. you stood your ground, refusing to back away even as your pulse raced in anticipation.

“you’re still thinking about work, aren’t you?” his voice was low, teasing. he stepped closer, just close enough that the warmth of his body radiated through the space between you. “always so professional, noona.”

you swallowed, feeling the flutter of nerves in your stomach. “someone has to keep things in check,” you replied, though your voice faltered just slightly, betraying the tug of desire that made your skin prickle with anticipation.

he chuckled, soft and deep. “maybe it’s time you stopped thinking for once.”

before you could react, his hand slid up your arm, fingers curling gently around the nape of your neck as he pulled you toward him. his lips met yours in a kiss that was far from the playful teasing you were used to. it was hungry, intense, like he had been waiting for this moment as long as you had. the taste of him was intoxicating, and before you realized it, you were kissing him back with just as much need.

your back hit the wall softly as his body pressed into yours, every inch of him enveloping you, filling the space around you. his hands trailed down your sides, fingers ghosting over the fabric of your blouse before dipping under the hem, finding bare skin.

“riki,” you whispered, breaking the kiss for a breath, but your voice was breathless, needy. his name left your lips like a confession.

his lips barely left yours as he responded, his voice a raspy whisper. “you keep acting like you’re in control, noona,” he murmured against your skin, his hands now slipping around your waist, pulling you even closer. “but i don’t think you are anymore.”

the challenge in his voice made something inside you snap. you wanted to respond, to assert yourself as you always had, but the heat between you was overwhelming, and before you could muster a reply, his lips were on your neck, pressing soft, hot kisses along your skin that left you trembling.

“i’m not the kid you used to boss around,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your ear. “you can’t keep treating me like i don’t know what i’m doing.”

his hands slid lower, and you gasped as his touch became more insistent, his fingers deftly working to unbutton your blouse. his lips returned to yours, and this time, the kiss was slower, deeper, as if he wanted to savor every second. there was nothing hurried about the way his hands roamed your body, exploring with a confidence that made your head spin.

you tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head in one swift motion, your fingertips brushing over the smooth lines of his chest. he was handsome, undeniably so, but up close like this—underneath the layers of work clothes and the carefully constructed professionalism—he was breathtaking. your hands trailed over his skin, feeling the tautness of his muscles, the way his breath hitched slightly as you touched him.

he grinned against your lips as you pressed your body into his, feeling the hardness of his form against you. “see?” he whispered, his voice rough with desire. “you can’t even resist me now, noona.”

you wanted to argue, to assert your authority as you always had, but the way he looked at you—like he knew exactly how to unravel you—left you powerless.

his hands made quick work of the rest of your clothes, every movement deliberate, controlled. he was no longer the shy, uncertain junior you had once guided. here, in the dim light of your apartment, riki was commanding, confident, and he knew exactly what he was doing.

he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bedroom, laying you down with a gentleness that contrasted with the heat of the moment. and then he was over you, his hands exploring, his lips trailing over your skin in ways that made your breath hitch. you responded in kind, your fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

when his mouth found yours again, it was softer this time, but no less intense. his touch was slow, deliberate, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of your body, every gasp and shiver he elicited. you couldn’t help the sounds that escaped you, soft whimpers that only seemed to spur him on.

“don’t think just because i’m calling you ‘noona’ that i’ll let you keep this up,” he teased, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “you’re not the only one who can take charge.”

the air between you was charged with desire, thick with the tension that had been simmering for so long. every touch, every breath shared between you was electric, sending waves of pleasure rippling through your body. you had never imagined this—being here, with him, in this way—but now that you were, there was no going back.

and when he finally claimed you, when the last barriers between you fell away, it was like everything else disappeared. there was no work, no professionalism, no rules—just you and him, bodies moving together in perfect sync, lost in the heat of the moment.

the world outside faded into oblivion, and all that remained was the sound of your mingled breaths, the feeling of his skin against yours, the way he made you feel as though you were the only two people who mattered.

and in that moment, nothing else did.

