#excuse this my mind is still spirally

[shadow-the-crow]

okay.

okay.

i did it. i just finished mag 101.

HOLY SHIT

i... i have a lot of thoughts. and i'll make proper posts about them.

but for now i just want to say: it wasn't good in the way i expected, it didn't touch me the way i expected. i mean, it was, and it did, but differently.

am i a bad person for not being devastated because of what happened to Michael? i mean Michael Shelley. maybe it's because i already knew what was going to happen. there wasn't really anything new about it, just the sacrifice i already expected. of course, the repeated "he trusted her" and all that stuff hurt. but i don't feel as bad for Michael Shelley as i probably should. i mostly feel bad for the thing Michael is now, or was. i mean, Michael's pain was also his pain, right? (i'm gonna make a post about that soon.) but yeah, maybe it's because we didn't hear that person talk directly, or maybe i haven't realized the full extent of his fate yet. maybe it'll hurt more on a relisten. idk. but i do feel bad for not being devastated about his fate. that's what y'all were talking about when you said this episode would destroy me, right? or maybe it wasn't. in any case, with the info i had before listening, i was convinced that's what you were talking about, so that's the thing i expected to destroy me.

however, what came closer to destroying me was Michael the Distortion. holy shit. i have so many feelings about him. this whole fucked-up identity thing, the last minute or so of it being Michael... holy shit, his scream. i had to pause and wait until i stopped shaking. although there have been other well acted screams of pain on this podcast... i've never heard anyone scream like this.

oh yeah and i almost forgot: i never expected the "it's not the same person but it's still the same thing" thing to make sense to me. i expected Helen the Distortion to feel like a different being. but somehow it still sounded like it did when it was Michael... It somehow felt the same. I never thought this would be possible, but they really managed to remove the Michael part and keep the Distortion part, just with good voice acting and a bit of sound editing. that's really impressive.

okay that's all i can put into words for now lol

[ganondoodle]

i often really do feel like an .. unwanted part of the fandom, i dont draw beautiful landscapes, i have unpopular but strong opinions im constantly annoying about and rarely change, dont like/dont draw the pretty young popular twinks and hot gurls to fanboi over nor do i turn characters into one, the opposite moreso, draw only one ship no ones heard of really, got little energy to interact with the few people that are nice to me and send me asks so it probably looks like im ignoring everyone and unfortunately but still rarely get so stressed i get overwhelmed and emotional about pehaps seemingly minor things and spiral almost into a breakdown feeling super embarrassed about it afterwards but the damage is already done and i look like a freak or agressive weirdo

[augustinewrites]

just alhaitham realizing he wants a baby with you... cw: pregnancy, children

alhaitham is in the middle of reading, spending his lunch hour tucked away in a quiet corner puspa cafe when he feels a poke at his arm.

he slides his headphones off, looking over to see a child standing next to him, clutching something to her chest. 

“excuse me– mister scribe sir?”  

the scribe sighs, tucking his book away. “just alhaitham is fine.”

the child blushes furiously. “oh, um, mister alhaitham sir, my teacher says that your job is reading. could you read this for me please?” 

that was an incredibly juvenile description of his job, but he doesn't correct her. the girl slides what alhaitham recognizes as the children’s book that tighnari had written (and collei had illustrated) to teach the basics of forest safety. the storytelling was mediocre and the illustrations were average, but he supposed they were sufficient enough for children who had no higher education.

alhaitham glances at the clock. he still has a half hour left of his break, and he was nothing if not an advocate for educating young minds.

—

“the lesson is to always be prepared when traveling through the rainforest,” alhaitham explains, closing the book. “there’s always a high probability that you’ll run into fungi, especially if you're on foot like little cyno was. you’d do well to add a variety of antitoxins to your first aid kit.”

the girl considers this, brows pulled into a furrow as she sips at the sunsettia juice he’d ordered for her. 

“why didn’t little cyno just go around the fungi when he saw them? then he wouldn't have gotten the sports.”

“the spores,” alhaitham corrects. “but your point stands. common sense is perhaps the most effective survival tool.” 

children, with their inquisitive and imaginative minds, were adequate problem solvers. they didn't overthink things, instead utilizing a simple, pragmatic way of thinking. 

he wouldn't mind raising a little scholar of his own with you. 

he’d thought a normal amount about having a child before. typical musings, like when he would have one (after school, after securing a decent job). or what their names would be (esfir for a boy, laila for a girl). who would bear his children (the only person he’d ever considered was you).

but these aren’t idle musings anymore. this time, the idea hits him full force, quickly spiraling into a hope. a dream for the future. 

a boy with his eyes and your smile. a girl with your hair colour and his nose. how you’d raise them together, how they’d grow to be intelligent, inquisitive, creative, and endlessly compassionate.  

“sweetheart, there you are!” a relieved voice exclaims. 

the girl sitting across from him perks up as her mother runs up to the table, her smile widening. “mama! mister alhaitham read me a book!”

“i'm so sorry she interrupted your lunch, sir,” the frantic mother looks sheepish as she apologizes, but alhaitham dismisses it with a wave of his hand. 

“it’s alright. if anything, this experience has been rather enlightening.” 

_____

“that's quite the stack,” you comment mildly when your husband enters the bedroom with an armful of textbooks. “which new topic have you been intrigued with this week?”

alhaitham sets the books down on the nightstand and answers, “conception.”

his answer is spoken simply, casually, like he’s talking about the weather and not one of the most life-altering decisions you could make as a couple. 

“conception,” you repeat slowly. “like…”

“you’re a doctor. you’re aware of the biological process behind it.” 

“of course i am,” you say, suddenly feeling flustered. “i just– we’ve never talked about this before, haitham.”

your husband sighs, walking around to your side of the bed and sitting by your legs. “well…i want to talk about it.” 

seconds pass. seconds that almost feel like a lifetime as you watch each other, looking for any unspoken signs of hesitation.

“it’s up to you,” he finally says, gently placing a hand on your ankle. “it’s your body, you’re the one who would be carrying our baby for nine months. if you’re not ready–”

you don't need to hear the rest, crawling over to cup his face in your hands and press a soft kiss to his lips. “i'm ready. we’re ready.” 

his eyes immediately brighten, and he momentarily leaves your grasp to reach across the bed to grab the topmost book from his stack. “there are certain positions that we can try to increase our chances of conceiving. according to studies conducted in fontaine, this one has an effectiveness of 89.5%. it’s called a mating press…”

you wish you could say it’s the first time he’s propositioned you with educational literature. 

“wait, you didn’t ask me,” you giggle, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging lightly. 

he pauses. “will you try this position with me?”

“no, smartass. ask me to have a baby with you.”

your husband grins, hooking his hands under your ass to pull you into his lap. you gasp as he does so, his head dipping down to the crook of your neck. he says your name, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“will you let me put a baby in you, dearest?”

[boneblushed]

Ignorance by infatuation

synopsis A detective behaves lewdly with you. Aaron Hotchner gets uncharacteristically jealous.

wc 1.7k

a/n omg my first Hotch fic ever hehe 🤭 feedback and love always appreciated, still trying to find my Crim Minds voice!

It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, the air sultry and verdant, rain soaked leaves underfoot. 

Aaron Hotchner frowns. Petrichor and dew mean evidence awash. He pauses to squint up at the sky, muddy grey with isolated streaks of yellow dawn.

You’re acutely aware of Spencer’s eyes on you as you walk past Hotch, and give yourself a mild headache by focussing too hard on the commotion ahead. The rest of the team don’t seem to notice the tension between you and SSA Hotchner. Or perhaps they do, and the pair of you are just too stubborn to admit it.

It’s been lurking under the surface for a while now, this perplexing pull between you. Lingering glances, raised eyebrows, irises spooled with tendrils of static. A hand pressed against your back every time he scoots behind you, like an excuse. He doesn’t do that with Emily. None of the other agents. A frown that tends to yield when your gaze catches his.

Or hardens when someone acts a little lewder than is appropriate.

Like the other day, for example, when he’d overheard you on the phone with some deadbeat cop in the Dallas area. (He’s probably being unfair. He probably isn’t even a deadbeat. It’s just that anyone that flirts with the idea of your favour is going to be unworthy in comparison, even Agent Hotchner.)

The phone had rung in the middle of your exchange, and you’d answered it immediately, mouthing apologies in its place. Aaron Hotchner remembers the shine of gloss on your lips, the ways your fingers clasped the phone to your ear, gentle but firm. Remnants of peach coloured polish on your nails.

“Yes, this is she,” you’d answered, mouthing another apology to him. “How can I help you?”

You’d come into his office a few minutes prior to discuss something media strategy; Hotch didn’t have a mind for it, he much preferred giving you all the reins. He recognised how strange this was for a control freak as prolific as him. You were different though, he’d attest. It was a sentiment as dangerous, as non-platonic, as the feelings making home in his ribcage.

“Right,” you’d said, pulling your spiral-bound notebook out of your pocket. You’d wedged your phone between your ear and shoulder, slipping your pen out of your breast pocket and clicking it against it. Hotch felt unseasonably hot at such attention to your chest. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, trying to catch your gaze.

“Ah, I see, yes that does sound like our area of expertise,” you’d continued, and then a pause, an awkward, unwieldy laugh. Still beautiful. “No, yes, our is correct — I am in fact part of the team.” Another pause; this time, you’d rolled your eyes when your laugh spooled out of your pretty mouth. He didn’t recognise it. “I don’t know about that. Should we get back to the case at hand? Great.”

Hotchner’s eyebrows had lowered then, furrowing into an expression of concern, flailing interest. Not jealousy. He was pretty certain he knew all your laughs, the cadence of them, the syrupy timbre. This one was new. You sounded uncomfortable, as though something said over the phone had abraded you somehow. As his eyebrows had, his heart had sunk into his stomach. He remembers the strain of his forearm muscles against his clenched knuckles.

“Sure. Yes. As soon as I have all the details I’ll be able to distribute them. Great, yes, we’ll see you soon, I’m sure. Thank you. Goodbye.”

And that had been that. Hotch hadn’t had the stomach to ask after the details, especially not when you’d seemed so eager to put it behind you.

After ending the call, you’d shaken your head and proclaimed, “Don’t ask,” launching back into your spiel about media strategy like it hadn’t happened. Hotch wasn’t in the business of disagreeing with you; pressing things. Saying no. It wasn’t lost on him that he used the word liberally with everyone else he knew.

Back at the scene, Hotch stays a few steps behind the team. He knows that Spencer’s assessing eyes will see right through his faux contemplation; Hotchner knows, from the many frowns Spencer’s eidetic memory has learned, that the expression on his face will be recognised as distraction.

He needs to focus. He needs you near. He needs to keep his eye on the ball. He needs deadbeat detective far away from here.

As you and the BAU team near the crime scene, a rugged looking cop pulls away from his colleagues. He has eyes like treacle tart and a grin that borders on a smirk. A toothpick hangs from his mouth like something out of a Western.

“Detective Landon?” You say, extending a hand in acknowledgement. “Hello, we spoke on the phone yesterday morning.”

Detective Landon spits the toothpick out of his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he does so. But it isn’t the depth of his gaze that drops yours. You can feel someone else’s eyes searing holes through your skull.

“Well I’ll be,” he drawls, taking your hand and pressing it to his mouth. “Your voice doesn’t do you justice, darling.”

You resist the urge to make a face. It’s awful, unfortunate, but you’re far too used to this. Behind you, Derek raises his eyebrows, sharing an amused look with Emily beside him. Rossi looks exasperated. Spencer’s expression remains unchanged, though he does steal a glance at Hotchner. You smile, the way you always do, refusing to be thrown off by his candour.

“That’s a shame,” you reply breezily, turning to introduce your team. “Detective, this is SSA Morgan, SSA Prentiss, Dr Spencer Reid, and —”

“I’m the unit chief, Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner,” Hotch interrupts, a menacing gravel to his timbre. He doesn’t shake the hand Detective Landon extends to him. The detective draws it back with a gauche bark of laughter, turning his attention to the rest of the BAU.

“My my,” he says, his drawl returning as his eyes meet Emily’s. “What do I gotta do to get in on this team of yours?”

“A formal education would be helpful,” Spencer supplies, squinting at him through his glasses.

Detective Landon turns to him then, raising his eyebrows. “Doctor Reid, was it?”

“It is, but no need to aim that high, buddy,” Morgan says then, stepping forward and patting him on the shoulder. Landon winces. “Now. You going to talk us through what you guys got so far or what?”

“Damn, y’all are a feisty bunch, huh?” He replies, pulling another toothpick out of his breast-pocket. He sends you a wink that makes Hotch’s insides turn, adding, “Don’t mind it on you, sweetheart, but maybe the rest of the BAU ‘oughta play nice.”

Aaron Hotchner would normally agree with his sentiment. He’s been a long time advocate of working alongside the local police in investigations; he recognises that collaboration is far more productive than condescension.

Unfortunately for him, this isn’t quite a normal situation.

Things to do with you and other men rarely are. An ugly green emotion eases his heart right into his throat.

“Or maybe,” Hotchner says crisply, his steely gaze pinning Landon to the spot, “I should have a chat with your Captain and take you off this case.”

Landon balks. “Sir —”

“You’re dismissed,” Hotchner interrupts, not wanting to hear it. He’s unaware of the amused look Emily and Morgan share behind him.

“You…” Landon trails off exasperatedly, shaking his head, “…you can’t dismiss me. This is my case.”

“Actually, it’s the BAU’s case now.” He turns to you expectantly. You think you catch his gaze soften as it falls over your face in paces. Trick of the light, you suppose. “Right?”

“Sure,” you say weakly.

“Right then. Rossi?” Hotch says then, turning to David Rossi autocratically. “Why don’t you and the team go ahead and assess the scene while I head to base and sort out a reassignment.”

“Not you, Reid,” he adds, keeping Spencer in place. “You can come to the station with me, get our replacement up to speed. Sound good?”

Morgan’s trying hard to hide his knowing grin, one side of his mouth upturned with mirth. Emily isn’t bothering to pretend she doesn’t know what’s going on, her pretty features lit up with amusement. Detective Landon looks mortified. Your cheeks feel on fire.

“Alright,” Rossi says after pause, glancing between you and Hotchner. He’s been in the FBI for long enough now that he’s learnt to pick his battles.

He turns around and begins walking toward the crime scene, the three of you trailing behind him with less purposeful strides.

“Huh,” Derek says, faux-thoughtful. You’re wedged between him and Emily, much to your chagrin. “Wonder what that was about. Any ideas, SSA Prentiss?”

“Well, SSA Morgan,” Emily replies, her smile audible. “I’m afraid that our dear old unit chief has a bit of a soft spot.”

“A soft spot?” Derek echoes, letting out a dramatic gasp. “That’s dangerous in our line of work, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say,” Emily responds sagely.

“Oh shut up, you two,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “That wasn’t just about me. He made a pass on Emily too.”

Emily snorts, shaking her head exasperatedly. “Hey Rossi, you got a name for this phenomenon?”

“Oh yeah,” Rossi replies without hesitation, his gaze trained ahead of him. “Ignorance by infatuation.”

Out of earshot, Spencer and Hotchner are having a similarly painful conversation.

“Strange,” Spencer decides, breaking the silence with his candour.

Aaron knows what he’s insinuating. He resists the urge to turn around and steal another glance at your pretty silhouette. “He was behaving inappropriately. There’s nothing strange about it, Spencer. I was protecting my team.”

“The whole team?”

“Yes.”

“Including me?”

“Yes.”

“But I liked him.”

Hotchner sends him an incredulous look. “And what exactly was there to like?”

“He was entertaining, I think,” Spencer replies casually, shrugging. “In a cop way, you know? Plus, I love listening to Y/N reject men. It’s fascinating.”

Hotchner swallows. “Fascinating?”

“She always does it in this way where they don’t even realise what exactly’s happening,” Spencer explains matter-of-factly. He turns to Aaron Hotchner then. “Don’t worry, though, she’d never do that to you.”

Hotchner’s traitorous heart leaps, his mouth pulling into a paradoxical frown. “Spencer,” he warns.

“Just saying,” Spencer replies, raising his arms in surrender.

