#how he has said and done things to me that were hurtful

[aquaticmercy]

Waste a Moment / Part 15

Summary : Bucky had always kept his distance, but seeing you get hurt on a mission changed everything. For the first time, he has a chance to start over with you.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Mentions of food. Cursing. Memory loss. Head injury. Reader used to work in a museum.

Requested by :  @remoony

Word count : 2.7k

Note : I have a lot on my inbox and I haven’t been replying a lot lately, but I will go through them tomorrow! Please let me know if I miss anyone on the tags! Enjoy!

Series Masterlist

“Name a Price”

Tuesday.

You had said it all—every bitter feeling, every thread of anger that festered so deep inside you that you barely knew where you ended and it began. Alex hadn’t interrupted, hadn’t even shifted in her seat.

She just sat there beside you, listening like she did the first time.

Not as someone who pitied you— but as a friend.

For a while, she didn’t say anything. 

You stared at the glass case in front of you, the one holding Bucky’s war uniform— a symbol of his past that he was still piecing together.

You began to wonder if he’d been someone else back then— someone untouched by Hydra’s corruption. 

But you knew better. That uniform belonged to a man already carrying scars from war you couldn’t begin to fathom. Hydra just amplified it, took advantage of it, added to it.

“I’m not defending Bucky,” Alex finally spoke, “But let me ask you something—hypothetically. If you were still with him, and he somehow forgot all about his Winter Soldier days, would you remind him?”

What?

You turned to her sharply, mouth agape with shock. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m not trying to be fair,” she replied calmly, “it was just a hypothetical question.”

Your hands clenched into fists in your lap. “But that’s neither here nor there,” you muttered, looking away.

“Is it?” Alex pressed, her tone patient but unrelenting. “The only difference I see is scale.”

Her words lingered in your brain like a disease spreading. You wanted to snap at her, to tell her it wasn’t the same thing at all, but… wasn’t it?

“Well,” you said, your voice faltering a little, your conviction a little less absolute. “It’s not the same,” you insisted. “It’s a painful memory for him, and he wouldn’t know how to process it. I wouldn’t want to…”

Your voice trailed off, realising your answer.

The truth— the truth was that you wouldn’t tell him. 

You wouldn’t tell him because you couldn’t bear to see the pain, to see the humanity ripped away again. You wouldn’t be able to look at the way it would twist his beautiful blue eyes and pull him back into the darkness he’d spent so long trying to climb out of. You wouldn’t tell him because you didn’t think you could survive watching him rip himself apart, questioning his very existence, his place in the world.

But was that fair? Could you make that choice for him?

Alex’s voice cut through your spiralling thoughts. “Doesn’t he deserve to know the truth?”

You flinched, feeling the words hit like a punch. 

“It wouldn’t be my place to give it to him,” you said, your tone harsher than you intended— like it was your last line of defence. 

“So you’d be complicit,” Alex said bluntly.

That word stunned you. It froze you in place.

Complicit.

You felt your chest tighten, your breath stopping for a split second. 

Complicit. 

Like Yelena.

The realisation struck you like a punch to the gut. 

Even as you tried to tend to the wounds, you still held a grudge against Yelena for what she’d done, for keeping the truth from you. You hated the way she had looked at you with pity in her eyes. You hated that she’d known all along. You hated that she knew when the truth came out, it would destroy you. 

But now, you realised, if you were in Yelena’s shoes, wouldn’t you have done the exact same thing?

“And how do you think he’d feel if he found out the way you did?” Alex continued quietly.

You swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat wouldn’t go away. 

You didn’t have to imagine it. You already knew— you knew exactly how he’d feel.

He’d feel like the ground had been ripped out from under him, like the air had been stolen from his lungs. He’d feel betrayed. Hurt. 

Like his entire world was a lie.

Just like you had.

You loved Alex— she was your friend— but you hated how exposed you felt, how easily her words broke down the walls you've built around yourself.

“It’s not that simple,” you said, your voice breaking.

“I know,” Alex replied, she put her hand on yours, trying to keep you steady. “But I think… Bucky did what he did out of love. It doesn’t make it right, but it doesn’t make it wrong either. It makes it human.”

“So what?” You almost snapped if not for the stray sob that escaped your mouth. “I’m just supposed to forgive him? Pretend like it’s all okay because he meant well?”

“No,” Alex said firmly. “You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to hurt.” She paused, her eyes holding yours. “But ask yourself this: what’s holding on to this anger costing you?”

You knew exactly what it cost you: it cost you your happiness, and his.

—

When you stepped into your apartment, you saw him.

Bucky stood in the kitchen, his back turned to you, shoulders tense he moved around the stove. The soft clatter of utensils and the low hiss of simmering liquor on the burner made your apartment feel like him. 

The scent was rich, warm, and familiar. It was your favourite dish. 

On the table nearby, your clear vase was now home to a bouquet of flowers, your favourite flowers— the ones he always teased you about loving because they never lasted long. You’d playfully huff, telling him it bloomed so beautifully in the short time it had lived. 

They were arranged with painstaking care—one you knew Bucky was capable of. The petals were flawless, the colours vibrant, as if he’d combed through hundreds of blooms to find the most perfect ones.  

“Hey,” he said softly. He turned to face you, his movements careful, as if afraid to shatter the fragile truce between you. 