“i still do want to take you on a dinner date though," riki said, breaking the silence with a light-hearted lilt that hung in the air like a sweet melody.

you pulled back slightly, your eyes searching his, as if seeking confirmation that this wasn’t just a fleeting fantasy. “really?” the question slipped out before you could hold it back, a mix of surprise and delight dancing in your voice.

“yeah, really,” he replied, his smile growing wider. “just you and me. somewhere nice. maybe italian? i hear they have the best pasta in town.”

his words wrapped around you like a warm embrace, grounding you in the moment. you could feel your heart quicken, the anticipation stirring something deep within you. “that sounds perfect. when do you want to go?”

“how about friday?” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “i’ll even let you choose the place.”

a laugh escaped your lips, the sound light and airy. “i hope you’re ready for my pick then. i might take you to the best italian place in town, and you’ll be regretting it the next day.”

riki chuckled, the warmth of his laughter making your heart flutter. “i’ll take that risk. besides, i have a feeling it’ll be worth it.”

in that moment, as the soft glow of the streetlights seeped through the window, you felt the weight of the week lift, replaced by the promise of something beautiful on the horizon. but just as the excitement began to settle in, you were pulled back to reality by the sound of your phone vibrating against the table, a harsh reminder of the world outside this blissful bubble.

you glanced at the screen, and the moment slipped slightly, the glow of notifications flickering like an unwelcome reminder. it was a message from a friend, checking in about the weekend plans.

“sorry, i should probably—” you started, but riki gently took your hand, grounding you again.

“hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “you can always reply later. right now, let’s focus on us.”

you looked back at him, the connection reigniting. the moment stretched out like an unbroken thread between you, the world beyond the walls of this room fading once more into insignificance. you nodded, your heart soaring as you settled back into the warmth of his gaze, the future bright and inviting.

“so, friday it is?” you confirmed, your voice steady and full of excitement.

“definitely,” riki replied, a grin breaking across his face, as if he had just won a victory.

and just like that, the evening unfolded around you, a delicate balance of playful teasing and soft confessions, a new chapter beginning to write itself in the quiet spaces between your laughter.

[pucksandpower]

That’s Not My Name

Toto Wolff x wife!Reader

Summary: in which people assume you are everything except for your husband’s wife

Warnings: mentions of a significant age gap

The Daughter

You take a deep breath as you step through the paddock, clutching your pass tightly in your hand. The noise and energy of the Formula 1 weekend thrums around you. You’ve never been to a race before, and it’s all so new and overwhelming.

When Toto invited you to join him for the British Grand Prix, you were hesitant. This stage of your relationship is still so new — you’ve only been married a few months. But Toto was insistent. He wants you by his side.

Still, you feel out of place among the teams and journalists. You’re just a normal girl, plucked from obscurity by a man twice your age. What must they all think of you?

You arrive at the Mercedes garage and glance around nervously. The mechanics are bustling about, focused on their work. You spot Toto across the garage, talking intensely with his drivers. He looks stressed, his brows furrowed as he discusses strategy. This high pressure environment is his domain, but it’s foreign to you.

Toto glances up and notices you hovering near the entrance. His face breaks into a smile and he quickly excuses himself from his conversation to come greet you.

“Mein liebchen, you made it!” He exclaims, enveloping you in a tight hug. You cling to the solidness of him, drawing comfort from his familiar embrace.

“I wasn’t sure I should come,” you say softly, glancing around. The mechanics are staring curiously. You know how it must look — their team principal hugging an unknown woman half his age.

Toto cups your face gently, “I want you here. This is your world now too. Don’t worry what anyone else thinks.”

You bite your lip but nod, trusting in him. If Toto believes you belong here, then you do.

He tucks you under his arm and leads you further into the garage, introducing you to his team. They greet you politely, hiding any surprise or judgment. You know you’ll have to win them over, prove that you’re more than just Toto’s midlife crisis.

A sudden commotion draws your attention across the paddock. The Red Bull Racing team is gathered around the entrance, greeting their team principal enthusiastically as he arrives. Christian Horner is holding court, shaking hands and clapping shoulders.