“Well,” Hotch says grumpily, “don’t.”

“Alright. Noted.”

[peachesofteal]

Light On - single mom/neighbors fic Simon Riley/female reader

You're early.

Your little knock on the door sends him into a spiral of panic, brain splitting in half, trying to figure out if he can hide his mortifying failure from you and still save dinner.

You knock again.

"Hey, sorry, I know we're early but-" You peel off with a sniff, nose wrinkling slightly, lips tucking together. You're wearing a lip stick, or a lip gloss, or something? And your hair is done. "Is something burning?"

"No!" He blurts. "No, uh. I'm just... cooking. Come in, come in."

He did actually, burn dinner. He burnt it so bad he had to order delivery, Thai on the fly, much to your excitement, and he files the knowledge of one of your favorite foods away for the future. The two of you eat together, little bits and pieces being given to Emmaline from your finger, and by the time you're finished, he's nearly worked up the nerve to start talking.

"So..." your voice trails, awkwardly, and you glance at him before looking away, finding a spot on the wall to study. Here goes nothing.

"I ah, wanted to explain, my behavior... from the other night." He starts, rubbing the nape of his neck. You watch him expectantly, Emmaline on your lap, and when he falters, you give him an encouraging nod.

"I'm listening."

"How I reacted, how I spoke to you was... unfair. It was cruel and I never want to make you upset, like that." You nod. "What I do- my job- it's... it can be dangerous. Stressful. Our last mission was difficult and I... operate in a different headspace at work. It's what keeps me alive. Makes me good at what I do." Skip the killing part, LT, Soap's voice reminds him, and he pushes on. "I was still decompressing, when you came to the door and I didn't want you to see me... like that."

"With your war paint." You quip, and he pauses, head cocked. "You had black stuff, around your eyes?"

"Yes, with my war paint. I didn't want you to..." He loses it for a second, flailing in the wind, mind scrambling as he tries to put the words together. Just say it. Tell the truth. "I didn't want you to be afraid of me. I don't think I could stand it. It's no excuse but, I guess, I thought you deserved an explanation."

"You're right." You say slowly. "It's not an excuse." You sigh, twirling a fork through the last of your noodles. "I'm not mad at you, not anymore. I just... it's hard you know. To put yourself out there, when you're a single mom. And a widow. I thought, maybe... you didn't-"

"I do." He cuts you off. "I... you and Emmaline, you're the best things that have happened in a long time. I-"

"Oh my god!" you gasp, and he instinctually startles, muscles going stiff as he surveys the flat.

"What?"

"It's snowing! Sorry, just uh..." You're already standing, hand half reaching towards him, excited smile on your face. "Emmaline's never seen snow before, can we... this is her first winter." You explain, and then move towards the balcony, fidgeting with his door lock, huffing in frustration when you can't figure it out.

"I got it." He says, not mentioning that it's custom, and slides it free, pushing the door wide so you can go outside. You're vibrating with joy, smile wide and big, and even Emmaline feels it, watching her mum, little face lit up the same as yours.

"Look, baby. Look!" You point, and then cup your palm, letting fat white flakes fall into your hand, tilting to show Emma, and she cackles with excitement, pudgy hand slapping against yours, bringing the melting snow to her mouth. You laugh with her, staring back up at the sky before glancing over to where he stands in the doorway, enraptured. The snow is caught in your hair, on your nose, in your eyelashes, the same as the baby, both of you glowing on his fucking balcony like angels on earth, sent to him from someone up there who might love him.

"Thanks, mum." he whispers to himself, to her, ducking inside to grab the blanket from the couch so he can wrap the two of you up in it to keep you at least a little warm and protected from the elements. "I wish you could have met them."

When he reappears, you're still catching flakes, this time with your tongue, hardly paying attention until he's settling the blanket on your shoulders and stepping back to watch, content to try to memorize every single second.

"Come here." You call, extending a hand, wiggling your fingers. "Try to catch one on your tongue." But he can't move.... he's too stunned, standing there before you, staring, and it gives you pause. "Simon." You whisper, head tipped back. The balcony lamp reflects in your eyes, snowflakes and yellow shine glowing back at him, the entire world lit up inside them, and his hand finds your cheek, cupping it with his bare palm, thumb stroking across the velvet that is your skin.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart. So, so sorry." His voice sounds thick, fractured, and you smile, leaning into him, Emmaline's warm weight between your bodies.

"I know... I... I understand now." You look away, for a second, taking a deep breath before blinking rapidly, tears just barely there on your waterline. "I can't... losing Emma's dad, before she was even born I- I can't... I don't want to go through anything like that again, Simon. I'm scared." It's a confession, horrifying and real, terrified and heartbreaking. All he can do is tell you the truth. Tell you what he feels. What he knows.

"You don't have to be scared." He murmurs, low and soft, other hand coming to gently support Emmaline's back. "Not with me. I promise you." What is he doing, what is he doing, what is he- what is he promising? To live forever? To never hurt you? To never let either of you be hurt? To claw his way back to you, even in death?

He looks down at you, at Emma, and the world freezes. He sees everything so clearly, the image of his future, of yours- a little house with a yard, another baby. Emmaline a big sister, so proud and excited. All of you tucked away somewhere secret and safe.

He takes a deep breath, exhale crystalizing in the air, water vapor falling like a halo around you, and his confession comes unbidden, so easily given to you. "I want to kiss you."

"Okay." You answer, and then he moves, closing the gap, slowly pressing his lips to the warmth of yours, blood pooling beneath his skin, heat flowing between your bodies. You taste like heaven, mouth sweet and easy for him, parting with a tiny gasp, and it overpowers him to the point where he thinks his knees might give out. He can't help but hold your closer, arm tightening around your back, finger stroking down the length of your spine-

Emma cries. It's not really a cry, more like a little shout, and you pull away abruptly, giggly expression on your face.

"What's wrong baby girl." He hums, patting her back, tucking the blanket tighter around your arm and her body.

"I think she's upset she's going to have to share you. You're her favorite nowadays, you know." You tease, and his grin is so heavy on his face, but so light at the same time, something completely foreign and wild, the breadth of happiness something he hasn't felt in so many years. "And she's probably cold."

"Should we go inside?" He motions, somewhat relieved to get both of you out of the cold, and when you nod, you take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, squeezing gently.

"We should."

[loserboysandlithium]

Let’s Play Pretend: ex boyfriend Eddie one shot

Minors dni, angst, I haven’t done any angst in a while so I’m sorry if this is shit 😂 I needed a good practice run and hopefully someone will enjoy it 🖤🖤🖤

*******

Okay, I can do this. Just breathe.

Thanksgiving. Your mom expected Eddie to be there. He’s been there by your side for the past three years. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her about the breakup. It was too hard. You still couldn’t truly wrap your head around it. How did we end up here?

Eddie pulls uncomfortably at the collar of his sweater, borrowed from the one and only Steve Harrington, as you both stand at the door of your mom’s house.

“You didn’t have to wear that.. she knows you Eddie.” you speak for the first time since he picked you up.

“Just wanted to look nice, ya know? Not like the asshole who broke your heart…” Eddie’s voice trails off as his gaze falls to his feet. His big black combat boots a stark contrast to his cream colored sweater. How does he manage to pull even this off?

“We said we weren’t gonna talk about it, Eddie. You promis-”

“Yeah, yeah I know. I’m sorry. I just- this is weird okay?” he mumbles.

He’d agreed, semi reluctantly, to play pretend for one night. Put on a happy face for your mom. Just one night. One dinner. Surely you could make it through, right?

You hear footsteps behind the door and take a deep breath as you reach over, sliding your hand into Eddie’s. The simple gesture making your heart ache. His calloused fingers, the chill of his rings, so familiar to you once. You hear the top lock click just as Eddie’s brown eyes meet yours.

He gives you a small smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Ready, pumpkin?” he whispers, his old nickname for you suddenly sending you into a spiral. Fuck, pull it together. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

The door swings open, revealing your mother and you smile big, probably too big in an attempt to hide your true emotions. Your mind is swirling, flashbacks of you and Eddie filling your thoughts as you try to push them away.

“Are y’all ready to eat?” Your mother’s sweet southern accent easing your racing thoughts just a bit. You nod, releasing Eddie’s hand to embrace your mother.

“I know my boy is ready, and I made your favorite.” your mom smiles warmly as she takes Eddie in her arms next. You watch as he hugs her, squeezing tight. He’s always loved your mom. Always felt right at home. Soaking up the attention she gave him every time he was over.

“Thanks, Ma.” he answers softly, clinging just a little tighter than usual before pulling away. His eyes look glossy. Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea.

He swallows hard, glancing your way once more before he excuses himself to the bathroom, the tear falling down his cheek only spotted by you.

Your mom ushers you into the kitchen as you begin to grab the dishes, carrying them to the large wooden table in the dining room. She’s rambling as usual, “I’ve missed you, baby.” “How are things?” “Eddie looks handsome as ever.” “Is that Steven’s sweater?” “Anything new?” Her last question hits hard as she wiggles her ring finger playfully.

You give her a small smile and a fake giggle as you shake your head no. “Mom, stop.” you groan.

“It’s gonna happen, baby. I just know it.” she reassures, leaning down to kiss your cheek. There was a time where that was all you wanted. You thought about it constantly. What ring would he get? How would he propose? The fantasies had run rampant in your mind. He was the one. He was supposed to be the one.

“Everything looks incredible.” Eddie’s voice appears suddenly from behind you shaking you from your thoughts. Then you feel his touch. His hand resting on your lower back as he pulls you into him slightly.

It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend. It’s all pretend.

He’s so close. You can smell his cheap cologne mixed with cigarettes and weed. Your favorite combo. You allow yourself to lean in a little closer, your eyes shutting softly as you brush against his chest.

His heart is fucking pounding.

The oven beeps and your mom claps her hands excitedly as she announces that the turkey is done. She disappears into the kitchen, leaving you and Eddie alone for the first time since you’ve arrived.

“You doing okay?” he whispers, gently titling your head to look up at him.

No.

“M’ fine.” you reply instead. You can’t look away. His eyes drawing you in as always. His pretty lips. His brow furrowed slightly. He’s so fucking close.

“I’m not, if it makes you feel any better.” he says bluntly, his eyes still on yours.

“Eddie..”

“Okay kiddos. Time to eat.” your mom sings, placing the small turkey on the table as you all take your seats.

****

You spend the night playing along. Eddie making his usual jokes, your mom smiling and laughing, talking about memories of the past few years. Eddie’s hand rests on your thigh under the table, making your body tingle.

“God, I remember that.” Eddie chuckles, his genuine laugh something you haven’t heard in so long. Now when you talk, it’s always a fight. Screaming and crying. Or just another hate fuck. But it was never just that. And you both knew it.

You look over at his pretty smile, his eyes look light, his body relaxed. Everything felt almost normal again. But it isn’t real. None of it is real anymore.

After dinner, you hug your mom goodbye. Eddie kissing her cheek softly as he promises to see her soon.

Then you’re in his van. The light atmosphere fading back into your bleak reality as he drives you home. He tries to make small talk. Even tries to keep the earlier conversations going. Memories of your good times. They were the best times. But you have to stay strong.

He pulls into your drive, shutting of the van, landing you in a uncomfortable silence. “I should go.” you say quickly before he takes you off guard, leaning down to kiss you. You shove him off, doing your best to control your emotions.

“I just thought maybe we could..”

“I can’t, Eddie. Not tonight. I’m sorry.” you mumble, grabbing your bag from the floorboard of his van.

“Yeah.. yeah okay. Only when you want some dick, right?” he grumbles, his response making all of your feelings from the night explode out of you.

“Did tonight mean nothing to you? Did you not feel it? Do I mean nothing to you?”

“Of course I fucking felt it! My heart feels like it’s being ripped in two. Do you think that was fun for me? Playing pretend? A happy fucking family? I miss you. I miss us. You know that!” Eddie shouts, running his fingers through his dark curls.

“That isn’t fair.” you grit your teeth, begging for the tears to stay in place but it’s too late. They stream down your face in little rivers, blurring your vision as you try to compose yourself but it’s no use.

“I know I fucked up…” he starts and you just shake your head.

“I can’t do this Eddie. Please don’t do this.” you beg, your heart already shattering into a thousand pieces.

His firm hands cup your face, forcing you to look into his eyes. Those pretty eyes. His face matches yours, heartbroken, tears falling onto his chest, silently begging you to give in. To take him back. To forgive and forget.

You close the gap in between you, pressing your lips to his, tasting the salt from his tears as you kiss him gently.

He was supposed to be the one.

You pull back, resting your forehead against his for just a moment before wiping your tears.

“I can’t, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

[chocostrwberry]

Sentimaggedon!!

Sentimonster designs I came up with bc I was thinking about Argos’s debut in my AU! Bc I’m dumb and I haven’t thought too deep about him as a character to the story yet-

They were originally suppose to all be based on the seven deadly sins, especially Gasumptious (gluttony) and Elvy (envy). But I also wanted to branch into maybe Felix’s other hidden emotions, like his deep love for Kagami and his fear of being replaced by Adrien (Bride and Athazagora).

Argos becomes an official enemy when Dragonbug tells him they need to be destroyed. He defends them, saying they’re just “infants” and can learn how to behave properly with time. But a frustrated and exhausted Dragonbug she tells him they aren’t like humans and are created for one purpose: to serve and destroy. This hits home with Argos, and he develops a fear and hatred for Ladybug and swears his loyalty to Madame Morphisa afterwards in order to take her down and prove just how monstrous he can be.

I’m still kinda trying to find a way to make this concept work in my au. He promised to serve her in exchange for the peacock miraculous, and she wants him to use it to take Ladybug’s miraculous. In a novice attempt, he might have just starting creating multiple sentimonsters that he thought were harmless enough (something she did NOT expect), but they quickly spiraled out of control. It’s much easier to make sentimonsters based on others emotions, because you can predict which one you will create it off of. But instead, he chose his own, which makes it more difficult to tell how the sentimonster will act. I think it would show the aspect that these creatures do have a mind of their own, compared to previous Mayura sentimonsters who were easily controlled by their akumas!!

Red Moon

Red Moon is obviously already canon, but her power is instead hypnosis. If you get caught in her light, you stop whatever you are doing to stare at her. The streets of Paris become like a statue exhibit: countless of unlucky citizens are bathing in her glow, staring at the beauty of the red moon.

Gasumptious

As he devours, Gasumptious grows bigger and bigger. He’ll eat anything, so beware! After finishing most of the city, Gasumptious sits atop the Eiffel Tower and gnaws on its metal posts.

Elvy

Elvy lives in the sewers. She can control water and uses it to drain you of happy memories, which she keeps in floating green orbs and guards for herself.

It’s so silly to me how the manifestation of Felix’s jealousy of Adrien is fought and defeated by Chat Noir, who is Adrien ehehehheeh.

She also sounds like a Pokémon!! Probably like a Lapras, or the one that trills really pretty

Athazagora

A timid creature, Athazagora took over the catacombs, and hides in the shadows. You can hear the creaking and rattling of its wooden limbs in the dark as it stalk you. If you can��t escape, it envelops you in its cloak of darkness, never to be seen again.

Bride

The supposed advisor of Argos. She never leaves his side, and is always whispering something in his ear. To protect Argos, she showcases her ability to turn her arm into a long spear/sword, incredible strength and mobility, and that her body is made of an indestructible crystal.

Plus, he can make multiple sentimonsters bc he’s a sentihuman himself (Other people can’t. You can only make one, kind of like how the Butterfly miraculous can only Akumatize one person at a time, unless they share an object. Current excuse I’m going with that makes semi-sense HEHEHE) . So Lila totally wants to use that to her own advantage!

Ofc he fails, but she’s impressed with his resolve (and the lengths he was willing to go, albeit unintentionally), especially after sharing her goal of destroying Ladybug. Lila was feeling the effects of unification and now has a willing minion to do her bidding whenever she pleases.

If I decide to go with this plot, Lila has to end up forgetting Felix because of the curse. But she doesn’t care: all she really needs is Argos. I might need to retcon her revenge against Felix because of this but idm! It wasn’t very important to the plot anyways!