When his eyes found yours, a tentative smile curved his lips. His voice was different— gentle, stripped of the defensive edge you had expected.

Your breath hitched.

You’d imagined this moment countless times while you were laying in the hospital bed. 

In some versions, your fury took centre stage, unleashed on him like a storm. In others, the anger had dulled, leaving only an all- consuming sadness, refusing to acknowledge he existed all together. 

You had breached for him to plead, to beg. But this? This peace, this tenderness—it wasn’t what you’d prepared for. 

“Hi,” you managed to say, your voice barely more than a whisper. It felt heavy, like the first crack in a dam threatening to spill. You closed the door behind you, and walked to the dinner table, sitting down before your knees gave out.

Bucky turned back to the stove, setting the spoon down, giving himself a moment to gather his thoughts. He wiped his hands on a towel before walking over to the table. 

His movements were careful, like a man walking a tightrope. “I didn’t want you to come back to… an empty home. Not again,” he murmured, his hand raking through his hair, as it always did when he was anxious. “So I thought I’d, uh, take care of the place. Until you came back. If you came back.”

You stared at him, then at his careful effort he’d put into making the apartment feel welcoming. After all this time, your home didn’t feel yours anymore— not entirely.. It felt like it belonged to both of you. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said finally, your voice trembling. 

“I know,” he said, his voice barely holding steady. His eyes met yours, and for the first time since the hospital, there was no mask, no shield. No defences raised, no excuses. “But I wanted to.”

The vulnerability in his eyes was an invitation, not a deflection.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” he said, breaking the moment as he turned back to the stove.

You nodded, fingers brushing over the soft petals of the flowers. Questions swirled in your mind—so many questions, accusations, words you’d rehearsed over and over. But you didn’t say any of them. Instead, you let him take care of you as you once did— you let him finish dinner.  

When he finally brought the plates over, he sat across from you, his hands resting on his knees like he was bracing for impact. You stared at the food, then at him.

“Thank you,” you said. Picking up your fork felt… comforting. It felt like home.

“I can go,” he said suddenly, almost panicked. “I’ll do the dishes and leave.”

“No,” you said quickly, the word surprising even yourself. Your chest tightened as you recalled your conversation with Alex, her reminder that he was human, a reminder that healing could only start if you accepted that he could make mistakes. You set your fork down and met his eyes. “I’m ready to talk.”

Bucky hesitated, his fingers tracing anxious patterns along the table. His muscles tightened, his eyes fixed downward as if the weight of what he was about to say could shatter everything between you. “I don’t… I don’t know where to start.”

You swallowed, the lump forming in your throat. You forced yourself to breathe through it. 

The thought of finally hearing him out was terrifying, but you knew you owed it to yourself. “I don’t care where you start,” you said gently.

His hand stilled in a grip that held the table’s edge a little too tightly. “I know you know I wasn’t always this w-way. This perfect person you’ve known these past few months… I’ve always wanted to be him, for you.”

His words hit you like a wave, the sincerity pulling at your heartstrings. 

“I never needed you to be perfect, Bucky,” you said, the tremble in your tone almost taking over, “I just needed you to be honest.”

He lifted his gaze then, his eyes clouded with regret, pain, and mostly— shame. “How could I?” He murmured, his voice cracking, “For so long, I thought I was protecting you by keeping parts of myself locked away. By being… distant. I thought that if I didn’t let you get too close, you’d be better off. Safer. I didn’t… I didn’t know how t-to justify this change.”

“But why?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. “Why did you think I couldn’t handle it? Why didn’t you trust me enough to let me in?”

He flinched at your tone, his shoulders dropping as if the question had drained him. He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking before answering. “Because I didn’t think I deserved you.” He looked at you then, his eyes so full of pain. “I told myself you deserved someone whole, someone who wasn’t… broken. And I thought that if I kept my distance, you would hate me. But you didn’t. Not until… not until now.”

But he was wrong. You didn’t hate him— you never could. You hated that he lied, But him? No, you could never bring yourself to hate him.

“So you pushed me away,” you said quietly, a confirmation of what you knew all along.

He nodded, lI thought I could keep my distance and pretend like it was for the best. But every time I was around you, I felt this… like I couldn’t breathe.”

There it was again. 

He couldn’t breathe around you, he admitted time and again. But not because he hated you. Not because he found your presence suffocating.

It was because you were so damn precious to him that the very thought of sharing the same air as you felt like a privilege he hadn’t earned.

“Instead of facing it,” he continued, “I built a wall around myself.”

Today, his words weren’t excuses; they were admissions. Every letter felt like it cost him a piece of himself.

“I know I hurt you,” he said, his voice breaking. “And I know I can’t undo that. But when you lost your memory… I don’t know. It felt like I had this chance to—to start over. To be the man you deserved. To show you the kind of love I’ve always wanted to give you.”

You blinked back tears. It was like piecing together the puzzle of your past, one fragment of pain at a time. “But you didn’t think to tell me?” you asked, “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

A pang guilt crossed his face, his mouth falling into a frown. “I should have,” he admitted, “I should’ve told you everything from the start. But I was so scared that if you knew, you’d see the worst of me. That you’d hate me for it. And losing you… I couldn’t handle... couldn’t think….”