You tense involuntarily. The rivalry between Mercedes and Red Bull is legendary, with Christian often attempting to get under Toto’s skin. You don’t know how he’ll react to you.

As if sensing your thoughts, Toto tightens his arm around you. “Don’t worry about him,” he murmurs. “I’m here.”

But you can’t relax as you see Christian look your way, his gaze sharp and assessing. He says something to his team and begins walking towards the Mercedes garage. Your heart sinks. There’s no avoiding this confrontation.

“Toto!” Christian calls out jovially as he approaches. “I see you’ve brought a special guest this weekend.”

Toto presses his lips together but forces a polite smile. “Yes, I wanted her to experience her first race weekend. Christian, meet Y/N, my wife.”

You extend your hand nervously. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Christian raises his eyebrows, blatantly looking you up and down. “Your wife? My, they do start young these days.” His tone is patronizing.

You blush deeply, humiliated. But Toto comes to your defense.

“I’d appreciate if you leave her out of our rivalry,” he says sharply. “She has nothing to do with it.”

Christian holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get defensive! I just didn’t realize you had gotten hitched again. And to someone so … fresh faced. She could be your daughter!” He chuckles.

Your face burns. You hate Christian for putting voice to that thought. You know people judge you and Toto for your age difference. Hearing him joke about it so callously stings.

Toto steps forward angrily but you grab his arm, silently begging him not to cause a scene. He takes a deep breath, struggling to contain his temper.

“It was lovely to meet you, Christian,” you say as evenly as you can manage. “I do hope you’ll have a good weekend.”

Christian looks surprised by your composure. He nods farewell and heads back to the Red Bull garage, throwing one last smirk over his shoulder.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Toto turns to you. “I’m so sorry about that,” he says earnestly. “Christian is an ass. Don’t let him get to you.”

You shake your head, swallowing back tears. “It’s fine, I knew people would think those things about me … about us ...” you trail off miserably.

Toto cups your face in both hands. “Look at me. None of that matters. He can think what he wants. But I know who you are. You are my heart, my present, and my future. No one can take that away, not even Christian bloody Horner.”

You give a watery laugh at his vehemence and he kisses your forehead tenderly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you tell him, finding your courage again. “I want to be here.”

Toto smiles proudly and laces his fingers through yours. “Good. Let’s show them we’re not going to hide. I want you here, where you belong.”

Holding hands firmly, you walk with your head held high back into the bustling garage. Let them stare and whisper. You know your place is here with Toto. No judgment or rivalry can change that. This is your world now.

The Assistant

The day has been a whirlwind so far. After the confrontation with Christian Horner, you tried your best to settle into the hectic swing of pre-race preparations. Toto has been swept up in strategy meetings and sponsor obligations. You trail along behind him, clutching your paddock pass, trying not to get in the way.

During a rare free moment, Toto turns to you. “Why don’t you go exploring for a bit? Get a feel for the place. I need to take this call but I’ll come find you soon.”

You nod uncertainly. Venturing off alone makes you nervous, but you want to prove to Toto you can handle this new world.

You wander toward the garages housing the Formula 2 teams. The cars are lined up, mechanics hovering over them making final tweaks and adjustments. You watch them work, enthralled by their practiced movements.

“Are you lost?”

You turn to see a mechanic frowning at you. He’s from one of the backmarker teams, a lower budget operation.

“Oh no, just looking around,” you stammer self-consciously.

The mechanic’s eyes drop to your pass. “Ah a VIP pass eh? Who are you with?”

“Oh um Mercedes ...” you trail off awkwardly.

His eyebrows raise, impressed. “Posh. You must be Toto’s new assistant then?”

You freeze, the old insecurity rising. Assistant. Because why else would someone your age be hanging around the Mercedes garage? You want to correct him, but the words stick in your throat. You don’t want to make a scene.

So you just nod and mumble something noncommittal. The mechanic looks sympathetic.

“First race weekend is it? They can be chaotic. But don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Who knows, if you impress the boss, you might get to travel full time!”