I was considering having Dragonbug in this episode, since she could use Perfection to snipe Red Moon out of the sky! The lucky charm would be like a wand that creates a sticky translucent web to keep the sentimonsters secure so they can go find their amoks.

And a sentimonster I never ended up including, Ava. I just didn’t have a reason to put her in there but I liked the yin and yang style of her design!!

[heyjudeb]

Panic Attack - Jude Bellingham

Summary: Jude comforts Y/N through a panic attack caused by a paparazzi frenzy Word Count: >1k Warnings: crying, panic attack,scared The evening at the restaurant had been perfect. The candlelit dinner, the soft murmur of conversation, and the shared glances across the table had made Y/N feel as if they were the only two people in the world. Jude enjoyed these moments of normalcy, the quiet laughter, and the gentle conversations with Y/N. As the evening got close to an end, Jude realized the commotion going on outside the door. He knew exactly what was going on and didn't want to worry Y/N before he actually saw the crowd, maybe it won't be that bad. But as they made their way to the exit, the flashing of cameras began to pierce through the windows. "Jude-"

"Stay close to me, love," he murmured in her ear, his voice steady despite the chaos around them, gripping her hand a little tighter, and giving her a quick kiss on her temple. "We'll be in the car in no time."

As they stepped outside, the crowd erupted. Questions were hurled at them, cameras flashed blindingly, and the noise was deafening. Jude felt Y/N's hand start to tremble. He knew what was coming. Anytime he hangs out with Y/N outside, he makes sure this doesn't happen. He knows how scared and panicked she gets when being crowded. As an experienced man himself, he knows how out of hand they can be sometimes. He was just hoping this wasn't one of those times. "Excuse me, everyone-" he kept talking some sense onto the paparazzi who didn't budge. Y/N tried her hardest to keep a fake smile on, not wanting to have her panicked face on her social feed forever. Jude could feel her walk getting wobbly, she had a hard time walking straight. But the lights and noise was overwhelming. Her heart began to race, her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. The world around her seemed to blur, the faces of the paparazzi becoming indistinguishable blobs of light and sound. She clung to Jude's arm, her grip tightening as her panic began to spiral.

Jude quickened his pace, practically guiding her through the throng of people. "Almost there, babe," he assured her. By the time they reached the car, Y/N was barely holding it together. Jude opened the door and helped her inside, quickly moving to the driver's seat. As soon as the doors were shut, the noise outside was muffled, but the sense of suffocation remained.

"Jude," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Please, just get us out of here."

"Hang on, sweetheart," he said, starting the engine. He could see her hands shaking, her chest heaving with each breath. "We're leaving now."

The car sped away from the restaurant, the paparazzi gradually disappearing in the rearview mirror. Y/N's breaths were coming faster, her vision tunneling. She was unresponsive, her gaze fixed on some distant point.

"Talk to me, love," Jude said, reaching over to hold her hand. "You're safe now. Just breathe with me, okay?"

But Y/N couldn't respond. Her hands were clammy and shaking uncontrollably, her breaths erratic and shallow. Jude glanced at her, his concern deepening. He found a quiet road and pulled over, turning off the engine.

"Y/N, look at me," he said softly, cupping her face with his hands. "It's okay, baby. I'm right here. Focus on my voice."

She tried to meet his gaze, but her vision was still blurred, her mind trapped in a whirlwind of fear and confusion. Jude held her hands, his thumbs gently stroking her knuckles.

"Take deep breaths, love," he instructed, his voice calm and soothing. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it. Just like that. It's over now, baby."

Slowly, she began to follow his lead, her breaths gradually becoming more controlled. He continued to speak to her.

As she took deep breaths, she started to regain a bit of clarity. Her vision cleared, and the noise of the outside world faded into the background. But then, the weight of the moment hit her, and she began to tremble uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "I’m so sorry, Jude. I didn't mean to... I just... I’m so embarrassed."

Jude's heart ached at her words. He quickly kissed her forehead and cupped her face, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "Hey, it’s okay," he whispered, his voice tender. "You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay."

Despite his reassurances, Y/N continued to cry, her sobs wracking her body. Jude leaned in and pressed soft, loving kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her eyelids.

"Shh," he murmured between kisses. "It’s alright, love. None of this changes how much I care about you."

Y/N’s cries subsided slightly, but her fear lingered. "What if it’s all over the papers? What if everyone sees this?" she asked through her tears, her voice trembling.

Jude shook his head gently, a determined expression on his face. "It doesn’t matter," he said firmly. "We’re together, and that’s all that matters. People can say what they want, but it doesn’t change how I feel about you or how much I want to be here for you." "You'll be talked about because of me," she choked on another sob. "I hate myself for this."

"Shh... my love." Jude kept kissing her trembling hands. "I don't give a fuck about that. Besides, you handled it well out there."

"Why are you so perfect, Jude?" Y/N asked genuinely, feeling like she doesn't deserve his kindness and love for her.

Jude smiled, a playful glint in his eyes. "Perfect? Nah, I just have really good taste in girlfriends."

Despite herself, Y/N let out a small, tearful laugh. Jude grinned wider. "There’s the smile I love."

[idyllic-ghost]

title: Hopefully pairing: idol!hongjoong x reader genre: domestic fluff, slight angst, idol!au, secret relationship, hurt/comfort warnings: anxiety over a relatively new relationship, a sexual innuendo, general fears about abandonment and the future of the relationship, not proofread synopsis: You haven’t seen Hongjoong in a week and it’s starting to take a toll on you. wordcount: 3k taglist: @d0nghyuck, @fantasy2wonderland, @niktwazny303, @wonwoospartyhat, @stariightjoyy, @hyneyedfiz, @crazywittysassy, @yeosayang rating: PG

a/n: this is a bit inspired by “oxalá” (aka hopefully) by MARO! i know i was going to write something else, but this story came to my mind and i needed to get it out😭

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✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You’ve got one (1) new voicemail!

“Hey, babe, I’m not going to make it to your place tonight. I got stuck at the studio and lost track of the time- I’m sorry, I know I said I would come over… I have practice tomorrow morning, but maybe I can try to sneak off to you tomorrow evening? I promise I’ll try my best to make it work! Sleep w-”

The beep cut off the message before Hongjoong got to finish. It was the second time you had listened to it. He had called you while you were at work, doing overtime, and you hadn’t heard your phone buzzing in your bag. It was typical of the two of you; you always managed to miss each other by a hair. You sighed and put down your phone on the counter. The clock on your kitchen wall said 12:30, and you’d usually be in bed by now but you couldn’t bring yourself to lay down in it. Not when you knew the bed would be empty, and the sheets would be cold. Therefore, you sat by the counter with a cup of tea in front of you. 

You were nursing the cup in your palms as if the warmth of the mug would be as comforting as your lover’s embrace. It was late when he had called you, and it sounded like he was heading off to bed, but you were still mulling over whether or not to call him - you just needed to hear his voice. Your phone was next to the cup on the counter, its dark screen was taunting you with your reflection. The little amount of willpower that you had was not enough to keep you away from him; so you picked up your phone and texted him.

You [12:32]: are you awake?

After pressing send, you quickly put your phone down and sighed. You had lost to your needs and wants yet again. The two of you weren’t even official - you couldn’t be. It was easy to fall in love with him, but harder to keep loving him. Everything had to stay secret, no matter how much you wanted to shout to the world that, yes, you were very much in love with Kim Hongjoong and he actually liked you back! However, with his line of work came a lot of restrictions. Seeing him was difficult, meeting up with him in public was even more difficult, and telling people that you were dating was out of the question. 

As much as you enjoyed sneaking around with him, you couldn’t deny your want to be his and for him to be yours - you wanted to be his partner, and you wanted others to know that you were his partner. Instead, you’re stuck in an in-between-relationship; where you’re exclusively seeing each other, but unable to do things that partners would or tell anyone that you were partners - a relationship where you were still scared to seem clingy, despite the two of you barely seeing each other. The low buzzing of your phone brought you out of your spiraling thoughts.

Hongjoong [12:34]: yes, but why are you awake?🤨

You smiled at the message, trying to contain your excitement by biting your bottom lip. The cup was set to the side, the comforting warmth on your palms no longer needed, and you picked up your phone.

You [12:34]: I couldn’t sleep.. did I wake you up?

Hongjoong [12:35]: no, I’m still in the studio🥲why can’t you sleep?

You sighed yet again, trying to come up with an excuse that wasn’t utterly embarrassing to type out. Before you could answer him, your phone buzzed again.

Hongjoong [12:36]:  do you want me to call you?

It was as if he could read your mind. You quickly sent him a yes, and put your phone down to wait for him to call. It only took a few seconds. After waiting for a few seconds, trying to figure out when the appropriate amount of time had passed to answer, you pressed ‘Accept call’ and held the phone up to your ear.

“Hi, baby.” Hongjoong’s voice was raspy like he hadn’t spoken for a long time.

Baby. The nickname had slipped out so casually that you almost didn’t realize that he had said it. Now it was all you could think about. Hongjoong didn’t call you by pet names often, they’d slip out in the heat of the moment and he’d get shy. He could suddenly go from slightly irritated over you touching something in his studio, to a flustered mess because of you teasing him about calling you babe. You would never get tired of it.

“Hey, am I interrupting?” You brought your hand up to your mouth, biting down on your thumb’s nail.

“No, I’m packing up for the night soon.” He sighed, and you could hear him push his chair away from his desk. “I’m sorry for not coming over today.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” you murmured. “Work is important.”

“Not more important than you,” he countered a little too quickly. “I’m working on work-life balance. I promise.”

“I know.” You chuckled under your breath. 

The line went quiet for a moment. You could hear his breathing - soft and steady - and you could picture him, sitting in his chair with a large hoodie draping over his frame. A mixture of comfort and disappointment flooded your veins. Comfort from hearing his voice, disappointment from not being able to hear it in person. Hongjoong cleared his throat, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know…” you trailed off, but shortly thereafter continued, “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

His words lingered in the air, and you closed your eyes to savor them. A part of you wanted to yell that if he missed you so much he should try to be here more, but you knew it wasn’t fair. It’s not his fault. You shut your eyes tighter, bowing your head down as if to curl into yourself, and tried to hide from the angry feeling bubbling up in your stomach. Tears started stinging in your eyes, and, despite your efforts, a weak sob made its way past your lips.

“Y/N…” You could hear the frown in Hongjoong’s voice. “I’m sorry, please don’t cry.”

“I’m not,” you lied as you wiped away your tears. “I promise, I’m not. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

The line went quiet again as you sniffled. You could hear shuffling from his end, as he gathered together his things. As you pieced everything together, you quickly tried to protest - telling him that he didn’t have to come over and that you really were fine.

“Stop it.” His voice was shaky. “I’m coming over, and you can’t stop me.”

“I wasn’t trying to-”

“I know.”

“... could you stay on the phone with me until you get here?” you asked quietly, your voice coming off as weaker than you wanted it to.

“Of course.”

You grabbed a tissue and wiped your face from tears and snot, and the realization of what you were doing hit you then. It felt stupid to cry over this, but it had gone too long since you had seen him. The urge to cry, kick, and scream was overwhelming - but you kept it inside your chest with a deep breath. 

“Thank you,” you mumbled. “I really didn’t mean to pull you away from work.”

“I know, it’s okay,” he assured you. “I’m heading to the parking lot now, it’ll only be a few minutes.”

A few minutes until you get to see Hongjoong. You could wait just a few more minutes, right? Despite the assurance that he’d be here soon, the empty feeling in your heart didn’t dissipate. In fact, the cavity in your chest only grew larger. You knew he wouldn’t get here for a while, but you still got up from your chair and walked over to your front door.

“How long has it been since I got to see you?” you thought out loud.

“I think it’s been a week already.” Hongjoong groaned. “I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, okay? I knew what I signed up for with you.”

It was meant as reassurance, but it came out wrong and you cringed as soon as the words left your lips. Hongjoong laughed, making you feel just a little lighter on your feet. You heard the jingling sound of his keys, signaling that he was already near his car.

“That came out wrong,” you said.

“It’s okay, I get it.” You could hear him open the car door. “Let me put you on speaker, hold on a second.”

You leaned against the wall and listened to the rustling sounds of Hongjoong getting into his car and putting down his phone. The engine started, and he stayed quiet as he focused on getting out of his parking space. The parking lot must have been almost empty because it didn’t take long for him to get back to you.

“Alright, I’m on my way now!” he chimed.

“Thank you, baby…”

“Baby?” he teased, laughing as he finally got to take revenge on you.

“Shut up-”

“No, I deserve this,” he argued. “You never call me pet names, I’m taking advantage of it.”

“Well, now I’m never doing it again.”

He gasped on the other side of the line, and you could practically hear the fake-hurt pout on his lips as he muttered something under his breath. No matter the situation, Hongjoong could always find a way to make you smile.

“I teased you once and now you’re revoking my pet name privileges?” He scoffed. 

You liked him like this. It made you forget about everything else; this was the actual Hongjoong, and only you could witness it. In one slow movement, you slid down onto the floor and crossed your legs. With your head leaning against the wall, you looked up to the ceiling and smiled.

“I thought you didn’t like the mushy stuff,” you said, “I would include pet names in that.”

“I don’t dislike mushy stuff… I just get shy,” he admitted quietly.

“You don’t seem very shy when you go on stage,” you countered.

“That’s different!” he exclaimed, and added with a hushed voice, “I just get shy around you.”

Your smile grew wider. You wanted to tell him that you got shy around him, too, and all of the other things he made you feel - but you couldn’t find the words. His words were saved in the back of your mind, for you to think of later and come up with something equally heartwarming.

“I’m almost there,” he said to break the silence, and you could hear the clicking sound of his blinkers as he was probably driving up to the car park already.

“Good,” you said. “Hongjoong?”

“Yes?”

“I’ll stop teasing you for calling me nicknames,” you said, “if I get to keep calling you ‘baby’, too.”

“Deal.” You can hear the grin in his voice. “I’m getting out of the car now, baby.”

A laugh bubbled up your throat. Partially because of his silly tone, but also out of pure excitement. Your giddiness was apparently contagious, as Hongjoong let out a giggle as well - and you could hear the echo of his shoes hitting the concrete floor as he sprinted towards your building.

“I’m almost at the elevator!” he whisper-yelled.

“Hurry!”

He swore under his breath, clicking the button to the elevator multiple times. Eventually, you heard a ding and the doors opening. He was so close. You wanted to run out of your apartment and meet him halfway, but you knew that his being here was already a risk in itself. So you settled beside the door, no longer sitting on the floor. And when you heard the keys you had given him unlock the door, you quickly opened it and pounced on him. He stumbled back slightly, pressing ‘End call’ on his phone before hugging you back. With your arms still wrapped around him, he walked into your apartment and closed the door behind the two of you. Only then did he fully embrace you. You buried your head into his coat, cold from the chill air outside but it smelled like him so you didn’t mind. Your hands balled up into fists, creasing the soft material of his coat, and you pulled him even closer to you. Hongjoong’s chin found its rightful place on the top of your head. 

“I’ve missed you,” he repeated, and you felt your tears threatening to spill onto your cheeks again. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” His voice was trembling now.

As you tried to get out of his grip to look at him and comfort him, Hongjoong put his hand on the back of your head. He held you in place, soft enough to still allow you to leave if you really wanted to let go but firm as if he was silently begging you to stay. So, you stayed and pretended not to notice the tears that fell from his eyes and hit the top of your head. He shifted to kiss the top of your head and gave you one last squeeze before letting you go. You watched as he wiped his tears with his sleeve, quickly as if you wouldn’t notice. For his sake, you pretended that you didn’t.

“Have you eaten?” you asked.

“I ate some take-out for dinner.” He bent down to take off his shoes. “If you’re hungry we can eat, but I just want to go to bed with you.”

Yes. Bed. The concept that had seemed so daunting before now felt like a long-lost dream that had come to life. He stood back up, and you took a long look at him. He had colored his hair, you had seen pictures but you hadn’t seen it in person yet. Blonde always did suit him. He was busy taking off his coat while you watched him. It hadn’t settled in your brain that he was actually in front of you, it felt unreal.

“So?”

“Hm?”