You wanted to yell at him, to tell him how much his silence had hurt you, how it had made you question everything. But you also understood, in a way that only love could explain. Alex’s little thought experiment made you connect to his fear— the paralysing fear of losing that meant so much to you. 

“I’m not going to pretend this doesn’t hurt,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes. “I can’t go back to the way things were before, Bucky. No more lies, no more walls. If we’re going to try this— I need to know all of you. The good, the bad, the broken. All of it.”

His eyes widened.

A second chance—after everything he’d hidden from you? 

It seemed impossible— yet here you were, offering it to him.

He hesitated, then reached for your hand, still not believing that he deserved your touch.

When his trembling fingers brushed against yours, you didn’t pull away. Instead, you turned your hand, weaving your fingers through his.

“I promise,” he said, “I’ll be better. I’ll be honest. No more walls, no more hiding.”

His fingers tightened around yours, afraid you might still let go, afraid you might change your mind. 

But you held on, your grip firm “I don’t need you to be perfect,” you repeated. “I just need you to be honest. I need you to let me in.”

His breath faltered, and for a moment, he looked at you like you were the only thing that could keep him tethered to this earth. “I’ll let you in,” his voice broke. “I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you made the right choice.”

As you sat there holding his hand, you felt the presence of something stronger than fear—hope.

“Can I kiss you?” He finally asked

Your heartbeat quickened, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his request. 

For a moment, you saw it—the life you both wanted, the way it could feel so right, so safe, in his arms. And yet, the cracks of what you’d been through together were still there. The answer that rose within you wasn’t what you’d expected, but it was clear.

“No.”

The word left your lips gently, but firmly. His thumb froze against your skin, his body tensing. The faintest flicker of hurt crossed his eyes. 

He opened his mouth to apologise, but before he could, you interrupted him.

“I’m not saying no forever,” you said, “But I want to take things slow. I need to trust that this—whatever we’re building now—isn’t just us rushing to cover up the hurt. I need to know it’s real.”

For a moment, he just looked at you. Slowly, his shoulders relaxed. A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “We’ll go as slow as you need,” he said.

He leaned back slightly, letting his fingers slip from yours.

There was no more resentment, no bitterness— only understanding. 

The two of you continued eating in silence, exchanging glances that lingered just a little longer than usual, small, subtle smiles that promised a fragile piece. Each moment felt like a step forward, like a rebuilding of trust, brick by brick, piece by piece.

When the meal was over, he stood to clear the dishes. As he walked past your chair, he paused. His fingers brushed against your shoulder, a fleeting touch. It wasn’t possessive or pleading anymore. Instead, it was a quiet reminder. I’m here. I’m staying. I’m not going to hide anymore.

And for the first time, you truly believed him. Not because he’d said the right thing, not because he was perfect. But because he was trying. 

Because he was human, and he finally saw himself that way. 

-To be continued…

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[monamipencil]

first of all. v, i love your brain.

second. your writing skills???? this fic serves. i love this so much. the plot was so fucking good? AND THE TWIST? GODDAMN. i did not expect that. and the smut was hot too. i just went through a roller coaster of emotions.

third. i came here bcuz this looked nice and spicy, now my heart is broken into two.

annotations;

Corrupting Demon Hunters was delicious. Candy to the soul. If you truly had one.

grrr yes

That night, he was not engaging in conversation he was distracted. His gaze was set on you.

oh fuck, this is hot

Other times when he is burning with need, he would just go to yours, tail between his legs. Those times were the best.

im just a girl, i see a man like this, i fold so fast 🎀

No, the real root of his anger was that every night and every day, his mind was clogged with thoughts of you, like a disease eating away at his brain. Every time he blinked or took a breath you were present in there.

hehe 😌

He hated it.

not hehe 🧍‍♀️

Jeonghan blinked away, the tips of his ears red from both the third beer making his blood heat up and, obviously, from being startled by you.

it was just a wink, calm down

But gods, giving in felt so good.

forbidden tropes >>>>

As soon as you got to the tight, secluded alleyway of the pub, Jeonghan pressed your back against the exit door, pinning you with his body before grabbing your face with one hand, fingers digging into your cheeks before attacking you with a chaste kiss.

“Shut up. Don’t make me take a fourth,” he muttered darkly as he leaned over to plant a slow kiss on your lips. “I’d gladly kill you.”

At that, you laughed. “Sounds fun,”

asdfghjkl, i love their bickering. their dynamics >>>

You were unsure whether Jeonghan even realized that the reason why you were not feeding on human flesh was because you fed off his lust. His guilt and greed were so delicious that you did not need to reap souls.

damn, being a demon sounds fun

Past the scars and the bruises, past his skin, you saw his soul. It was a fiery, chaotic smoking light. Like a candlelight that dances erratically inside him.

GRRRRRRRRRRRRR, IM FERAL. FUCK, BRUISES? SCARS?? (i love his soul too <33)

But since everything he did with you was sinful, it was getting harder for him to tell.

asdfghjkl lmao

What have you done to me, the words echo in your head, making your pulse quicken. No matter how many times he has said this to you, or many other things equally as hurtful. It never failed to break you.

🧍‍♀️i love this

But you loved seeing that fire in his eyes, loved feeling the guilt pulsating in his veins. He smelled of fear, anguish, greed and lust. He wanted you, he hated you.