He means it kindly, but his words dig into your wounds. You give a thin smile. “Thank you, I appreciate the advice.”

You turn away before he can respond, a lump forming in your throat. No matter what Toto says, people will make assumptions about you.

Lost in thought, you wander toward the bustling fan zone. It’s a sea of colors, supporters wearing their favorite team’s kit. You pass unnoticed, just another face in the crowd.

The roar of an engine makes you glance up. The Formula 2 cars are being pushed out of the garage, heading for the grid. You hurry over, eager to get a closer look.

A harried looking engineer nearly runs right into you, focused on his tablet. “Oh, sorry, excuse me.” He does a double take. “Hey, you’re Toto’s new assistant right? I saw you with him around the paddock earlier.”

Your heart sinks. Word has spread. You open your mouth to correct him but he barrels on.

“Listen, I hate to do this, but any chance you can help me out? My usual assistant called in sick and I’m swamped. I just need someone to hold these and stand with the engineers during the race. You’ll get a front row view of the start!”

He looks at you pleadingly. You hesitate, but his need seems genuine.

“Um, sure, I can help,” you say.

“You’re a lifesaver!” He exclaims, piling several tire blankets into your arms. They’re heavier than you expected. “Just follow me.”

He leads you onto the grid and you get swept up in the controlled chaos, focusing on not dropping the blankets. The cars pull into position around you. The engineer directs you where to stand and you end up right against the barrier, the engines roaring just feet away.

Your heart races with excitement. The start is exhilarating, the cars peeling away in a blur. You forget your insecurities for a moment, lost in the thrill of the race.

The checkered flag waves and the engineer finally relieves you of the weight in your arms. “Thanks so much for your help! I really appreciate it ...” he pauses. “Actually I don’t think I got your name?”

You open your mouth but a familiar voice interrupts. “There you are!”

Toto appears through the crowd and pulls you into his arms. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Are you alright?”

He notices the engineer standing there awkwardly. “Can I help you?” Toto asks coolly.

“Nope, we’re all good here. Thanks again for your help,” the engineer nods at you and disappears into the dispersing crowd.

“What was that about?” Toto frowns. “Why was he giving you tire blankets?”

You sigh, feeling the weight of the day pressing down on you again. “He thought I was your new assistant. He needed help so I said yes.” You shrug helplessly.

Understanding flashes across Toto’s face and he swears under his breath. “I’m so sorry, I never should have left you alone. I should have made things clearer who you are.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. I don’t mind helping out, really.” But your voice wavers, betraying your hurt.

Toto cups your face gently. “No, it’s not okay. You are my partner, my equal. Not my assistant. I need to show people the extraordinary woman you truly are.”

His faith bubbles up your own courage. You straighten your shoulders, looking him in the eye.

“Then let’s go show them. I’m not hiding anymore. Take me where I belong, right by your side.”

Toto kisses you fiercely. “With pleasure, meine liebchen.”

He tucks you under his shoulder proudly. You keep your head high as you walk back through the paddock, passes reflecting in the sun. Let them stare and whisper. You know where you belong.

The Trespasser

A few months later, you’re starting to find your stride. Each race weekend poses new challenges, but with Toto by your side you’re learning to navigate the hectic world of motorsports.

The Mercedes team has slowly warmed up to you as well. Seeing how happy Toto is has softened their skepticism. You pitch in where you can — bringing freshly baked pastries and trying to make yourself useful. Having a purpose eases your lingering insecurities.

The Singapore Grand Prix means a sweltering heat that makes the paddock sticky and humid. The stuffy garage offers little relief so you wander outside hoping for a breeze. You end up in the fan zone, mingling with supporters visiting the various team merch shops and activities.

You chat with a few enthusiastic young fans, gently deflecting their eager questions about Toto and the team. Despite the heat and crowds, their passion for the sport is contagious and you find yourself smiling.

Toto texts that he needs you back at the garage, so you reluctantly leave your anonymous conversations and make your way through the paddock. As you draw closer to the Mercedes garage, you realize your pass has gone missing from your lanyard.