“Are you hungry?” he asked with a smile. You had really missed that smile.

“Oh. No, I ate earlier.” You held out your hand to him. “Let’s go to bed.”

He took your hand gleefully and followed you like a puppy who’s just been promised a walk. You brought him to your bedroom. It was clean, and the bed was still made from this morning. While Hongjoong sat down on the edge of your bed, you pulled out some of the clothes that he had left there - an old pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt, that you desperately didn’t want to give back.

“I’ve been looking for this,” he hummed as you gave him the clothes. “I didn’t know I had left it here…”

“I, uh… I may have stolen it.” You sent him your best smile, trying to look as innocent as possible.

“You’re cute.” Was all he said before he went into the bathroom to change.

You had the sudden urge to follow him - and, despite what he would think and tease you for, it was not with sexual intent. Now that you finally got to see him again, you couldn’t stand him leaving even for a second. However, you stood your ground and decided to fix up the bed instead. You removed any throw pillows, and pulled down the covers. Just as you got into your side of the bed, Hongjoong came back from the bathroom. He left his clothes on a chair, before he all but ran to your bed. When he had gotten under the covers, he shuffled closer to you and began peppering your face with kisses.

“I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you…” he muttered between every other kiss.

You laughed until you were gasping for air, but you didn’t dare lean away from him. As he planted a final kiss on your lips, you let out a low hum of approval. Hongjoong pulled you closer, letting you snuggle up against his chest. It was almost impossible for you to stop smiling. As it settled in your bones that he was actually there, right in front of you, you finally relaxed.

“I want it to be like this all the time,” you admitted.

“Me too,” he murmured. “I’m sorry it’s so complicated.”

“It’s okay,” you hummed. “I guess it makes times like these more special.”

“I’ll try to make a plan for the future, okay?” he said. “I’ll talk to the company and we can figure something out. We could find a good apartment and-”

“You want to move in with me?”

“Yeah, I love you.”

Maybe it was the fact that it was late, or maybe he hadn’t been sleeping a lot since you last saw him, but the words slipped out of his mouth so casually that you almost didn’t register that he said it. You looked up at him. He was still talking about his plans, not having realized what he had said. Putting one of your hands on his face, gently cupping his cheek, got his attention. His words faltered and you brought his lips to yours for a chaste kiss.

“I love you, too.”

At first, he just seemed shocked, but you could see the gears turning in his head. When he finally remembered what he had said, his face was practically glowing in the dark. He quickly tried to explain how he was very tired, and that he was going to make the moment more special but he had forgotten. You simply smiled and put your head on his chest again, the action silencing the man lying next to you again.

“Keep telling me about your plans,” you said.

He started talking again, and you felt the soft vibration of his words in his chest. As he talked about your future, you slowly drifted off to sleep. Hongjoong kept talking until he finally heard you snore. He brought the covers over your shoulder and hugged you closer. Hopefully, he’d be able to spend every night with you just like this.

[folkloresthings]

op81 + “bombarding them with blankets, tea, heating pads, and anything else they’d need when injured/under the weather”

the man grew up with 3 sisters, he DEFINITELY knows all the tricks to helping his partner with all the fun stuff around periods

[ ways to say ‘i love you’ ] bombarding them with blankets, tea, heating pads, and anything else they’d need when injured/under the weather with oscar piastri.

the first time you got your period at oscar’s place, it was about two months into your relationship. nothing was completely serious yet, all you both knew was that you liked each other more than you had ever liked anyone before. still, when you nipped to the bathroom in the middle of the movie he had chosen and saw your monthlies had started, you panicked blindly. stuffing some toilet paper in your panties as a cautionary measure, you quickly made your excuses and hurried out the door before oscar could question it.

the next time it happened, a few months later, you had no excuse to just run off. you were staying at oscar’s for the weekend — it had been planned for months, to have him all to yourself between races. you knew your period was due and so had packed everything you needed. the one thing you couldn’t avoid? oscar’s neediness.

“so pretty,” the australian murmured, lips nipping at the soft skin on your neck. the warmth of his body on top of you, the tv show on the screen long forgotten, almost distracted you completely from trying to bring up the fact that his advances couldn’t go any further.

“osc—” you started, but his lips finding that magic spot behind your ear sent your interruption to mush. “osc, wait a minute.”

the boy sat back, sweet concern lacing his pretty features, tracing your own for any cause of harm or distress. “what is it? did i do something?”

“no, no,” you assured, shaking your head. the heat in your cheeks began to rise, the words hanging on your tongue but too afraid to come to light. “i can’t. not today.”

“oh,” oscar mumbled, defeated, lips turning downward.

“i’m on my period,” you whispered, as if there was a room full of people to eavesdrop.

“oh.”

suddenly you wished the sofa would swallow you whole, or at least shrivel you up until you were small enough to hide behind one of the cushions. you weren’t embarrassed by the fact, it was completely natural. but with it being so early on in your relationship with oscar, you were both still trying to let the idealised sides of yourself shine through. part of you was afraid this would make it all too real for him.

“i’m sorry, osc,” you muffled, catching your bottom lip between bashful teeth, glancing up at him in suspense.

“shit, no — it’s okay,” he exclaimed, sitting up suddenly. quickly pulling his shirt over his head, you have to look for his tongue to see if that’s why he keeps tripping over his words. “uh, stay there. i’ll — i’ll be back.”

oscar vanishes through the living room door in a flash, leaving you alone on the couch in only your bra and shorts. curling into yourself, the embarrassment took over as your mind began to race. god, you had scared him off. he was probably going to pack your bags and call you an uber home. maybe you shouldn’t have come at all this weekend, instead making your excuses and faking a cough over the phone.

so caught up in your spiral of dread, you didn’t even hear your boyfriend come back into the room. in one hand, a cup of tea. in the other, a hot water bottle and some chocolate, balanced with a blanket under his arm.

“here, two sugars — just like you like it,” he murmured busily, setting the mug down on the coffee table. “i haven’t got many snacks but i can run to the shop and get you whatever you want. there’s some painkillers in the kitchen too, so let me know if you want any. but the hot water bottle will help the cramps for now.”

blinking up at him, you feel like you want to cry. how could you ever think that oscar (your sweet, lovely, darling oscar) would run off at the first sight of something real?

“hey, hey,” he cooed, noticing your watering eyes and wobbling lip. gathering you into his arms, he almost smiles at your adorable shock. “it’s alright, don’t cry.”

“i thought i’d scared you off,” you sniffle, rubbing your nose. oscar hooks a thumb underneath your cheek, pulling your gaze up to him.

“darling, i grew up with three sisters in the house,” he chuckled, brushing your hair back. “i’m an expert in this.”

rather than express your immense gratitude, for you didn’t really have all of the words, you nuzzle yourself back into his arms and squeeze his middle tightly. oscar only smiles, kissing the top of your head, and settling you close to his side. tea in your hand, hot water bottle tucked under the blanket, he lets your settle down before passing you the remote.

“put on love island,” oscar tells you, trying not to smirk when your eyes light up. “but this is the only time of the month i’ll ever watch it with you.”

with a kiss to his cheek and a delighted giggle, you flick through his tv until you find your favourite season of the series. while you’re busy with that, you don’t notice oscar making a quiet note in his calendar of when to buy you extra chocolate and flowers every month.

[im-ovulating]

(A/n: I have no excuse or reason for this, but here ya go! lmao)

Word Count: 991

Summary: Even in death, Tate can't seem to shake his mother's insults. He DOES know how to make your legs shake, though.

Warnings: Praise Kink, Mommy Issues, Use of 'good boy" and 'pretty boy', Both Tate and Reader are a switch, Tate's a pretty crier

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

(yes he gets 2 gifs, what about it?)

Tate Langdon x Fem! Reader: Shake

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

"-fuck!"

You spread your legs a bit more to take him deeper, both of you gasping out at the new sensation.

"I'm good, right? I'm good for you?" Tate is in shambles beneath you. A run-in with the ever-deprecating Constance left him in desperate need of some positive female praise and you couldn't just say 'no' to the tear-stained, brown eyes that begged for your comfort.

"Ah~" A smile breaks across your face as you lean down to pepper kisses along Tate's jaw. "You wanna be good for me? Wanna be my good boy, Tate, hmm?"

His cock twitches in you as you make it to his lips, lightly biting down on his bottom lip before lifting up just enough to make eye contact.

His hips jerk up to meet yours at a particularly hard thrust of your hips. "God- Yes! Wanna be so good for you! Wan' you t' use me. Use me any way you want; I'm yours! Mmh, hah."

You slide your hands up his chest to tug at his shaggy, blonde hair. "Just lay there and look pretty for me, then, hm? Can you do that for me, my sweet, pretty boy?"

He takes a second to answer, focused on how ethereal you look straddling him; using his body as you please, knowing how to bring both of you over the edge.

That's one of his favorite things about you: When he needs you to take the lead, he knows that you'll only take what you both need. That you'll command without controlling. That you understand his vulnerability and will only push him as far as he needs you to.

A groan is punched out of Tate as you clench around him, effectively snapping him out of it. "I can- ohh..."

Satisfied with his answer, you press a searing kiss to his waiting mouth. It's all tongue and teeth but neither of you care, too wrapped up in each other to mind. You slide your hands from his hair to caress his cheek.

"Such a good boy~" You singsong as you sit back, moving your arms behind you to support your weight on his thighs as you slam your hips against his with more vigor. His moans sending shock waves down your spine, settling in your already soaked core.

His hands move to grip your hips hard enough to bruise, but all it does is spur you on.

"Fuck, fuck- Please~" He shifts underneath you, causing his pelvis to rub deliciously against your clit.

"Oh god~ Tate!" Your head drops forward at the spike of pleasure.

You grab one of his hands to bring to your clit, desperate for the stimulation again.

Determined to be the best he can be for you, his finger works in tandem with every gyrate of your hips to tighten the coil forming in your core.

Ever the expert of your body, Tate helps you spiral towards your climax faster than you anticipated. You're gasping for breath as your walls start to clamp down on his cock impossibly tighter.

Tate lets out a groan at the feeling, his head pushes back against the pillow, thumb still rubbing firm circles on your clit. His eyes glisten with unshed tears as he tries not to cum.

"Don't stop baby... oh fuck, please," His plea is hoarse and gravelly as he starts to properly slam him hips up to meet yours.

"Wasn't- AH- planning on it." You let out a breathy moan as you fight the forming burn in your thighs, trying to focus on the heat curling inside you like an inferno instead.

"Oh- Fu- I'm so close baby. Please tell me you're close too." You can hear the strain in his voice. "Wanna cum with you~"

You're tensed like a rubber band being stretched to its limits as you try to keep pace. Your legs are shaking with the exertion, and you can barely lift yourself up.

"Tate- Tate, oh god, Tate!" His name is spilling from your lips like a Hail Mary in a mixture of content and desperation.

"What do you need, beautiful?" Tate pants. "Just tell me- tell me what you need from me and it's yours."

It's now that your legs decide to give out with one last quiver, dropping you against his torso. Without missing a beat, Tate flips you on your back, resting on his forearms as he takes over.

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the room along with the obscene squelching of Tate's cock as it pistons in and out of you and it's all you can do to not scream his name for the whole neighborhood to hear.

Almost instantly, Tate's boxing you in - arms flexing beside your head as he pounds into you. Your hands pull at his hair, dragging him closer to press his searing lips to yours once more.

"Good boy," you mumble into the kiss, broken moans leave the both of you just to get swallowed by the others mouth. "So good for me~"

Tate moves to bury his face into your neck, small cries mixed in with his groans and whimpers. "I'm good? Your good boy? Only yours?"

His questions start to get more frantic as his hips start to jackrabbit; his fingers digging even further into your skin as you both near your climax.

"Pleasepleaseplease-" he whines, begging you to cum with him.

And who are you to deny him such a simple request? Especially when he asks oh so politely.

"Cum, Tate -" you gasp. "Be a good, sweet boy and cum for me?"

And he does; a wet sob rips its way from his throat as he buries himself inside you, coating your insides with the pretty pearl of his spend. The heat flooding you is just enough to tip you over the edge as well - your nails scratch down his back as your head tilts against the pillow and your thighs tighten around his waist.

[rafesbabygirlx]

I Love Him Though

Masterlist

Toxic Rafe x Kook Reader

Contents: NONCON/DUBCON, smut, breeding kink, oral (m+f receiving) name callings turns into pet name calling, daddy kink, degradation, physical abuse mentions. Unsuccessful offering (prostitution) Rafe is back and forth with emotions. Ward is dead but I still picture curtain bangs S2 Rafe when he’s ’toxic.’ That should be everything.

Not read over

Word count: 2.6k

A/N: someone let me know if I’m using warnings right. Please also I’m working in better dialogue and hope it’s improving. :)

You were the quintessential heiress princess, born into OBX’s most prominent family. The youngest of four brothers and your parents’ only daughter, you just graduated from USC in California with a business degree and returned to the island, stepping into the role of Chief Operations Officer, second only to your father. Your beauty was legendary on Figure Eight—admired by girls and desired by boys.

Alongside you was your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron—handsome, irresistible, and undeniably complicated. He went to UCLA for business. Not his first choice but he’d be damned to let you be across the country on your own. You started dating sophomore year, and despite the ups and downs, you stayed together, much to your parents’ dismay. They had warned you about the Cameron family, especially Rafe’s drug and anger issues. But the relationship felt like the one thing that was truly yours, and you didn’t care.

Not when he slapped you in front of your friends. Not when he tried to offer you to Barry as payback for a debt. (Thankfully, Barry had some decency.) Not even when he ruined a family dinner, barging in during a coke-fueled rage. You excused yourself to take care of him, understanding that it always came back to his issues with his father. This all happened during his downward spiral and issues with the Pogues. All this you heard from Sarah and not the supposed love of your life and yet you still stayed. None of these behaviors changing in LA at school.

You thought Rafe would change after his dad passed—become softer, more loving, and respectful. Instead, it pushed him deeper into anger and bitterness. While you thrived at work, earning the admiration of your family and employees, Rafe’s messages grew increasingly hostile throughout the day. You couldn’t understand how he had the time for this, given that he had taken over his father’s company. But not shocked how he just rode through it without care.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Rafe 8:50 AM: “Hey, are we getting dinner tonight?”

Rafe 12:00 PM: “Are you fucking kidding me? Three hours?!”

12:30 PM: 7 missed calls from Rafe.

Rafe 2:00 PM: “Why do I even bother with a stupid bitch like you? I could fuck anyone I want.”

You 2:05 PM: “We’re still on for dinner. Jesus Christ, Rafe, I’ve been in meetings since 7:30 AM. Do you not have anything better to do?”

Rafe 4:00 PM: “You’re questioning me about what I do? I work hard to keep my dad’s legacy alive while you probably have your daddy’s help. You’re pathetic, and I should slap some sense into you.”

Rafe 5:00 PM: “What time are you gonna be home?”

You 5:05 PM: “Six.”

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

Moments like these, unfortunately frequent, made you regret ever giving Rafe a key to your apartment. Even after all this time, you refused to move in with him at Tannyhill. You loved him, but the thought of living together was unbearable until he got his issues under control.

As expected, when you arrived home, Rafe was already in your kitchen. You didn’t even have a chance to put your bags down before he started. “What the fuck is your problem?!” His face was red, fists clenched.

“Rafe, I’m not doing this. I work—I actually work—and you harassing me all day with your bullshit is no—”

Before you could finish, he slapped you, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you to the bedroom, throwing you onto the bed. Your mind spun as your face burned from the sting.

Rafe's hands were rough as they tore at your clothes, leaving you exposed and vulnerable. You tried to struggle against him, but he was too strong, pinning you down with ease. His grip on your throat tightened, and you felt the sting of his words as he spat, "You wouldn't have to be treated like such a whore if you weren't such a bitch with a mouth on you."

“Fuck you Rafe, get off of me!” Your protests fell on deaf ears as Rafe's grip only tightened, his voice low and menacing. "Go ahead, finish telling me what you think," he growled, his teeth bared in a snarl. He dragged you up the bed, your head hitting the headboard with a thud, before climbing over you and trapping your arms beneath his knees. “Just be a good girl for me. Alright?”