“You thought yourself to be special,” he gritted, pushing his cock relentlessly inside you, his fingers choking the life out of you. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing.”

something is wrong with me. why do i find this ... so hot

Jeonghan hated this. Jeonghan loved this. Hated it. Loved it.

RAHHHH 🦅🦅

“I hate you,” he said, his voice reducing to a mere whisper.

🥺 ok i'd actually cry tbh

Jeonghan would not want you had you been human.

wha-ow, that was uncalled for.

“I hate you more,” you said, though your tone was devoid of all venom.

aww, man🧍‍♀️this hurts

“Jeonghan, don’t go…” you said, sobs starting to coil in your throat.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You were what smouldered the fire within him. You were the peace to his chaos. The bond he could never break not even in death, his soulmate.

WHAT? OH MY FUCING FGOD? R UFJVCJN SERIOSU? IM LITERALLY IN SHOCK

the curse | yoon jeonghan

› pairings: yoon jeonghan x female reader › aus: demon hunter jeonghan, supernatural au, demon reader › genres: angst, smut (18+) › word count: 4.6k

› 🎧: faux – katie | kiss&tell – ethan low and gen neo

› this one shot is part of my hannieween fest/kinktober special!

› warnings after the cut! READ THEM CAREFULLY 🗣️

› warnings: smut with little plot, exhibitionism, hate fucking, switch jeonghan, switch reader, humiliation kink, breath play, dirty talk, rough fucking, impact play, sadomasochism, monster fucking, a little bit of corruption kink, creampies, degradation/praise kink, hair pulling kink, no aftercare. pet names: wicked thing, baby, baby demon (hers)

› disclaimer: minors dni this post is intended for 18+ readers. please have your age stated in your description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂.

› author's note: as always, this is not proofread heh. i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it..... i might write more things like this in the future

the curse

YOON JEONGHAN HAD EVERYTHING A DEMON LOVED TO CURRUPT. He was not the stuffy kind that would cross to the dark side to become evil after a little persuading, no. He was cruel and dangerous.

He had all the traits you would expect from a demon hunter. You had been told all your life to be weary of his kind. But what would life be without a little fun? Corrupting Demon Hunters was delicious. Candy to the soul. If you truly had one.

Jeonghan was sitting with his friends at one of the last tables of the pub. That night, he was not engaging in conversation he was distracted. His gaze was set on you.

You concealed a smile by biting your lower lip. You knew Jeonghan kept coming back to the pub to see you prancing around the tables. There he sat, a beautiful mess, riddled with a tension that he was too blind or too naïve to comprehend.

Hunters were not like regular humans. They could sense demons from a mile away naturally, they could resist the temptations that demons offered as easily as breathing. But that did not take away from the fact that they were mortal. They had a weakness in their being that demons loved way too much.

Even if hunters and demons hated each other by nature, too. Irresistible. That is one word that you liked to use whenever Jeonghan was around. Even if he was perched on his chair, eyes on you as if you were his source of entertainment, sipping on a beer slowly.

With your back turned to him, you felt his gaze piercing your back. It set your nerves ablaze, your blood thickening under your skin, making it prickle with a thrilling sensation. You wondered if he felt the same things the longer he looked at you.

Now, Jeonghan was no fool. He only came here the nights when he was craving for fun. Other times when he is burning with need, he would just go to yours, tail between his legs. Those times were the best.

But that night you knew he was trying to come off as uninterested. That is why he had not talked to you or even made a clear invitation to walk to his table. You kept yourself away from him, letting one of your co-workers serve his friends and him.

Jeonghan drank deeply from his pint, finishing it off with a pleased exhale. He lifted two fingers at one of the other servers, ordering another. You saw it on his face now more clearly, taking the advantage that his gaze had fallen on your pretty colleague. Jeonghan was pissed.

Why was he pissed?

It had taken everything in him not to arrive at the pub that night. He had been resisting the pull he felt toward you for almost two weeks. The root of his anger did not come from the fact that he could not let more than two weeks go by without coming to see you. He has gone even longer resisting you.   

No, the real root of his anger was that every night and every day, his mind was clogged with thoughts of you, like a disease eating away at his brain. Every time he blinked or took a breath you were present in there.

He hated it.

Hunters learned to resist temptation. They invested time, blood, sweat and tears to become stronger, to be lethal to demons. Greatest weapons of the underworld.

You sighed as you set your hands on the countertop of the bar, waiting. You sneaked a look over your shoulder, winking at him once you found his dark eyes on you. Jeonghan blinked away, the tips of his ears red from both the third beer making his blood heat up and, obviously, from being startled by you.

There it was again, he exhaled the taste of beer, he could taste you as he took a breath. Like a drug making his senses go dull. He hated it.

You were a thing he could not make sense of. Yoon Jeonghan was a man of strategy. In this world, he could not afford to give in to his impulses. That gets people like him killed.

But gods, giving in felt so good.

He looked again, also knowing that you kept observing him. With great reluctance, he made a gentle motion towards the back door. It was a simple move, and easy to pass up. But you knew him.

Whereas hunters were cold and calculated, demons were alluring and carefree. Humans repelled demons by instinct, their allure being so strong and strange that humans found demons dangerous. So they would rarely mingle.

But there were exceptions. You were one of them. Jeonghan attributed your ease of blending in the human world to your beauty. Your beautiful smile, your soft hair, your radiant skin. And your eagerness to make friends made you likable. Those things humans felt attracted to.