Your heart sinks. The passes grant crucial access and you don’t want to cause problems. But the garage is just ahead so you decide to explain yourself once you’re inside.

Slipping through the open door, you immediately spot Toto in the back. As you weave between bustling mechanics, a hand grasps your shoulder.

You turn to see one of the newer Mercedes mechanics frowning down at you. “What are you doing in here?” He demands. “This area is restricted.”

Flustered, you try to explain about your missing pass. But the mechanic’s stern expression doesn’t waver.

“How did you get in? I know all the team members but I haven’t seen you before.” His eyes narrow suspiciously.

Other mechanics have noticed the confrontation and start drifting over. You shrink under their doubtful gazes.

“I, uh, I’m Toto’s ...” you stammer, but the mechanic cuts you off.

“A likely story. Every race some starry-eyed fan tries to sneak in for an autograph or photo. You picked the wrong garage for that. Come on, let’s go.”

He takes your arm in a firm grip. Your protests fall on deaf ears as he escorts you briskly outside.

To your dismay Toto is occupied with an intense conversation, his back turned. No one intervenes as the mechanic marches you away from the garage and into the paddock.

“I don’t know how you got in here, but I’ll be reporting this. We can’t have unauthorized people wandering around restricted areas.”

You tug uselessly against his hold, trying to explain it’s all just a misunderstanding. But he remains stoic, unmoved by your pleas.

Other teams and drivers are staring now as he parades you past. Your face burns with humiliation at the thought of causing a scene or being accused of lying.

In a stroke of luck, you spot Lewis heading towards the Mercedes motorhome ahead. He knows you, surely he can clear this up!

You call his name desperately. “Lewis, Lewis! Help, please!”

Lewis turns, confusion clouding his features. But then he recognizes you and his brow furrows.

“What’s going on here?” He asks sharply, striding over.

The mechanic snaps to attention, clearly intimidated to be addressed by Lewis directly.

“I caught this girl sneaking around the garage! She claims to know Toto but it’s obviously a ruse to get access. I was just escorting her out.”

Lewis looks incredulous. “This is Toto’s wife, mate. She’s supposed to be there.”

The mechanic gapes, his authoritative air dissipating. “His wife? But she’s so young ...” he glances at you uncertainly. “My apologies, ma’am, I didn’t realize. We have to be vigilant about security.”

You shrug off his now-slack grip. “It’s fine, just a misunderstanding,” you mumble, face still burning.

Lewis places a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “C’mon, let’s get you back where you belong.”

He leads you away from the shrinking mechanic back toward the Mercedes garage. You feel tears pricking your eyes.

“Thank you, Lewis,” you say shakily. “I tried to explain but he wouldn’t listen ...”

“Don’t worry about it. That guy is new around here, still learning the ropes.” Lewis pats your shoulder consolingly.

You nod, trying to brush it off. But the encounter left you rattled. Will there always be those who see you as an outsider?

Lewis seems to sense your swirling doubts. “He was just new. The team knows you well by now. Stuff like this will stop happening once the rest get used to you being around.”

You want to believe him. You’ve tried so hard to find your place here.

As you near the garage, Toto comes rushing out, scanning the paddock anxiously. His shoulders sag with relief when he spots you.

“Where have you been? I turned around and you were gone!” He exclaims, pulling you into his embrace.

Over his shoulder, you see Lewis mouth “tell him” before discreetly slipping away.

You take a deep breath and explain what happened with the mechanic. Toto’s expression darkens, his protective anger rising.

You touch his cheek gently. “It wasn’t his fault. It was just a misunderstanding.”

Toto sighs, anger melting away. “I should have been there. I should have introduced you properly to the new staff.”

You shake your head. “You can’t be responsible for how everyone sees me. I don’t need you fighting my battles. This is something I have to earn for myself. Their respect, their trust … I just need more time.”

Toto gazes at you with so much love and pride it takes your breath away. “You are so much stronger than you know. And if they can’t see that, well that’s on them.”

He kisses you softly. “Take all the time you need. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll get through this together.”