His hand stroked his hardened length, the tip brushing against your lips as he smeared precum across your mouth. You tried to resist, but Rafe's anger only escalated. "Fine, I guess we can do this the hard way," he sneered, his grip on your throat becoming a vice.

You struggled for breath as Rafe's hand closed around your throat, his grip tightening until you could barely gasp for air. Just as you thought you would suffocate, Rafe thrust himself inside you, his hands gripping your hair as he pumped furiously. He didn't care about your comfort or your well-being; all that mattered was his pleasure and your punishment.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

You were suffocating, your airway constricted by Rafe's girth and your own helplessness. His cock felt like a vice around your throat, choking the life out of you as he thrust deeper, his grunts echoing in your ears. "Open up and look at me, let me know who your daddy is," he growled, his voice low and menacing.

You struggled to open your eyes, but the discomfort was too much, and tears streamed down your cheeks, blurring your vision. Rafe yanked your hair, the pain searing through you, and slapped you hard across the cheek. "LOOK!" he bellowed, his voice echoing through the room.

You complied, your eyes watering as you gazed up at him, your vision a blurry mess. Rafe's eyes lit up with perverse pleasure. "Yeah, there are those pretty eyes, my pretty fucking slut looks so good choking on me," he crooned, his voice dripping with sick satisfaction.

His thrusts became sloppy and erratic, his cock slipping in and out of your throat with a wet, slapping sound. Drool pooled at your chin, his balls slapping it making the drool drip down to your chest as you struggled to breathe. Your body felt numb, your mind foggy with pain and fear.

Rafe didn't seem to care, lost in his own pleasure and power trip. He gripped your hair tighter, his hips bucking wildly as he continued to thrust, his cock jamming deeper into your throat. The pain was unbearable, but you knew that stopping would only make it worse.

And so you lay there, trapped beneath him, your throat ravaged by his cock, your body broken and bruised, as Rafe continued to throat fuck you like an animal, his pleasure the only thing that mattered. Finally with one final thrust he came down your throat. The warm liquid somewhat soothing the sting of pain that’s there.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

He moves back to in between your thighs and his hands gripping your hips. Your arms now rushing with blood again are limp next to your body, no feeling to them and Rafe sat on them for what felt like an eternity. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as you try to push him away, but he holds you firmly in place. "Please, Rafe, stop," you beg, tears streaming down your face. He ignores your pleas, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and lust.

He kneels there, not moving. You sit up to look at him better through tears as you cry. His hands still grip your hips tightly, holding you in place. You try to wriggle free, but he doesn't budge. His face is inches from yours, his breath hot on your skin as he glares at you. You just want him away from you.

"You're mine," he says, his voice low and threatening. "You'll learn to stay in line." He doesn't move, just sits there, his body a heavy burden on yours. You're trapped, unable to escape his grip or his gaze. He hands you his undershirt to wipe your face of the drool and tears. You just cry into it.

The silence is oppressive, the air thick with tension. You sob quietly, trying to break free, but he holds you firm. Time seems to stand still as you lie there, helpless in front him. His eyes never leave you.

He finally breaks the heavy silence, his voice low and hesitant. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I love you so much, and I don’t want to be without you, but sometimes you need to learn your lesson.”

Tears stream down your face as you clutch his shirt, your voice trembling as you respond, “Rafe, I can’t do this anymore. You’re possessive, overbearing… and it scares me. Why can’t you understand that?” Your voice cracks, the words carrying years of frustration and fear.

He brushes off your plea, offering a half-hearted, “I know, I know. Let me make it up to you, show you I care.” His eyes are distant, his apology empty. He doesn’t understand. He never really listens, and deep down, you know he’s counting on you not doing anything about it.

Without acknowledging the depth of your pain, he lifts your chin and kisses you—deep, consuming, as if that alone could erase everything. His hands move with practiced ease, guiding you back onto the bed. His lips trail down your neck, planting soft kisses, sucking in your nipples, down your stomach and to your thighs, but the tenderness feels misplaced, hollow.

His thumb starts tracing gentle circles on your clit, while the rest of you is screaming, begging for him to stop. But the weight of his presence, the years of manipulation, pin you down as surely as his body does. He peels your panties off, his breath hot against your skin as he licks up your cunt, but it all feels wrong. It feels wrong but you can’t help but moan.

He begins to devour you, his tongue working magic on your sensitive clit. You're telling yourself no, but all you can get out are moans when you buck your hips up into him. He keeps working, sucking and licking at your pussy as he slides two fingers into you. "Oh my god, Rafe, right there," you force out between pants, your body trembling with pleasure. He looks up at you, a wicked smile on his face as he takes in your contorted expression. He loves this power he holds over you, and you can't help but be consumed by it.

Finally, he releases his fingers and mouth from you, climbing over you like a predator stalking its prey. He stares down at you, his eyes burning with desire, and you look up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. For a second, he doesn't look like the evil man that terrifies you. "I want you to be happy, to be loved," he whispers, his voice low and husky. "Can we please be happy together, no more of these crazy ways?" You ask. He smiles, rubbing his thumb over your cheek, and without saying another word, he lines himself up and thrusts into you, hard and fast. His eyes lock onto yours, and you feel like you're being consumed by him, body and soul.

His pace is relentless, your body shuddering beneath him as he pounds into you. Your eyes roll back in your head, but he grabs your chin, pulling your gaze back to his. "Look at me, baby, look at who does this for you," he growls, his voice low and demanding.

You obey, staring into his eyes as he continues to fuck you. "No one can make you feel this good," he says, his fingers digging into your hips. "This pussy was made for me, I should fill you up and get you pregnant. What would your parents say if I knocked you up, huh? I know they hate me, hate who I am. But you love me, I know you do. Ugh, you wouldn't be clenching me like this if you didn't."

You don't reply, your eyes locked onto his as he continues to thrust into you. You know he's right; you'd love to have a family with Rafe, to feel him inside you, to know that he's the one who made you pregnant. "Tell me who you belong to," he demands, his fingers pinching your clit.

"You... I belong to you daddy," you whimper, your body trembling with pleasure. "I'm all yours."

"That's right, baby," he says, rubbing circles into your clit with his thumb. "When you listen, you get a reward." You lift your right leg over his shoulder knowing you’d get him at the perfect angle to hit your G-spot.

"I'm so close, Rafe," you cry out, your body arching off the bed. "Keep going."

He grins, his eyes burning with desire. "Me too, sweet girl," he says, thrusting harder. "Tell me where you want me. You want what I said? To fill you up, get you pregnant?"

"Yes, daddy," you moan out a lie, your body convulsing around him. "Fuck, fill me up."

He groans, you cum hard and he follows suit. His eyes rolling back as he cums deep inside you. He stays like that for a moment, before pulling out and watching his cum drip from you. Then he’s sticking a finger inside shoving the cum back in. "Gotta make sure it sticks, mama," he says, using the endearment that makes you shudder. He confuses it as a good one.

He leans down and kisses you, his tongue thrusting into your mouth as he holds you close. You can feel his heart pounding against your chest, his body still trembling with passion. You know that this is just the beginning, that Rafe will keep pushing you, keep taking you to new heights.

“Y’know I love you right?” All you can do is nod.

╰☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆ ☆☆╮

You’re trapped between what you want to feel and what you know—caught in a cycle you’re terrified to break.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Rafe pulls away and silently rises from the bed. You lie there, motionless, feeling broken, battered, and emotionally drained as his absence fills the room. Curled up on your side, you stare at the wall, your mind numb, listening to the sound of him turning on the shower. The water runs, but it does nothing to drown out the hollow ache settling in your chest.

This has become your reality—a constant 360 with Rafe, a never-ending cycle of hurt, apologies, and hollow promises. Round and round, you go, lost in this whirlwind of love, control, and regret. You loved him once, loved him deeply, and you still find yourself missing the boy he used to be. The one who made you laugh, who held you like you were the only thing that mattered. But that boy feels like a distant memory now, replaced by someone who uses love as a weapon.

You convince yourself that he must love you—he has to. Why else would he want you to feel this way? He wouldn’t go to such lengths to make you feel good if he didn’t care, right? It’s a lie you tell yourself over and over, a story that comforts you even when the truth is painfully clear. You know it’s a manipulation tactic, one he’s used time and time again, but it works every time.

And you let it work because the idea of leaving, of being without him, despite your parents pleas, is scarier than staying trapped in this vicious circle.

[lizzieolseniskinda]

LOGAN HOWLETT - all too well

x FEM!reader (POC!friendly) - MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: you & logan were a thing, but in the end it all fell down

WORD COUNT: 3462 (excl. song lyrics)

GENRE: angsty

CONTENT WARNING: english is not my first language, lowercase ahead, this is my third story soooo..., ik ppl say that the scarf is a metaphor, but here it's just a scarf <3

italics is a flashback <3

listen to 'all too well' (five minute version) from taylor swift for better experience <3.

‘i walked through the door with you

the air was cold

but something about it felt like home somehow

and i, left my scarf there at your sister's house

and you've still got it in your drawer even now'

the autumn cold bit at my cheeks as i stepped out of the car. i looked at the mansion before me, the x-mansion. i walked towards the tall doors where logan was standing. he took my bags as i walked through the doors. the old wood creaked slightly under our weight.

almost immediately i felt the warmth of the school. i took off my scarf with my gloves and jacket, it smelt like hot chocolate in here. reminding me of the times i used to spend christmas with my parents waiting on my chocolate milk my mom used to make.

professor x welcomed me with a charming smile. his school was spacious yet cozy, every nook and wall filled with complementing wooden furniture. i placed my bags by the stairs as charles led us into the living area. the room smelled even more of cinnamon and chocolate.

time flew by in that living room, sounds of loud laughter and chatting filled the whole massion. it was times like these i appreciated the most. students came wandering inside and outside, either sitting with us for a while or getting some snacks for their small gathering. charles told me that it wasn't always he let teens walk freely after curfew, but when it's the day before Christmas, who is he to say no to them?

i leaned my head against logan's shoulder, my stomach feeling content and full after consuming one too many cookies and chocolates. he placed a hand on my leg and asked if i wanted to go upstairs to rest, and i nodded in reply. so, we excused ourselves. teens were scattered around the hallways as the both of us walked towards my bags.

we reached the top of the staircase, and logan led me into his room. once we reached his room, we sat on his bed, and i opened my bag. i fished out my pajamas and turned around to change. after completely changing, logan appeared behind me, wrapping his arms around me and placing soft, gentle kisses on my shoulder.

'oh, your sweet disposition

and my wide-eyed gaze

we're singing in the car, getting lost upstate

autumn leaves falling down like pieces into place

and i can picture it after all these days'

the trees blurred by as logan sped down the twisting country roads, the wold a swirl of amber, gold, and russet tones. my window was down, letting the crisp autumn air rush in, my hair was in braids so that no small strands would fly in my face. logan was driving with one hand on the wheel, the other tapping along to the rhythm of the music. i wasn't even sure if he knew where we were headed; we'd veered off course miles back, but neither of us seemed to mind.

"do you even know where we are?" i asked with a grin, my voice raised over the music.

he glanced over at me, his eyes had a sparkle i hadn't seen in so long, but had become so used to. "not a clue, but does it really matter?" he replied with a light hearted laugh.

i shook my head, it didn't. nothing mattered in that moment except the rush of the open road and the way we were singing along to the songs. his hoarse but sweet, wild but calm voice carried the melody effortlessly, even when my voice faltered.

leaves were spiralling down in slow, soothing cascades, covering the road in a blanket of color.

we didn't talk much during that drive, just let the music carry us further, winding through the countryside as if we could do this forever and never run out of road or gas. i could still picture that moment now, after all this time - the way he hummed along, the way the leaves fell like pieces of a story we didn't fully understand yet. but thinking back, it didn't matter, it used to feel right.

'and i know it's long gone and that magic's not here no more

and i might be okay but I'm not fine at all'

it had been months since i had last seen him. people assure me that time heals, that i'll be okay eventually, and maybe i will be. every day is the same; i get up, go to work, laugh when expected, smile when someone asks about my well-being. but it's the quiet moments of silence that the reality intrudes, like a wave crashing down upon me.

the happy feeling that once filled this place - has vanished, vanished for a while now. yet, there are moments, brief fragments of days, when i can still feel it - like a phantom limb. i find myself searching for you in a crowded place, then the realization dawns on me - he's not here anymore. and there's a big chance he won't be coming back to me.

'cause there we are again on that little town street

you almost ran the red 'cause you were lookin' over at me

wind in my hair, i was there

i remember it all too well'

it was a late afternoon, and the sun hung low in the sky, casting everything in a tender, golden light. the small town we'd stumbled upon felt like a picture-perfect scene from a postcard - quiet streets lined with old brick buildings, trees bending overhead, their leaves tinged with the fading colors of autumn. we had been driving for hours, with no real destination in mind, again.

he was driving with one hand resting casually on the wheel. his gaze would flick between the road and me. every time his eyes met mine, a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and i couldn't help but smile back, even though i tried act like i didn't notice. the windows were down, allowing the wind to dance through his hair.

the car slowed as we came up to a small intersection, the kind that didn't seem to need stoplights because the whole town was quiet - almost no cars to be seen. a red light was hanging above the street. it was as if his foot hesitated on the brake as his gaze lingered on me for just a second too long. i stretched out my arm towards his face, and redirected his gaze. the way he looked at me, almost took my breath away. the way he looked at me like there was no one else in the world, made me wonder what went wrong.

"you almost ran it, logan," i scolded him, half-laughing, as the car jolted to a stop just in time.

he chuckled lightheartedly in response, his voice carrying a sound that i cherished so much. "my bad, bub." his eyes twinkled in the red light.

i rolled my eyes, my heartbeat quickened, and i couldn't help the warmth that spread through me. the traffic signal changed to green, and he drove through the intersection. the town went by in slow motion, passing an old diner, a corner bookstore, and a nearby park where a few kids were running through the puddles and leaves, their laughter echoing slightly down the streets.

'photo album on the counter

your cheeks were turning red

you used to be a little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bed

and your mother's telling stories 'bout you on the tee-ball team

you told me 'bout your past thinking your future was me'

a photo album was lying between us, logan was seated next to me in my classroom. i was trying to ignore how my past was so different from his, i had a better childhood than most of people here. logan's memories were scattered, and most of them too painful to keep.

logan let out a breath, "i don't have much to show from my past." his voice was low, there was a certain tension in the room, but not a negative one. "i don't have any pictures, or any family stories."

unconsciously, i started leaning in, he never liked to talk about his past. he kept it buried most of the time, but it felt different this time. his gaze flicked to the photo album for a moment, then back to me.

"i wasn't born as logan," he started, his jaw was clenching as he closed his mouth. "my real name was james, back in the 1800s," he explained. i tried not to gasp, my boyfriend was almost 200 years old. "i grew up in canada, in a rich family. my father wasn't really my father, though," his voice dropped a bit. "i was just a kid when it happened. my actual father showed up, and it got violent, i killed him," he looked at me. "i didn't mean to, but after all that happened, i didn't know what to do. i was so lost."

"i've fought wars, and then i ended up in an experiment from the government. they took away what little i had left, wiped my memories, turned me into a weapon. i was barely human." he clenched his fists, knuckles whitening. "i spent years to figure it out, but never got anywhere close."

logan looked up, his eyes meeting with mine. "i didn't think i had a future, not until you. i don't know if i can ever escape what i was,' logan whispered hoarsely. "but when i think of the future, it's not as dark as it used to be, not when you're in it."

i swallowed hard, the weight of what he was saying pressed down on me. he wasn't talking about the past anymore - he was offering a piece of himself, a fragile piece.

'and i know it's long gone and there was nothing else I could do

and i forget about you long enough to forget why I needed to'

the mansion was buzzing with students talking and wandering around. i stood outside jean's classroom, watching through the gap of the door as he spoke with her. jean. the way he softened his voice when he talked to her, the way he stood just a little bit closer, like he was pulled towards her without even realizing it.

he used to look at me like that.

but it felt as if he was miles away, even though i was only a few steps from him. by now i should've gotten used to it, the way he kept slipping through my fingers, always just out of reach. but everytime it hit harder, that feeling of being so close and yet so far.

i knew that when i was with him, it was something real. we had something real. the late night talkes, our laughter echoing the hallways of the mansion. the way he used to look at me, with that glimmer in his eyes that made me believe we were something bigger. but then he got to know everyone better, and so she came along. jean, with her fiery red hair and pretty face, and suddenly, i wasn't enough for him.