They did not know just how fucking deadly you were. That was Yoon Jeonghan’s reason for existing, that was why he got paid handsomely: to rid the world of creatures like you, and those he could not kill, he would make them go back into hiding in the underworld.

As soon as you got to the tight, secluded alleyway of the pub, Jeonghan pressed your back against the exit door, pinning you with his body before grabbing your face with one hand, fingers digging into your cheeks before attacking you with a chaste kiss.

You grabbed the hand squishing your cheeks and tossed it off you. “Hi there to you too,” you said.

“No time for that,” he murmured with a gruff tone, you tasted the beer on his tongue. But aside from that, you tasted him.

Demons had more senses than regular humans did. A few more than hunters too. Hunters were superhuman, stronger, faster, and smarter. Demons were all of that too, but they had something hunters did not. Demons held the power to taste souls.

“It’s been a while,” you pointed between hurried kisses, quickly becoming drunk on his tongue, his taste was like nothing else you had ever tasted before. It made your blood thicken, it numbed you, and it gave you pure and uncontainable bliss.

“How many humans have you killed since I last saw you?” he muttered in between rushed, wet kisses, grabbing your wrists to pin them above your head.

“Why, do you care about humans now?” you bit back, grabbing him by the jaw to keep kissing him

Jeonghan cared about humans. Just not too much. His care for humans did not go beyond work-related. They were a necessity.

“How many?” he growled now, inching away from your face.

“One,” you said, pronouncing the syllable as though it were a tragedy. “How many demons have you killed?”

“Three,” he replied flatly.

“Holding yourself back?” you smirked, delighted that he too had been lowering his body count out of confusion.

Usually, you would take three humans per week. They were your source of energy. But you had a rule, not to Jeonghan’s knowing. You limited yourself to humans that were corrupted by transgressing against their kind. You found their sins were too tasty to pass up.

But ever since you started this push and pull with Jeonghan, your body count has decreased in number quite tragically. From taking dozens of lives a week, you barely could take more than three now. And even if Jeonghan does not operate the same way as you do, you satiate your hunger differently.

Jeonghan kills for money, he kills for duty.

“Shut up. Don’t make me take a fourth,” he muttered darkly as he leaned over to plant a slow kiss on your lips. “I’d gladly kill you.”

At that, you laughed. “Sounds fun,” you breathed, nearly swept away by his lips trailing down your jawline. “But are we spicing things up already? We’ve only been doing this for a year…”  

Now, why has Jeonghan not killed you?

“Has it been a year already?” he asked aloofly, bending his knees a little before taking your thighs in his hands, you jumping to meet him halfway.

“Time flies when you’re having a good time,” you quipped, craning your neck for him to plant wet kisses down your throat.

“So they say,” he muttered, drunk off your scent but still lucid enough to come back with witty retorts.

There were plenty of monsters in this world. Creatures far deadlier and scarier than you. Nothing, no one in this world, human or not, wanted you as much as Jeonghan did. Why would he kill you? He has everything he wants with you.

You bristled. “Someone’s coming,” you whispered, your eyes flying open.

Like a mental slap, Jeonghan came back to his senses, pulling his head back and stopping his mouth on your skin with a disgruntled sound. He eased you back onto the ground and the exit door of the pub pushed open, you grabbed his wrist, taking him down the alley and towards the path that led down the forest.

You did not escape one of your coworkers seeing you drag Jeonghan to the sea of trees. If you were a human, it would bring you terrible shame to be seen scurrying off to the forest with a man to have privacy.

But being a demon, you knew no shame. You fed off pride, greed and lust.

Jeonghan slipped his wrist off your grasp as though your touch pained him. You were arriving at a small, secluded area covered by tall and thick trees, so you turned to him, just as he used his hands to push your shoulders.

You fell back onto your ass, but you were quick enough to use your elbows as support on the ground, raising your gaze to his fascinated face.

Jeonghan had used enough strength to break human bones. He followed your body, dropping to his knees between your parting legs. “Shall we do this quickly?” he asked, grinning at your eagerness.

“Why, do you have somewhere else to go?” you arched an eyebrow. You wished your words had been laced with sarcasm.

“Would you mind if I did?” he retorted, a hand snaking to find the hem of your knit sweater, pushing it up your chest.

You wanted to say yes. After hoping for two weeks to see him, it deflated you to think Jeonghan was slipping away from you so quickly. “No, of course not,” you replied, shuddering once he gave your tank top the same treatment he did to your sweater, leaving your tits bare.

“That’s what I thought,” he sighed, dipping his head to wrap his mouth around your left nipple.

You arched your back to his lips, just as he palmed your other breast, making you moan. You had gone longer than two weeks without fucking Jeonghan, but that was in the beginnings of this relationship. If you could even call it that.

That was before fucking Jeonghan became an addiction. Demons fed on sin. You were unsure whether Jeonghan even realized that the reason why you were not feeding on human flesh was because you fed off his lust. His guilt and greed were so delicious that you did not need to reap souls.

You have missed this. But you could not bring yourself to tell him that. However, it showed in your actions, arching your back on the ground, leaves and branches creaking under you as you sank your fingers in his long hair.

Jeonghan swallowed back a sound that sounded like a purr against the plain of your breast. “Are you hungry?”