And wrapped securely in his arms, you finally believe it’s true. This is your world now. Your place is here, with him.

The Nanny

The warm early autumn breeze ruffles your hair as you wait outside the primary school, keeping one eye on the time. Any minute now the bell will ring, signaling the end of your son’s second day of preschool.

You smile thinking of this morning and his eager goodbye hug before practically sprinting into the building, too excited to look back. He has his father’s confidence.

Shifting the baby carrier holding your sleeping newborn daughter, you smooth down your dress self-consciously. Even after years with Toto, you still can’t help but feel out of place at posh schools like this.

The other mothers eye you curiously. No doubt wondering about the young woman with an infant waiting alone.

You know some of them recognized Toto yesterday when he dropped off and picked up your son. Your heart had lurched seeing him cradling Leon’s small hand, both your boys glancing back to wave goodbye.

But duty called for Toto today with important meetings at Mercedes’ Brackley Headquarters, so pickup fell to you today. Not that you mind another glimpse of that overjoyed grin when your son spots you.

The bell rings and a stream of children come pouring out the doors. You crane your neck, looking for a familiar head of tousled curls.

There! You wave eagerly as your son breaks into a run when he sees you.

“Mama!” He cries joyfully, slamming into your legs. You stroke his hair, hugging him tight.

“Did you have a good day baby?” You ask as he looks up at you adoringly.

He nods, launching into a story about finger painting that you can barely follow. But his enthusiasm is contagious and you can’t help but smile.

A polite cough interrupts you. An immaculately dressed woman is hovering nearby, eyeing your son curiously.

“Sorry to bother you, but I wanted to introduce myself properly. I’m Clarice, Emma’s mum,” she gestures to a girl clinging shyly to her leg.

“Lovely to meet you,” you say politely, shaking her offered hand. “I’m Y/N and this is Leon.”

You ruffle his curls and he gives a dimpled smile before hiding against your side. Clarice’s eyes flick between you and your son, a slight furrow in her brow.

“I hope I’m not overstepping, but I met Leon’s father yesterday during drop off. Is his mother … not around?” She asks delicately.

Your cheeks flush. Of course she would assume you’re the nanny, not the mother. Bracing yourself, you shake your head.

“No it’s okay! I’m his mother. Toto — Leon’s dad — had meetings today, so it’s my turn to do pickup.”

Clarice looks mortified. “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry for assuming. You just look so young, I thought ...” she trails off, flustered.

You force an understanding smile. “Don’t worry, it’s an easy mistake. Our age difference does raise some eyebrows.” You punctuate this with an awkward laugh.

Clarice seems eager to change the subject. “What a beautiful baby!” She gushes, peering at your daughter sleeping in her carrier. “And so well behaved.”

Grateful for the redirected conversation, you chat politely about your little girl. Clarice coos over her sweetly.

Other parents begin dispersing with their kids and Clarice makes her goodbyes. “So lovely meeting you both. I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

You smile and take Leon’s hand to drive home, his chattering filling your ears. You know curious parents will likely gossip about Toto’s young wife. But it doesn’t sting as much as it once did. You’ve grown used to the assumptions by now.

Unlocking the front door, you’re greeted by the smell of cooking. Leon goes tearing off to the kitchen, shouting “Papa!” at the top of his lungs. Chuckling, you follow after, your daughter beginning to stir in her carrier.

Toto is there to sweep Leon into his arms, smothering his cheeks in kisses as your son giggles. The scene warms your heart.

Noticing your arrival, Toto sets Leon down to embrace you and peer at the baby. “How was pick up? Any tears today?” He asks Leon.

Your son shakes his head proudly. “I made a picture for you, Papa!” He runs off to retrieve it.

You meet Toto’s gaze over your daughter’s downy hair. “It was fine. Just the usual questions about my age from a school mum. She thought I was the nanny when we first met.”

You try to say it lightly, but Toto’s face tightens, protective anger flashing. Even after all this time, he hates when people judge you unfairly.

You touch his arm gently. “It’s okay, really. I don’t care what they think.”