'cause there we are again in the middle of the night

we're dancing 'round the kitchen in the refrigerator light

down the stairs, i was there

i remember it all too well, yeah'

it was quite late - well past midnight - the mansion was quiet. the only light came from the soft, yellow glow of the refrigerator door we'd left open, casting shadows that extended across the kitchen floor and island. i couldn't remember what had brought us down there in the first place. perhaps it was his restless energy, or maybe it was mine. we found ourselves standing in the refrigerator light, laughing over some long-forgotten jest, our bare feet resting against the cool tiles.

he was leaning against the counter, arm crossed, a crooked smile on his face, gracing his features. it was a rare thing, that smile - so much gentler than the stern and hardened expression he typically wore in public.

out of the blue, he grabbed my hand and pulled me towards him, catching me off guard. i smiled softly, stumbling slightly into his chest as he started to spin me around. "what are you doing?" i asked, words bubbling out with a grin i couldn't keep off my face.

"dancin'," he smirked, his voice low and gravelly, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

we swayed in the soft light, the gentle hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the room. our feet were moving in perfect sync with each other, our footsteps barely audible against the smooth surface of the kitchen floor. the world outside didn't matter in moments like these, it was just us, lost in something that felt so small yet so infinite at the same time.

'and maybe we got lost in translation

maybe i asked for too much

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece 'til you tore it all up

Running scared, I was there

I remember it all too well'

the moonlight streamed through the large windows in the hallway, casting long, eerie shadows that danced menacingly across the floor. the tension between logan and i had been building up for weeks, months even.

after what felt like an eternity, he finally walked in. his face was hard, guarded, a familiar look he always wore when he didn't want to deal with something. i could feel anger rising in my chest, yet underneath it all, there was another feeling, raw and painful.

"what's going on between you and jean?" my voice sharper than i meant it to be. he stopped in his tracks, eyebrows knitting together. "what're you talkin' about?" he said, his tone flat, evasive.

i sighed and pinched my nose, "you know what i'm talking about logan." he shook his head, denying everything i was saying.

"i see the way you look at her. like she's the only person in the room, the world even."

his fists clenched at his side, but he stayed silent. that only made it worse, made the hurt cut deeper. i could feel the tears threatening to fall down any minute, but i swallowed them down, refusing to show how much it hurt.

"maybe it was stupid to think we could ever be something more, that we might've had a chance. but, logan, whatever we had - it was real, good," my voice wavered. "you ruined it."

logan's eyes flicked to the floor, his jaw tight. "i didn't mean for it to happen like this, it's just you and me, remember?" he muttered, his voice was low, as if he was struggling to find the right words. "jean...she.. it's complicated, i didn't-"

"didn't what?" i interrupted, stepping closer towards him. "didn't mean to get lost in her? didn't mean to make me feel like i was never enough? ignoring me, the moment she stepped in the room?" i scoffed.

"i was there for you. i was there when you told me everything, when you let me in, and now you're throwing it all away for someone who doesn't even see you the way i do. she's with scott, logan!"

his eyes finally met mine, and for a split second, i though i saw something - a hint of regret, of the man i knew. but then his walls came back up, and he stepped away, creating a distance once again.

"i didn't tear it apart!" he growled, frustration simmering beneath his words. "it's not that simple."

"but it is," i whispered, my voice barely audible now. "it is simple, logan. you just don't want to see it."

once again, we stood there, inches apart but worlds away from each other. silence becoming suffocating, with all the thing that were said and unsaid, all the pieces of us that had shattered somewhere along the way. i wanted to reach out, but i couldn't, he was already gone.

'and you call me up again just to break me like a promise

so casually cruel in the name of being honest

i'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here

'cause i remember it all, all, all

too well'

it was cold and raining when i heard the phone ring - of course it was. the kind of rain that soaked through your clothes and settled deep into your skin. i sat on the edge of my couch, staring at the phone that hung on my wall, ringing. my stomach twisted in a familiar, painful knot. i knew that answering the phone would only hurt me even more, but i became so addicted to his voice, i couldn't stay away.

"logan," i said, keeping my voice firm and steady.

there was a pause on logan's end, i could hear his breath, heavy and uneven. my heart pounded in my chest, a small flicker of hope sparking against my better judgement.

“I wanted to talk,” logan said, his voice rough, strained. “About everything.” i let out a breath i was holding, letting his words sink in and physically melt from the sound of his voice.

my spine straightened, and that flicker of hope i'd been foolish enough to feel quickly died. a rustling sound came through from the other end. scott's voice came through the line, clear and hard.

"you need to stay away from jean," scott said without preamble, his tony cold. i shook my head, i did not need to hear this. this just made me question the fact that logan was still spending time with jean even more.

"she's not yours to run to whenever you feel like messing with someone's head, you've done enough damage."

i sighed, gripping the telephone tighter. i could hear logan protesting, but scott barely gave him a chance to talk. "and while you're at it, stay away from her too." scott's words hit like a slap to logan's face. "wh-"

"you know exactly who i'm talking about. you keep calling her, stringing her along whenever you can't figure out what you want, and i'm done watching from the sidelines. you don't get to hurt her anymore. so if you know what's good for you, you'll leave her alone," scott's voice was scarily calm.

i swallowed hard, i felt like i shouldn't be listening to this. scott's voice dropped lower, "and if you ever cared about her - about either of them - you won't call her again. don't show up. don't send a message. just let her be, logan." there was a long pause, and for a moment, i thought he'd hung up. "because if you keep calling her just to break her all over again, i'll make sure you never get the chance to do it again." i was surprised scott would talk for me like that. i never was really close with him.

"give me the phone, logan," and the line went dead.

i stood there, phone in my hand, i wanted to scream, cry, throw something, maybe even throw up. but i didn't, i just hung up the phone again and walked away.

'time won't fly, it's like i'm paralyzed by it,

i'd like to be my old self again.

but I'm still trying to find it.

after plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own.

now you mail back my things and i walk home alone,

but you keep my old scarf from that very first week.

'cause it reminds you of innocence,

and it smells like me.

you can't get rid of it,

'cause you remember it all too well, yeah'

it was a week that seemed to stretch on forever, time moving as slow as it could. i stood in my small home, staring at the box storm brought me that came from logan. it sat on the kitchen table. i already knew the contents of the box, my things, probably stuff i gave logan as well that he wouldn't want to keep anymore.

i opened the box, a couple of shirts, an old book i'd left in his room, little reminders of the nights we'd spend together. at the bottom of the box i found the scarf i'd wore when i first came to the mansion.

i held it up close, the soft fabric taking me back to that one autumn two years ago. back when it felt like we had all the time in the world.

but time made it so hard to forget. i'd tried so hard to go back to the person i used to be, before i met him - to the person who didn't get so wrapped up in boys.

'cause there we are again when i loved you so,

back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known.

it was rare, i was there, i remember it all too well.'

i remember it was a lazy summer afternoon when the air was thick with warmth and the world felt content. we were lying on the grass near the lake behind the mansion, the sun casted a golden light.

logan has his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the sky, while i laid next to him, tracing invisible shapes in the clouds with my mind. i turned my head towards him.

"so, what do you want to do this summer?" i said with a small smile, my fingers playing with the blanket we put down on the grass. "what would you do if we could just... take off for a bit?"

logan tilted his head towards me, "summer?" he chuckled softly. "i don't really think that far ahead."

i nudged him with my elbow, "come on, logan. dream a little, where would you go?"

he sighed, glancing at the sky. "somewhere quiet," he said after a moment. "someplace where there's nothing but trees and mountains. no noise, no people."

i nodded in agreement. "i could get behind that idea, we could find a cabin somewhere, spend our days walking around or sitting by a fire at night."

"yeah," he mumbled. "maybe get off the grid for a while, forget about everything. i watched him, feeling the what the words settled between us like a promise.

“mhm,” you agreed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “maybe get off the grid for a while. forget about everything.”

"i've never done that before," he said. "let myself think about things like that."

i looked over at him, "what do you mean?"

"something good," he replied, his gaze still fixed on the sky. "something that doesn't end in loss or running."

"you don't have to run anymore, logan," i said softly. "we could make those plans real. it would be just you and me."

he didn't respond right away, but i could see how his jaw clenched slightly. "it's just you and me," logan nodded.

i laid back down, my head resting against the grass. i closed my eyes, the warmth of the setting sun on my face.

'wind in my hair, you were there, you remember it all.

down the stairs, you were there, you remember it all.

it was rare, i was there, i remember it all too well.'

[ivegotyourbackbuddie]

I would love if there’s an episode of season 8 called “The Buzz” which of course starts with a bee emergency. But the thing about the emergency that gets to everyone is that a man was beekeeping for several years in the shed in his backyard, but he never told his partner.

So, when said partner finally went to check out what was so important in the tool shed or maybe they needed something, they panicked when they discovered the bees and started swatting at them. Long story short… lots of bee stings and 911 is called.

After the 118 treats the spouse, they ask the husband, “Why did you keep this from your partner for so long?”

And the man simply answers, “Everyone keeps secrets from their partner. If they say they don’t, they’re just lying.”

When they get back, it sits uneasy with everyone and unfortunately for all of them, their shift is very very quiet. So much so that Bobby secretly goes off and whispers “quiet,” to try and keep everyone from going stir crazy. It does not work.

Of course, the stir crazy leads to 118 asking what’s the worst thing they kept from their partner and if they ever kept a secret from each other. And when they ask Buck, Eddie laughs and says, “No, he’s horrible at keeping secrets. He’s never kept anything from me for too long.”

And Buck kind of looks around uncomfortably and says, “Uh… actually I have.”

Chimney then turns to Hen and asks if she’s kept anything from him, but Hen gets distracted by Buck abruptly getting up and leaving, offering them an awkward excuse about something he needs to do.

As soon as he’s gone, Chimney, Hen, and Ravi all start gossiping about what it is that Buck could be keeping from Eddie which generates a lot of buzz. But the main rumor that takes Eddie off guard is the possibility that Buck had a crush on him when he first joined the 118.

Of course, at the end of their shift, after many crazy accusations - including one about Buck secretly being British - Eddie finally asks Buck what he kept from him.

Buck blushes a bit before finally mumbling, “I don’t actually like video games that much. Yeah! I love playing them with you and Chris but on my own… I don’t know.”

And Eddie lets out a huge breath of relief and confesses, “I didn’t really like them until Christopher, but hey, we can always switch it up a bit and play more board games.”

Buck just kind of smiles at the answer but then narrows his eyes at Eddie. “What did you think I was going to say? Obviously you had something else in mind.”

Eddie just laughs and shakes his head while grabbing his stuff out of his locker. “I don’t know. Honestly, we were theorizing about it all day.”

“And what was the main theory?” Buck asks, leaning against his locker with his arms crossed, a curious smile on his face.

Eddie sends him a nervous glance and shrugs. “That you had a crush on me when I first got here, but I know that’s ridiculous.”

Only, Buck doesn’t laugh in the way he does when he finds something ridiculous. He merely gets a pinched look on his face, the same look he’d have when he helped Chris with math - pre lightning incident.

Some clarity washes over his face, then Buck laughs and says, “You know, I thought I was jealous of you, but the crush kind of makes sense. I mean, it explains why I was so obsessed with you, always showing off in front of you, watching your every move on the job and back at the station. I even got this fluttery feeling in my chest when I first saw you, but I thought that was like… my heart skipping a beat in jealousy. Which is really dumb.” And Buck just flushes a little and laughs again as if this confession isn’t literally sending Eddie spiraling. “I guess I did have a crush on you when you joined. Just didn’t know I was keeping it a secret from you.”

Eddie just stares at him and swallows hard. He tries to get some words out, but he doesn’t even know what to say.

Then, Buck puts on his coat and grabs his stuff asking, “We’re still good for the zoo tomorrow at nine?”

And all Eddie can do is nod and plaster on a smile, performing as always.

“Great. I’ll see you then.”

Then, Buck’s gone, and Eddie is left reeling in the confession. He suddenly understands why partners keep stuff from each other.

Later when Buck texts hey I forgot to ask. have you ever kept something from me? something I never found out about?

Eddie quickly replies I’m sure I have, but nothing too life altering.

But he’s absolutely lying because he’s pretty sure his own feelings for Buck that he’s always kept under the surface are, in fact, very life altering.

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 8

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

Your mind raced as you absorbed the message.

Could this be your way out?

The thought spiraled through your mind, igniting a flicker of hope deep within your chest. It was a chance – a slim one, fraught with danger and uncertainty – but a chance, nonetheless.

You stole a glance at Lady Dimitrescu, her elegant figure poised at her vanity, commanding the space around her. She focused intently on her reflection, her fingers moving with the precision of an artist as she applied the cream to her face.

Your own fingers trembled as you folded the note with as much discretion as you could muster, slipping it into your pocket. You took a deep breath, attempting to steady the storm of nerves swirling within you. Suddenly, Lady Dimitrescu’s gaze shifted from her reflection and locked onto yours through the mirror. Her eyes were sharp and penetrating, cutting through the air like a blade.

“Is something troubling you, dear? Your heart seems rather restless.” She inquired; her voice smooth but laced with concern.

Your stomach clenched in response to her words, the fear you were desperately trying to suppress bubbling dangerously close to the surface. You searched frantically for a plausible excuse – anything that might sound convincing enough to satisfy her. You swallowed hard, the action feeling monumental, as you fought to steady your voice and calm the tumultuous beating of your heart.

“I don't feel well, my Lady.” You managed to say, your words wobbly as they spilled from your lips.

You could hear the tremor in your own voice, and you hoped she would attribute it to your alleged illness. Lady Dimitrescu frowned, her eyes narrowing further as she scrutinized you from head to toe.

“You were feeling fine just a moment ago.” She remarked, her voice low and suspicious.

The tension hung in the air like a dark cloud, oppressive and foreboding. She turned in her seat, pivoting to face you fully. The fabric of her bathrobe rustled softly as it rode up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her upper thighs. Her golden gaze, unnerving and intense, seemed to dissect you piece by piece, leaving you feeling raw and exposed. Your stomach churned violently, and for a moment, you thought you might actually get sick.

“I-I know. I thought I was,” you stammered, fighting to keep your composure. “But then a wave of nausea hit me, and I don’t really feel hungry anymore. The drug... it’s still affecting me.���

Fear gripped you so tightly at the thought of being caught with the hidden note that your hands began to shake. Before Lady Dimitrescu could open her mouth to respond, the plate slipped from your fingers, crashing to the floor in a shower of ceramic shards, scattering like the remnants of your fraying resolve. Lady Dimitrescu's eyes widened in surprise. The initial shock was quickly replaced by a simmering irritation that twisted her features into a dark scowl.

“I-I need to go to the bathroom. I think I'm going to be sick.” The words tumbled from your lips as panic surged within you.

With a sudden jolt, you sat up, your heart racing despite your weakened state. You forced yourself to move across the bedroom. The world around you twisted and blurred, dark shadows shifting into a disorienting backdrop that threatened to swallow you whole.

“Pet!”

Lady Dimitrescu's voice cut through the haze, a sharp command that made your skin prickle. The intensity of her gaze felt like a weight upon your back, yet you willed yourself to ignore her, pushing forward into the bathroom. You slumped against the cool porcelain of the sink, its unforgiving edge digging into your chest as you fought to draw in a single breath. Each inhalation felt like a struggle, your lungs constricted as panic took over, threatening to pull you under. You needed to escape this stifling place, to distance yourself from her.

Suddenly, a large shadow enveloped you.

“Pet,” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice low and silky, as her hand reached out to cradle your jaw. The warmth of her palm contrasted sharply with the chill in the air, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. “Look at me.”

She gently but firmly forced you to meet her gaze, turning your body with a grip that left no room for defiance. Her eyes pierced into yours, demanding your undivided attention.

“What has gotten into you? You reek of fear.” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice slow and deliberate.