He knows. You furrowed your brow, watching him lift his head to meet your eyes. “Yes,” you admitted.

“Take your clothes off,” he orders with a breathy tone, as if kissing your skin had robbed him of voice.

You sat up, as he knelt back, taking the chest harness off. He rarely removed his weapons when he fucked you in an open space. Whenever he visited you at your apartment, he would usually just leave his knife at hand, on your bedside table or the table he fucked you on.

You stripped the knit sweater, taking the tank top off, eyeing his skin with curious eyes as he took his black shirt off. Jeonghan was lean and strong, he bore bruises and scars all over his chest and arms. Knife, bite and claw marks.

He was beautiful.

Past the scars and the bruises, past his skin, you saw his soul. It was a fiery, chaotic smoking light. Like a candlelight that dances erratically inside him.

Seeing his soul was intrusive. But so alluring that you did not notice he was looking at you through his heavy set of eyelashes.

“What are you waiting for?” he cocked his head to one side, showing you a mocking smirk. “Do you think I’m going to undress you?”

“You did that last time,” you said between your teeth, but you lied back, lifting your hips to skitter off your pants, kicking your boots off with efficacy.

“Last time?” he frowned pensively, pausing before he placed his shirt aside on the ground. He shook his head lightly. “That was the second to last.”

“I get them mixed,” you shrugged, lying to him with ease.

Jeonghan knew whenever demons told a lie. He had been trained to sense whenever you performed a sinful act. But since everything he did with you was sinful, it was getting harder for him to tell.

He did not take his pants off, you did not ask why. You imagined that it was because he wanted to grasp what little dignity he had left in him. Maybe he did not want to strip completely because that gave him more power over you.

You were utterly bare under him. You did not care, you relished at the sight of him growing hard under his black pants either way.

“Turn over,” he said, gently palming the side of your thigh, urging you to move. “Hands and knees.”

You obeyed him, but not before you got to see him push his pants down, getting his cock out. He was fully hard for you, his veiny shaft standing up completely, his tip reddened and leaking precum at the slit.

You got on all fours, planting your hands and knees on the dirt, bracing yourself for him.

He used his knee to move yours on the ground, spreading your legs open a few more inches. “Mm, you missed me,” he noted with a low coo, running two fingertips on your folds. “So hungry, so wet.”

“Stop teasing me,” you bit back, though you were growing hot on the cheeks.

He found you out. But there was another issue. You were feeding off his lust and greed for you. But that did not explain why he also lowered the amount of demon kills he took. Was he doing it by pure choice?

Did Jeonghan feel guilty?

“Please, just give it to me,” you urged with a whimpery tone. You hated it.

“Alright, I’ll give it to you, you needy thing,” he replied with an empty laugh.

And then his fingers left your folds, you nearly whimpered at the loss. But then his fingers were quickly replaced by his cock, gently nudging its tip against your cunt, you clenched around nothing, but he felt your entrance throbbing with his cockhead.

“Fuck,” he sighed, grabbing you by the hips.

You closed your eyes, biting back a moan as his length started sinking in on you. The feeling was delicious, it made your blood surge and dance beneath your skin. It drew a moan out of Jeonghan, bottoming out on you.

He slid a hand from your hip, caressing your skin along the line of your back to meet your shoulder. He held you in place, a hand on your hip and the other on your shoulder before starting to plow on you, his hard thrusts knocking the wind out of you.

The feeling of his cock sliding on your walls was near-euphoric, the tip nudged at your g-spot quite quickly. Jeonghan knew your body better than you, his grip on you was harsh, holding you firmly as his hips jackhammered against your ass. The sound of skin slapping against each other quickly became an echo in the forest.  

“Jeonghan…” you moaned blissfully, letting the trees surrounding you that he was making you feel like this.

“Hell,” he murmured under his breath.

You muffled a moan in your mouth, fisting the leaves beneath you as if that could support you from crumbling out of sheer pleasure.

Fucking demons was rapturous. They revelled in perversion, they were the epitome of lust. It was playing with death. No one in their right mind would dare to do it, any mortal would either die or be killed trying. The pleasure was almost mind-shattering.

Jeonghan was past giving a fuck. “Where are your horns?” he muttered, thrusting his cock inside you hard and fast, he sounded out of breath.

“I’m concealing them,” you replied, equally as breathless, already toying at the edge of your release. “Thought you didn’t like them.”

“I don’t,” he grunted, letting go of your shoulder, his hand sliding to the middle of your back. “But I want to see them.”

You shuddered as his hand caressed you with a foreign gentleness. “No,” you replied.

“Come on, baby demon. Show ‘em to me,” he rasped, and you turned over your shoulder to see him.

Jeonghan was beautiful, he was tipping his head back, leaving his throat exposed to your gaze. You saw his throat bobbing when he swallowed hard, he was looking at your face, waiting for you to show him your horns.

“No,” you said, smirking devilishly at him. “I might if you ask nicely.”

“Ha. Nice try,” he sighed.

“What’s wrong, notable demon hunter lost his manners?” you gave him an empty laugh.

Jeonghan lifted his hand on your hip, landing it on your ass with a loud smack. “Stop that,” he warned darkly.

The spank was harsh, he used his raw strength to spank you every time. Your eyes stung with tears, but you gritted your teeth through it.