And it’s true. The opinions of strangers can’t touch the beautiful family you’ve built together.

Toto lets out a long breath, anger melting away. “I know. But I still wish people could see you how I do.”

He pulls you close and you lean into him, breathing in his comforting scent. “As long as you and the kids see me, that’s all that matters.”

Leon comes barreling back in, brandishing his painting. “Look!!”

You both admire his abstract swirls of color dutifully. “A masterpiece!” Toto proclaims. “We’ll hang it on the fridge.”

Leon beams under the praise then dashes off again in pursuit of a toy.

You and Toto share a wry smile. “Never a dull moment with that one,” you remark. The baby begins fussing and you gently sway her.

“Here, let me.” Toto takes her expertly and she settles against his broad chest. Your heart squeezes at the sight.

Toto meets your gaze. “I know I’ve put you through a lot over the years. The stares, the gossip … you’ve endured it all with grace when you could have walked away.”

You stroke his cheek. “You and our family are worth any trial. I would do it all again without a second thought.”

Toto leans into your palm. “Having you by my side is the greatest gift.”

You kiss him softly, your heart brimming with love.

From the other room, Leon’s playful giggles reach you. The smell of dinner being prepared still fills the warm kitchen. And your baby girl doses off in her daddy’s arms.

This is your world. The only one that matters. And you know for certain you belong.

The Husband

The morning sun streams through the hotel window as you sip your coffee, scrolling absentmindedly through social media. Race weekends are always a whirlwind, but you’ve learned to carve out small moments of calm when you can.

Toto is already down in the paddock prepping for qualifying today. The room feels empty without him. Sighing, you click over to TikTok, hoping for a distraction.

Immediately a video pops up on your feed from a fan account, the caption “so cute!” catching your eye. You tap play, assuming it’s another clip of drivers’ kids or someone’s grid walk antics.

But you nearly spit out your coffee when the video loads. It’s Toto, standing by the circuit entrance, surrounded by a gaggle of teenage girls. They’re prodding phones toward him eagerly, voices babbling over one another.

“Toto, what’s it like being Y/N’s husband?” One asks boldly.

You freeze, breath caught in your throat. In all the years by Toto’s side, you’ve never heard anyone flip the script like that. It’s always been “what’s it like being Toto’s wife?” You’re an accessory to his fame, not the focus.

Toto looks momentarily surprised, then laughs good-naturedly. “She is extraordinary,” he proclaims sincerely. “Being with her is a privilege every day.”

The girls sigh dreamily at his romanticism. Another chimes in, “You must be so proud of everything she’s accomplished!”

Toto nods, his expression tender. “I am in awe of her strength and resilience. She has faced so much scrutiny with grace. And now people finally see her incredible spirit.”

You press a hand to your mouth as tears spring to your eyes. After years by his side, Toto’s steadfast faith in you still takes your breath away.

“So you’re proud to be Y/N’s husband?” The first girl presses.

“Absolutely.” Toto doesn’t hesitate. “She is my inspiration.”

The video ends and you sit staring at the screen, cheeks wet. Never did you imagine your own fans, separate from Toto. But these girls look up to you, see you as more than just “the wife.”

Your phone buzzes with a text from Toto.

Have you seen the video? The PR team says you’re trending on TikTok!

You type back shakily.

Just watched it. Made me cry happy tears 🥹

His response is immediate.

You deserve all the praise, meine liebchen. I meant every word.

Wiping your eyes, you get up and dress quickly. Down in the paddock, you spot Toto right away. He sweeps you into his arms.

“There’s my superstar wife.” His eyes shine with pride.

You kiss him fiercely. “Thank you for always believing in me. Even when I doubted myself.”

Toto touches your cheek. “You’ve earned every bit of admiration. Don’t ever forget your worth.”

As he walks you into the bustling garage, mechanics glance up from their work to smile and wave. The fans hover nearby, whispering excitedly when they see you.

You no longer feel out of place here. This is your world now, as much as Toto’s. You’ve claimed your seat at the table.

Standing confidently by your husband’s side, you wave back, ready to take on the day.