Oh, no, no, no, no.

There was no way you could confess about the note or how the maid had helped you earlier. Your brain desperately wracked for something, anything, that might divert her suspicion. Perhaps honesty was the best approach – though not the truth she sought. You hoped against hope that it would work.

“That’s because I am scared,” you began, your voice quivering. “I’m scared of you, your daughters – of this whole place! Being drugged and forced to be your pet, it’s all too much! I just want to go home! I miss my family!”

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you spoke, and you silently prayed that she would buy your explanation. Deep down, you meant every word. The fear, the confusion – they were painfully real. For a fleeting moment, it seemed as though a flicker of hurt crossed Lady Dimitrescu’s face before she quickly masked it with her usual veneer of authority. 

“Such dramatics,” she said, annoyance threading her tone. “I understand that this transition is difficult for you, but you must embrace your new reality. In time, you will come to see that this is your home now. You belong to me, and you will adapt to this new life, whether you wish to or not.”

Relief washed over you, grateful that she had fallen for your half-truth. However, her words lingered, unsettling you. The notion of belonging to her, of being bound to this castle still made your skin crawl. She straightened up once more, releasing her grip on your jaw.

“Now, dry those tears and finish your breakfast,” she commanded, her voice carrying an edge of dismissal. “We don’t have all day.”

***

Currently, you sat across Lady Dimitrescu’s desk, your gaze fixed on a few documents laid out before you. The whole morning consisted of helping her go through her notes, meticulously analyzing every detail and ensuring nothing was overlooked. The task was mentally exhausting, each page filled with complex information that demanded your full attention.

As you shifted in your seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, Lady Dimitrescu's keen eye caught the movement. She paused her work, her eyes lingering on you for a moment before a small smile played on her lips.

“Perhaps we should take a break,” she suggested as she set her pen down. “I’ve had my fill of these reports. How about we pay a visit to the atelier?”

Your gaze snapped up in surprise. You had heard of the room during your first week here, but you’ve never stepped foot inside. Very few of the staff ever did. Her eyes locked onto yours, glimmering with a mischievous light that made your heart beat a little faster.

“The atelier?” You questioned; your curiosity piqued.

“Yes, I would like for you to see it,” Lady Dimitrescu continued. “The atelier is where I keep my more personal projects. I think you’ll find it quite... charming.” She rose from her chair with a fluid grace that seemed almost unnatural. “Come. There's much to show you, and I believe a change of scenery will do us both some good.”

***

You approached a heavy wooden door adorned with intricate carvings. As you drew closer, the elaborate designs came into sharper focus. The carvings depicted a lush, intertwining array of vines and flowers, each petal and leaf painstakingly carved with a level of skill that spoke of centuries-old craftsmanship.

You didn't have a chance to study it further as Lady Dimitrescu pushed the door open, the heavy wood moving effortlessly under her touch.

Inside, the atelier was a stunning contrast to the rest of the castle – a treasure trove of artistry and inspiration. The walls were lined with canvases draped in rich colors while some half-finished sketches were scattered about. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, its crystal pendants catching the light and casting a soft, golden glow that highlighted the finer details of all the artworks. And in the center, stood a large canvas, partially concealed by a heavy velvet drape.

“What do you think, pet?” Lady Dimitrescu said, her voice a low purr.

You stepped into the atelier; your senses overwhelmed by the vivid colors.

“It’s… beautiful.” You breathed, your eyes wide with wonder.

She hummed appreciatively. “Indeed. There is one piece in particular that is my favorite.” She gestured to that same large canvas in the middle. “Would you like to see it?”

You gave a brief nod. “Yes, my Lady.”

With a flourish, Lady Dimitrescu pulled back the drape, revealing a striking portrait of a woman – her features eerily reminiscent of your own. The painting captured every detail: the arch of the brows, the curve of the lips, the delicate contour of the cheekbones, but it was the eyes that held you captive. They sparkled with an otherworldly light, almost as if they were alive.

You could feel Lady Dimitrescu's gaze boring into you, scrutinizing every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. You swallowed hard, a chill creeping down your spine as you processed the painting.

“It looks… just like me.” You murmured, unable to tear your gaze away.

“Precisely.” Lady Dimitrescu said, stepping closer to you.

“Why?” You croaked, your voice sounding strained.

“There’s something about you that intrigues me,” she whispered. “Perhaps it’s fate that brought you to me.”

The corners of her lips curved upward, revealing a hint of her sharp, predatory teeth. The air grew heavy with tension, as if the very atmosphere around you had thickened.

“There’s so much more I want to share with you. So much more you could become.” Her voice was almost hypnotic, filled with promise and a hint of something darker.

Your stomach twisted, a knot of anxiety and unease forming deep within you. As the weight of her gaze came down on you, Lady Dimitrescu’s expression shifted, a playful smile breaking the intensity of the moment.

“But enough of my musings,” she said, her tone lightening. “What do you say we turn our attention to something a bit more hands-on? Would you like to try your hand at painting?”

The sudden change in topic made you do a double take. You blinked, the tension momentarily dissipating as you processed her unexpected suggestion.

“Me? Paint?” You echoed. “I’ve never really done it before.”

You looked up at Lady Dimitrescu, searching her face for any hint of mockery, but found only sincere encouragement.

“That’s fine,” she said, her smile widening. “It doesn’t require perfection; it requires passion.

She led you toward a blank canvas leaning against the right side of the wall, surrounded by a plethora of vibrant paints and clean brushes. You hesitated, glancing at the canvas and back to her.

“What should I paint?”

“Anything your heart desires,” she replied, stepping back to give you room. “Just let your instincts guide you.”

“Okay, I’ll give it a try.” You said uncertainly as you stepped forward.

You grabbed a paint brush off a nearby table, its weight feeling foreign in your hand. Next, you picked up a palette and a few tubes of acrylic paint. You squeezed out dabs of paint - vibrant reds, deep blues, and sunny yellows onto the palette. Slowly, you began to swirl them together with the brush, watching as they transformed into new hues – emerald greens and sunset oranges.

With a tentative stroke, you pressed the brush against the canvas, the bristles gliding smoothly across the surface. Each movement felt clumsy at first, but as you gained confidence, your strokes became more fluid and expressive. You layered colors, allowing them to blend and bleed into one another.

“Beautiful,” Lady Dimitrescu murmured, her gaze fixed on you as you worked. “You already have a natural sense of color. I can see the potential.”

Encouraged by her words, you started to create bold strokes, blending hues and allowing your emotions to flow onto the canvas. For the first time, you felt a sense of freedom.

Not long thereafter, you set the palette aside and stepped back to assess your work. Before you flowed a waterfall that tumbled down a rugged mountainside while the surrounding landscape was filled with lush green trees and rocky outcrops. While the colors weren't as smooth as you had hoped, and some areas lacked refined detail, the painting held a certain charm. It wasn't bad for your first attempt at painting.

“It’s remarkable, dear.” Lady Dimitrescu said, stepping closer to admire your work.

You blushed at her praise. “Thank you, my Lady. I didn’t know I could do something like this.”

“And that’s the beauty of discovering oneself. We often underestimate our own potential,” she stated matter of fact. “Now, I'd like to show you a technique that is helpful for beginners. It's called dry brushing. I'll demonstrate on a blank canvas so that you can observe closely.”

She reached over your head and picked up the palette you had just used. As she did so, the board ended up tilting slightly and some of the remaining paint dripped off the edge, landing on your vest. The sudden sensation of cold, wet paint soaking through the cloth made you flinch back.

“Oh my,” Lady Dimitrescu said in surprise, though there was a small, knowing smile on her lips, as if she found the situation both charming and entertaining. “I do apologize, darling. It seems I’ve turned you into a canvas of sorts.”

You lifted the bottom of your vest in a futile attempt to keep the paint from running further down the fabric. Her gaze followed your movements, and she reached out, her fingers brushing lightly against the paint-stained spot.

She let out a soft sigh. “Go wipe the excess paint off, pet, and leave the vest in the laundry basket. Return here once you’ve finished.”

“Yes, my Lady.” Your voice came out more awkwardly than you intended.

You turned to leave but not before your eyes were drawn back to the portrait of yourself. The uncanny precision of the details, the intensity of the gaze staring back at you. It unsettled you in a way you couldn't quite explain.

As you finally exited the room, you couldn’t help but wonder why Lady Dimitrescu had chosen this moment to show you the atelier. To show the painting of you.

What was her intention?

As you made your way to the Lady’s bedchambers, you paused, glancing down the hallway where her daughters' bedchambers were. The corridor stretched out before you, silent and shadowed. Nobody was around. The note in your pocket burned, reminding you of the main house key that was supposedly in Bela’s bedroom.

Your heart began to race as you debated snooping around in her bedroom. You didn't know where the Lady's daughters were, and the thought of running into one of them made your palms sweaty. Bela was known for her strict adherence to her duties, often seen patrolling the castle and overseeing the staff. Cassandra spent most of her time in either the armory or the cellar. And Daniela typically lingered in the library, absorbed in her books. You prayed that today they would follow their usual routines.

This might be your only chance to search for the key. It was a risk you had to take.

You pivoted on your heel and made your way down the hallway. The silence was almost deafening, each of your footsteps echoing against the carpeted floor. After a few more steps, you came upon Bela’s bedroom door. A small red gem rested in the center, which gleamed in the low light like a drop of blood. It matched the one on her necklace that she always wore.

You looked both ways one more time.

Nothing.

The hallway was empty. You slowly opened the door, the hinges creaking slightly, and slipped inside. The door clicked shut behind you. Bela’s bedroom was tidy and dark, the only light coming from a few scattered candles and the low flickering embers from the fireplace. Near the back was a large bed, pushed against the furthest wall, its canopy draped with rich, heavy curtains. A nightstand stood next to the bed, a single candle flickering on its surface. To the right was the fireplace and next to it was a desk, neatly arranged with papers and books, presumably placed there to keep Bela warm as she worked. On the left side of the bedroom was the vanity.

Where could the key be?

Logically, it would make sense to check her desk first. Taking a deep breath to steady yourself, you approached the desk, your fingers shaking slightly as you reached for the first drawer. It slid open, revealing a stack of neatly organized documents. You began to rifle through them, the papers rustling underneath your touch. Letters, schedules, and reports passed through your hands, but unfortunately, the key wasn’t there. You looked on top of her desk and moved some folders and books around, hoping the key might be hidden in plain sight, but it yielded nothing as well.

You walked over to her vanity and opened each drawer as well. Bottles clinked together, brushes rolled aside, but there was still no sign of the main house key.

A cold sweat broke out on your forehead and your hands began to feel clammy. You wiped them on your pants, feeling the fabric cling to your palms.

You needed to hurry.

You turned around and walked over to the nightstand. You opened the top drawer and moved some papers and personal objects aside. Your fingers brushed against the edges of journals, loose sheets of parchment, and small trinkets as you sifted through the contents.

Then, your eyes widened.

The key.

It lay nestled beneath a stack of old letters. For a moment, you simply stared at it, hardly daring to believe your luck. Then, with a swift motion, you quickly grabbed it and stuffed it in your pocket. You made sure to close the drawer before you made your way to the door. You cautiously opened it and peeked your head out. The hallway beyond was dim and deserted. Your breath came a little easier as you stepped out. You closed the door quietly, the latch clicking into place with a soft sound that seemed louder than it was.

You couldn’t believe it. You had the key!

Your heart raced with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. This was your chance to escape, to reclaim your life from Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters.

You picked up the pace as you made your way down the hallway, heart pounding violently inside of your chest. Before you could turn the corner, Catalina's face flashed across your mind for a split second, halting your steps mid-stride. The image of her warm smile and kind eyes filled your thoughts, bringing an unexpected pang of guilt. You wanted to say goodbye to her, to thank her for the help she provided in this nightmare. The thought of leaving Catalina without saying a word felt wrong, but you knew that time was not on your side. In the end, she would understand. She would want you to leave.

As you stood there, lost in thought, a distant scream sliced through the air, chilling your blood. It was followed by an eerie giggle. Possibly Daniela by the sound of it.

You knew you couldn't linger any longer.

You had to leave.

Now.

As you descended the staircase, you caught sight of a maid, her back turned to you as she dusted one of the heavy-looking vases. You hesitated for a moment. You couldn’t take the risk of her spotting you; if she did, it would surely spell disaster for both of you. She would have no choice but to alert Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters if she didn’t want to lose her life. Plus, you didn’t want to think about what the Lady would to do you if you did end up getting caught.

You continued down the steps slowly, your heart racing as you maneuvered through the foyer. You stayed close to the shadows, glancing nervously at doorways and corners, half-expecting one of the Lady’s daughters to pop out at any moment.

Finally, you reached the main door.

Your heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it might burst from your chest. You pulled the key from your pocket and inserted it into the slot with trembling hands, praying that it wouldn't make too much noise. The mechanism clicked, and you held your breath, waiting for any sign that you had been detected. You strained to listen, your senses on high alert, but the castle remained fairly silent. You pushed the door open with ease, and a rush of cool, fresh air hit your face. The sensation was almost overwhelming. You stepped out and shut the door behind you as quietly as you could. The final barrier between you and the horrors of Castle Dimitrescu was sealed away with a soft thud.

You let out a ragged breath, feeling the oppressive weight lift off your shoulders. The tension that had coiled tightly within you began to unwind, like a spring slowly being released. You could almost sob in relief, the overwhelming urge to break down right there nearly consuming you. But you knew that there was no time for that. You still needed to get away from here, to put as much distance between yourself and the castle as much as possible. Turning away from the main door, you sprinted across the courtyard, adrenaline overriding the lingering effects of the drug. Your breath came out in short, rapid bursts, your lungs burning with the effort, but you didn't slow down. You had to get away, you had to reach safety.

The chill in the air was sharp, nipping at your exposed skin and seeping through your clothing. It pierced through your layers, making every breath feel crisp and biting, but it was a minor inconvenience compared to what you had endured recently. Snow covered the landscape, its pristine blanket stretching as far as the eye could see, making each step a struggle. Yet, the sun's warm rays managed to break through the overcast sky, melting some patches away and revealing damp, slushy areas that squished underfoot. It reminded you that even in the harshest of winters, warmth could still break through.

Eventually, the winding path ahead twisted through dense woods, shrouded in shadows and thick underbrush that seemed to close in around you. A sense of trepidation settled in your chest, memories of local tales about the woods resurfacing in your mind. You had heard of Lycans roaming the outskirts of the forest, their howls often echoing in the distance during the night. Yet, for some reason, they mainly avoided the villages. It was as if an unseen force forbade them from coming too close, a mysterious boundary they dared not to cross. Regardless, it didn’t ease your fears.

As you pushed forward, several branches scratched at your arms and face, their jagged edges catching on to your clothing and drawing minor scrapes that stung in the cold air. But you hardly noticed the pain; your focus was fixed on the path ahead, each step taking you closer to home.

You couldn’t wait to be reunited with your parents again.

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [5] - Unyielding

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

Summary: Certain arguments can’t wait.

Word Count: 3600

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

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

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, you could do nothing but stare at him with wide eyes, frozen in your seat.

“Excuse me?”

“Just hear me out before you grab your gun, it would—” he started but you scoffed and stood up from the lounge chair, the familiar anger rushing through you so fast that it almost made your head spin.

“Do you think this is funny?”

He shook his head fervently. “I’m completely serious.”

A dry laugh spilled from your lips. “Oh really?”

“Charm…”

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but my stupid little crush on you went away years and years ago,” you growled, glaring daggers at him. “You made sure of that, so if you dare assume for even a moment—”

“Oh my God, that was the wildest bachelorette I’ve ever been to!” Becca’s voice cut you off as she pushed open the door and stepped into the rooftop. “Also I’m pretty sure I’m in love now, so…” she stopped when her eyes fell on you two. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you said after a beat and threw your shoulders back. “Did you just say you’re in love?”

“Yeah!”

Bucky stole a look at Becca. “Who did you fall in love with?”

“That’s a long story. What’s going on in here?”

You pursed your lips together, your heart still beating in your ears as you tried to focus through the fury, then cleared your throat.