“I might be a demon, but I like indulging in a man with decorum,” you teased some more, enjoying the quiet flames of his soul growing enraged. You liked toying with him without him noticing it.

“Fuck,” he rasped.

Then a hand tangled in your hair, grabbing a fistful to yank you up. You squealed, but he did not stop fucking you hard and fast.

“You’re the one that needs to learn manners, not me,” he growled in your ear, his lips brushing on your earlobe. He released your hair, using his hands to palm your breasts, his fingers lingering on your nipples.

“Fuck, Jeonghan,” you moaned, arching your back for him, enjoying his cock filling your walls nicely, its tip teasing your g-spot repeatedly, unrelentingly.

“You’re close?” he asked, his tone low and raspy, tickling your senses.

You nodded eagerly, closing your eyes to savour the pleasure brimming inside you. You felt him everywhere. Not just his hands on your tits, or his hips meeting your ass, his cock stuffing you full. His touch made your blood surge, it made your chest tighten and heave.

You loved it.

“Come on me,” he mumbled lazily, removing a hand from your breast to meet your hip. His thrusts were growing sloppy, you knew he was close. “Cream all over my cock, baby.”

You hated him.

You hated that he used that word. He knew that it was a weak point for you. You had no choice, you crumbled back against him, your orgasm washing over you in fiery waves. You moaned loudly, nearly screaming but you did not care. The pleasure was so great, it had you moaning until you had no voice, no breath.

Jeonghan followed, dropping his forehead on your shoulder, dumping his load inside you with sloppy thrusts. He had stopped caring long ago about the consequences that might bring. And you had as well.

“You wicked little thing,” he panted, not quite stopping his thrusts yet. “What have you done to me?”

You gave him no reply, instead, you felt him growing hard inside you, pushing his cum back in. He kept fucking you slowly, as if with each thrust he was giving into you again.

What have you done to me, the words echo in your head, making your pulse quicken. No matter how many times he has said this to you, or many other things equally as hurtful. It never failed to break you.   

You used a hand to push his hips off, not caring that his cum slid down your thigh the minute you turned to face him, letting your body fall back onto the ground, bringing Jeonghan with you.

He gasped in surprise, but quickly recovered, positioning his arms around you, framing your head. “Round two?”

“Unless you have somewhere to go,” you smirked.

“I wish,” he replied, though you heard how numbly he sounded. “I wish I could stop wanting this,” he groaned, starting to thrust his hard cock inside you again.

“Careful,” you whispered, the smirk erasing from your face. “I know when you’re lying, hunter.”

His gaze darkened. “You’re not telling me to be careful,” he said. “You’re forgetting that I could kill you.”

“The fact that you haven’t tells me otherwise,” you said, though your tone waned as his thrusts started to become more powerful, you pushed your knees back, letting him drive his cock deeper inside you, drawing out a long moan from you.

A hand clutched your throat firmly, his fingers pressing on your windpipe strongly. You choked, grabbing his wrist to no end, because you let him strangle you.

“Why the fuck would I?” he growled, his face mere inches from yours. “You have the perfect little pussy, the perfect tits, perfect ass… I can’t afford to lose you.”

You blinked your watery eyes, your heart palpitating frantically, your chest constricting at the lack of air.

But you loved seeing that fire in his eyes, loved feeling the guilt pulsating in his veins. He smelled of fear, anguish, greed and lust. He wanted you, he hated you.

“You thought yourself to be special,” he gritted, pushing his cock relentlessly inside you, his fingers choking the life out of you. “You’re nothing to me. Nothing.”

Your lips curled in a smile at the way his body responded upon uttering that sentence. You closed your eyes, nearing the edge of another climax, which you let sweep through you, dancing in your veins.

You cherished the feeling of him inside you, fucking his first load back into you, only to then have it spilled out with each slam of his hips against yours.  

“There she is,” he whispered, his dark eyes glinting.

The pleasure was so brutal, you did not realize you had stopped concealing your horns. His fingers stopped pressing on your throat, but his hand lingered there. You looked at him while his gaze coasted at the sight of the black horns that curved back from the crown of your head.

“Don’t,” he muttered when they faded out of his view.

You exhaled, bringing your horns back.

“Wings too,” he whispered.

Even if you could smell the shame coursing through him, you also removed the concealment from your wings, showing how they had been tucked beneath your body the whole time.

Jeonghan slid a hand to your side, caressing your skin before brushing a knuckle on one of your black wings. You shuddered, hard, arching your back and pressing your tits against his chest.

“Jeonghan,” you mewled, closing your eyes under the thrill of having his touch on you.

“Does this make you come?” he asked a hint of playfulness in his tone making you open your eyes to his wide smile.

“Do it again,” you breathed.

At that, he obediently ran the back of two fingers along the soft membranous skin of your wings, the euphoric feeling bringing out a cry from you. “Yes,” you replied to his question.

Though he did not need verbal confirmation from you, your walls clamped around his cock, making him moan too. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Such a wicked little thing,” he smiled. “Go ahead, demon. Come again.”

Your cheeks grew hot at the derogatory manner he called you. But you did not follow his command exactly.

Jeonghan switched his hand, propping his weight to the other to touch your neglected wing. He sent you a curious glance, right before using the back of his knuckles to brush your wing.