“We were—”

“Y/N, we’re leaving!” you heard Ian’s voice and your head whipped around, then you cleared your throat.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” you said, pressing a kiss on her cheek in a rush. “Let’s get coffee at the usual place?”

“Uh, sure?” she said slowly and you walked out of the rooftop like someone was chasing you, without sparing Bucky so much as a glance.

The road back home was considerably quiet but it did nothing to silence the chaos in your mind. You had excused yourself to your room as soon as you got home, but after an hour of tossing and turning in the bed, you huffed out and kicked the covers off of you, sitting up in the bed.

This was nonsense.

There was no scenario in which you’d marry Bucky. You weren’t even sure you could spend more than half an hour together without being at each other’s throats, let alone being an actual couple—

Not that you had thought about it.

Much.

Fine, back when you were younger and Bucky hadn’t ripped your heart out yet, you used to spend a lot of time thinking about you and him ending up together. He was your best friend’s cool older brother and you were both heirs to your families’ empires, so your little crush let your imagination run wild.

And then he had broken your heart but after everything, even now, your imagination still liked to conjure him up in your dreams some nights.

But unlike before, you weren’t an idiot. You knew what kind of an asshole he was, so there was no way you could even entertain that stupid proposal, no matter what kind of a promise of power it held.

You rubbed at your eyes and got up from the bed, then padded your way down the hallway, then went down the spiral stairs. You stretched out your arms over your head as you followed the hallway to the kitchen where the light was coming from, as you knew it would, then peeked your head in.

Oh good.

It was just Jennifer, your genius chef who was now busy with making a sandwich on the counter while Ryan sat on one of the chairs, his hands clasped together, his back completely straight. Ryan was Ian’s right hand, -ex military, as much as you knew- but unlike Ian, he was much calmer and rational. He was tall and very muscular and didn’t like to talk much, and that added more to the air of mystery he held, considering no one seemed to know much about his past, or his personal life.

“Hey,” you knocked on the door, making both of them turn their heads. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all!” Jennifer said as Ryan stood up from his chair.

“Ma’am.”

“Oh don’t!” you motioned at him. “Please don’t stand up, I just…I couldn’t sleep so I figured—”

“Warm milk with honey and cinnamon?” Jennifer finished your sentence for you, making you smile and nod your head.

“Yes please,” you said and pulled yourself a chair, resting your elbows on the counter. Ryan eyed you, then sat down as well.

“There you go!” Jennifer said, putting the plate in front of him, then smiled at him. “Chef’s special sandwich.”

“Thanks Jen,” Ryan said, his voice gruff and Jennifer turned to you.

“Would you like one as well?”

“Ah no, thank you,” you said and heaved a sigh. Jennifer stole a look at you.

“Are you alright?”

“Too many thoughts,” you muttered, leaning your chin on your fist. “Ryan, are you married?”

Ryan’s head shot up as he chewed on his bite, then cleared his throat.

“No ma’am.”

“Any partner?”

“No ma’am.”

“He’s single,” Jennifer said with a grin. “And all my friends are very eager to change that.”

Ryan offered her an almost abashed smile and shifted his weight on the chair as if he was uncomfortable with the sudden attention while Jennifer put your glass of honeyed milk with cinnamon in front of you with a couple of cookies on the plate.

“Thank you so much,” you said as you took a sip, then bit on the cookie.

“Jen, you’re married and in love, right?”

“And I’m also the luckiest woman in the world in addition to all that,” she said, making you smile.

“Do you think people could get married to people they hate?”

“Why would anyone get married to someone they hate?” she asked and Ryan took a huge bite of his sandwich, looking between you.

“Common interests,” you said. “I don’t know, I had this strange thought…”

Jennifer tilted her head. “What?”

You heaved a sigh, then shook your head.

“Nothing,” you said. “Don’t mind me. Just some late-night thoughts, that’s all.”

                                                 *

By the time you met up with Becca, you still couldn’t stop thinking about last night and Bucky’s proposal, if you could even call it that. It was nonsense, you knew it was, but considering Becca was your best friend, the mere thought of keeping it from her was simply absurd.

“He proposed?” Becca asked, gawking at you. “He actually proposed?”

“Well it was technically a business proposal.”

“And a marriage proposal at the same time?”

You shrugged your shoulders while the waiter filled your coffee cup.

“You know…” Becca trailed off. “Hypothetically speaking—”

“You cannot tell me this is a good idea.”

“I’m not but think about it,” she insisted. “You and Buck already hate each other kinda, so you’re technically already married. You just skipped like ten years into it and got to the resentment part.”

“Becca!”

“You fight like a married couple.”

“If some married couple is fighting like me and Bucky, they should get a divorce,” you pointed out, leaning back in your seat. “I blocked his number, and just…ugh the nerve of the guy, can you believe him?!”

“Mm hm.” Becca said, sipping her matcha before checking her phone. “Oh thank God!”

“What?”

“Sarah is coming to the club this weekend,” she said and pointed at you. “So are you, right?”

“Yeah, me and Ethan.”

“What?”

“I’m bringing Ethan with me,” you explained. “I had to ditch him today, we were supposed to meet for lunch but as you can tell, this couldn’t wait.”

“My brother asking you to marry him even if you hate his guts? Yeah, that beats lunch with the cute ex.”

“And you know, since we’ve been texting a lot, I figured…”

“Yeah yeah, bring him over!” Becca said. “It’ll be fun—oh my God, so my brother’s audacity and ego aside, I need to tell you about the girl I met last night.”

“Yeah, I was going to ask you!” you said. “You said you were in love?”

“I am!” she said with a smile. “You know, I was thinking I could invite her and some friends as well, but now that I think about it, maybe I could just take a page from Bucky’s book and open with a marriage proposal.”

“Becca!”

“I’m just saying, we can just skip to the happily married part, flirting is a waste of time at this point and—”

“You’re not doing that!”

Becca let out a laugh.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just because it didn’t work for him doesn’t mean it wouldn’t work for me.”

“It wouldn’t work for anyone, Becca,” you told her and she hummed.

“I’ll just say one thing about this, then I’ll talk about the love of my life, alright?”

“Alright,” you said and she turned her cup in the saucer, then clicked her tongue.

“You and Bucky being married is an absurd idea yes,” she said. “But he did have a point.”

“How is that?”

“Well, I’ll ask you the same thing my aunt asked me when I took my civilian boyfriend to my cousin’s wedding, and I have a feeling your answer will be different than mine.”

“Which is?”

She smiled at you mischievously.

“Do you want love poems, or do you want power?”

Your eyes shot up to hers before you shifted your weight, then motioned at her with your hand.

“Come on,” you said. “Enough about that. Tell me about the love of your life.”

                                                     *

You and Becca ended up spending the whole day together, and by the time you decided you would go back home, it was already dark outside. Watching outside as the driver drove you home, you leaned your head on the window, then felt your phone buzzing in your purse so you grabbed it, smiling slightly at the name before answering it.

“Hey there.”

“Hi,” Ethan’s voice reached you, and you could tell he was smiling as well. “How was your day?”

“It was good,” you said. “Full of romance.”

“Romance?”

“Becca is in love,” you said and he let out a whistle.

“Your best friend Becca?”  

“Oh yeah,” you said. “I had to talk her out of looking at bridal shops, but we still went cake tasting.”

“Does this person know they’re getting married to Becca?”

“That’s just a small detail,” you joked, making him chuckle. “She invited her to the club for the weekend, I’m pretty excited to meet her. How about you?”

“Do you find data analyzing romantic?”

“Not exactly.”

“Then it was less romantic than your day.”

“And the hospital?” you asked and he took a deep breath.

“Oh everything is fine. Should be free of the bandages next week.”

You bit inside your cheek. “I still feel responsible—”

“Don’t,” he cut you off. “Seriously. The incident had nothing to do with you.”

“Mm hm.”

“Besides, you can’t really blame the rollercoaster if someone gets hurt on one.”

“No one is supposed to get hurt on a rollercoaster,” you pointed out and he thought for a moment.

“Okay in hindsight, it wasn’t the best analogy…”

You pulled your brows together. “Wait, am I the rollercoaster?”

“No! No, you’re sitting next to me on the rollercoaster,” Ethan explained. “We’re both riding it.”

“That’s not—” you started but a black sports car wheezed past yours and sharply drifted sideways as soon as it got in front of your car so that yours would have to stop.

“I’ll call you back Ethan,” you said and hung up the phone, your heart skipping a beat as you grabbed the gun from underneath the seat, looking to your right to see your bodyguards’ car stopping as well. The driver lowered the partition as the bodyguards stepped out of the car.

“It’s Mr. Barnes’ personal car, ma’am,” he said. “I know the plate.”

“Oh Jesus Christ…” you murmured as you put the gun back to where it was and opened your door, then stepped outside at the same time Bucky left his car. Your bodyguards hesitated as soon as they saw him, looking between you and you waved a hand in the air.

“It’s fine guys,” you said and turned to Bucky. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders as if nothing was wrong.

“You blocked my number,” he said. “It’s not like I can text you.”

“And what, it wasn’t enough of a clue?” you asked tersely and Bucky nodded in the direction of his car.

“Come on, get in. We’re going to talk.”

You crossed your arms. “Nope.”

“Charm for fuck’s sake…”

“I’m not going to talk to you, and I’m certainly not getting in your car.”

“You seriously want to do this right here on the road?”

You threw your hands up in frustration. “You are the one who’s blocking the road, motherfucker!”

You could see the petrified expressions on your bodyguards’ faces before one of them gazed up at the sky while the other one put his hands into his pockets and kicked at a tiny pebble on the road, both desperately trying to look like they weren’t hearing you two.

“Listen—”

“I will not,” you retorted. “What is your deal, seriously?”

“We need to talk about last night,” Bucky said and out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the bodyguards exchanging glances, so you gritted your teeth and grabbed Bucky’s arm to pull him to the other side of the car in an attempt to get more privacy.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said through your teeth and Bucky ran a hand over his face.

“No I’d say there’s plenty to talk about,” he said. “I mean you didn’t even give me an answer—”

“That poor excuse of a joke doesn’t deserve an answer.”

“It wasn’t a joke to me.”

“Well, it was to me.”

He shook his head slightly.

“Just—” he said. “Why not?”

You raised your brows, gawking at him in disbelief and a look of realization dawned on his face before he heaved a sigh.

“Charm…”

You shot him a mocking smile, crossing your arms.

You and Becca sneaking into nightclubs wasn’t a new thing, and now that you were leaving for college in a month, you were trying to spend as much time together as possible. Becca threw her arm over your shoulder as you walked through the crowd to the bar.

“Two martinis please,” she told the bartender and he took a look at you two, but before he could say anything the other bartender muttered something into his ear, then motioned at you.

“Coming right up,” he ended up saying as you turned to Becca.

“So you were saying?”

“Yeah like, he keeps saying he’s too busy but I’m not buying it—ugh, you gotta be kidding me!”

You frowned, then followed her line of sight to see Bucky and Steve stepping outside from the other exit that led to the back alley behind the club, your heart starting to beat faster.

“Where are they going?”

“They’re probably gonna beat someone up, who cares?” Becca said with a shrug of her shoulders. “He’s in such a mood nowadays, I’m not even gonna let him know I’m here. Arrogant asshole.”

You tilted your head. “…Oh?”

“He and daddy had a huge fight the other night,” she said as she took the drink from the bartender while he put the other one in front of you. “Like my mom had to step in because they were at each other’s throats, that kind of a fight.”

“Why?”

Becca shrugged again. “It’s probably about business. The golden heir made a mistake I guess.”

You took a sip of your drink. “Interesting.”

“Yeah and then he went and broke up with Laura.”

Your head shot up. “They broke up?”

“Yeah!” Becca said. “Which, I’m not sorry at all because she was so annoying, but no girl in the world deserves to get dumped by Bucky so I have mixed feelings about the situation.”

You could feel the small glimmer of hope warming your chest and you pursed your lips together, then cleared your throat.

“I just—I forgot I was gonna call my dad, he gets so mad when I don’t let him know,” you said. “I gotta step outside for a moment, I’ll be right back.”

“Okay!” Becca said and you made your way through the dance floor before reaching the second exit, but before you could open the door, Steve had already beaten you to it.

“Y/N,” he said when he saw you. “Hey.”

“Hi,” you smiled at him. “Um—have you seen Bucky?”

Steve looked over his shoulder, then turned to you with an apologetic smile.

“He’s not…” he trailed off. “He’s not in the best mood.”

“Oh that’s okay,” you said and pushed the door open before he could say anything else, then stepped outside, holding your phone for the sake of appearance. When you saw him, Bucky’s bodyguards were dragging a nearly unconscious man out of the alley while he wiped the blood off his knuckles with a tissue, then lit a cigarette.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears, but you bit down on your lip, fixing your dress before clearing your throat.

“Bucky?”

He turned his head when he heard his name, then exhaled the smoke.

“Hey Charm,” he greeted you, making your heart skip a beat. “Is Becca here too?”

You bit inside your cheek, trying not to get discouraged by that, then nodded your head.

“Um, yeah we just got here.”

“Great,” he murmured. “Tell her not to drink too much, will you?”

You nodded again and smiled at him, your hand shaky a little as you fixed your dress again, desperately hoping it looked good on you.

“I didn’t know you would be here.”

“Yeah well, here I am,” he said, taking a drag of his cigarette, leaning back to the brick wall and you licked your lips.

“And are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Oh, just...” you stammered. “Becca mentioned you and Laura.”

Bucky shrugged his shoulders. “Happens. I’m fine, it was my call.”

Dear God, he was so handsome that you could just stare at him for hours.  

“Are you going to that gala thing as well?” you asked, nervousness pulsing through your system. “My dad is basically dragging me there, is George doing the same?”

His jaw clenched at the mention of his father, and he nodded quietly, exhaling the smoke.

Your voice was trembling a little, your throat incredibly dry because of the nervousness mixed with anticipation, but you still managed to get the words out.

“So I was thinking, do you—um—do you wanna go together?”

That managed to get his attention and he pulled his brows together, then let out a dry laugh.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered. “What, you rushed here as soon as you heard about me and Laura? Seriously?”

You pulled back slightly, your stomach doing a flip and you shook your head.

“No, I just—”you stammered, tears stinging the back of your eyes already. “I was just thinking—”

“Listen, I know you don’t see it right now, but this little crush of yours is just…” he trailed off with a small chuckle, motioning between you. “It’s kind of adorable, but it’s not going to happen. If I go to that gala with you, you’ll get your hopes up, so will everyone else around us and I’ll end up trapped in something serious—which is out of question. I can’t trust you with the business, not when you’d probably report everything back to your own family and I can’t afford a mistake, not right now.”

You tried to blink back the tears, staring at him as he threw the cigarette butt on the ground, then put his hands in his pockets and shrugged.

“Not to mention,” he said. “I don’t go for daddy’s spoiled whiny princess type, and you’d be better off with a nicer guy anyway.”

You could feel the sobs threatening to climb up your chest, so you sniffled and turned around to rush back into the club, leaving him there before he could say anything else.

“Don’t tell me that’s the reason,” Bucky’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you arched a brow.

“I said nothing.”

“It was what, almost ten years ago?” he asked. “I was an idiot—”

“I am really not interested in whatever this bullshit is,” you told him. “And I’m going to be late for dinner, so…”

“Just hear me out first—”

You looked over your shoulder and motioned at the driver.  “Turn the car around please!”

The driver did as you asked but before you could step away from Bucky, he grabbed your arm.

“Charm, I can help you get the power you want,” he insisted as you rolled your eyes. “You might hate me right now, but you know I can do that. Just let me get you that crown.”

“We’re done here.” You yanked your arm out of his grip and walked to the car but stopped when you reached it, turning your head to look at him.

“I’m not going to marry you Bucky,” you called out, fully aware that the bodyguards could hear you, and the mere thought gave you a strange sense of satisfaction. “I would never marry you. I don’t go for the arrogant asshole type, and you’d be better off with a nicer girl anyway.”

 With that you got in the car, and the driver started driving as soon as you slammed the door shut, the car gliding down the road smoothly.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered to yourself and leaned your head back, closing your eyes. “The fucking audacity.”

Chapter 6