The touch was so light, so tender against your skin that it sent you to another orgasm. It was so brutal that it brought tears to your eyes, it was so euphoric that it made you scream, your mind going blank.

Jeonghan looked at you, completely mesmerized. “Gods,” he groaned, thrusting his hips sloppily on you, giving you his second load. You shuddered, feeling the ropes of hot cum filling you up.

He moved his hand from your wing, his touch gentle and light as he searched your eyes, cupping your cheek before he gave you a surprisingly sweet kiss. His thumb brushed your bottom lip, looking at you the same way he always did before he said goodbye.

Jeonghan hated this. Jeonghan loved this. Hated it. Loved it.

“I hate you,” he said, his voice reducing to a mere whisper.

It was sickening, it made your stomach churn, but it was not enough to make you wish you were something else. Deep down, you knew that Jeonghan would not want you had you been human.

You gave him a hollow laugh. “I hate you more,��� you said, though your tone was devoid of all venom.

Then, the familiar pulsating feeling came. It only happened once in a while. It overwhelmed you with something you both welcomed and rejected. It was like a tight hand gripping your very soul. Jeonghan felt it too, you felt his body tensing up, still connected to yours.

Here it comes. You braced yourself.

Jeonghan retreated, slowly. He used his hand on your lower abdomen to push himself from you, grunting slightly as his cock slid out of your walls. With a heaviness that made his limbs clumsy, he gathered himself, standing up in front of you.

He tucked himself back in, picking up the rest of his things, with a perplexed look. It always happened like this.

He slowly turned his back on you, staggering against a tree, using a hand on it for support, he started panting in panic. You saw his back rise and fall just as you sat up on the ground, wrapping your wings around you protectively.

“Jeonghan, don’t go…” you said, sobs starting to coil in your throat.

But he did not look back.

The pulsating feeling gripped you harder this time, and that was enough to make you choke back a sob. Jeonghan grunted too, resuming to walk away disjointedly until he disappeared in the crowd of trees.

You wondered if this would be the last time you saw him. You wondered if the next time he saw you would be when he finally killed you.

There are plenty of monsters in this world, and plenty of mysteries too. You might be a mystery to Jeonghan, but he was not to you. Finally, you wondered if he suspected that the reason why he could not kill you was the same as why he could get enough of you.

You were what smouldered the fire within him. You were the peace to his chaos. The bond he could never break not even in death, his soulmate. 

› author's note: i've done it! i finally write a fic that's under 10k words!!! aaaaaaaa

i've got nothing to say. i just want jeonghan to split me open with his cock in the middle of a forest

anyways,

toodles (✿◠‿◠)

support me on ko-fi?

✧ READ PART TWO! ✧

© RIGHTS RESERVED TO HANNIEWEEN I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[night-triumphantt]

I have some thoughts about the arcane ending w nowhere to go but uh, if ur not here for some critique keep it pushing loll

Now that I’ve had a day to digest I’m actually v disappointed w the way the story gave up on its revolutionary messaging. The focus of season one is the piltover and zaun plot, the oppression of Zaun and its impacts on the characters, it is how vi and powder are orphaned, it’s why viktor is disabled, it is why the undercity struggles, Zauns independence is what silco was fighting for, vander and silcos ideological disagreements are based on it etc etc. the tensions between the two cities is rising and rising and then it just, fizzles out and pivots and makes viktor the main antagonist without any recognition of how he got here. And don’t get me started on how there’s zero consequences for cait who is?? Still an enforcer??

The plot highlights through Vi that the enforcers are an oppressive arm of a system w how she was treated as a CHILD and even as an adult and she betrays her ideals, to do what she thinks is right bc she thinks she has to take out her sister and bc cait asked her to do so as an enforcer. And then in doing so she betrays her ideals so aggressively that she is now the exact thing that hurt her, an enforcer, traumatizing a child, utilizing the gas on the undercity, excusing the consequences. And when she faces Caitlyn, cait obfuscates and says she wouldn’t have missed even tho that’s not *better*. Bc ok let’s say she didn’t miss, she just kills jinx in front of isha? and she just gassed the city w what we know is toxic gas? And then she discards vi bc vi isn’t going along with what she wants. Cait then is never shown reckoning w the biases and cruel things she’s done and said after that. There is ONE conversation w her and Vi and it’s framed as Ambessa is the issue which, she is partially but like, topside enforcers were all behind her and Cait was quick to lean into all her preconceived notions of zaunites. (Speaking of making what’s her name a mole was stupid and imo done just to make it so Cait doesn’t have to have that convo w her?? Idk)

Also, Vi goes on a drinking spree in which we never actually see her reckon w what she did as an enforcer, (it’s mostly framed around Cait) and then she hurts isha and,,, nothing?? No sorry?? Nothing. Vi has no plot that shows us her thoughts, her reckoning w what she did, or anything. In my opinion it’s bc the writers wanted cait/vi to work and if Vi actually had to think about what happened and what she did then they wouldn’t have worked out. Vi w/ no one to protect who has to rebuild her identity and really decide how she ended up where she did, I would have loved to see it. Her and Jinx’s convo where she says u don’t need me to protect u was actually rlly good, them reconnecting as equals & Vi seeing how jinx became a symbol of the undercity, fighting for it together, finding how she lost her way, like, cmon. Jinx not ending her story w yea actually u should die previously suicidal character, (don’t worry, this is a good way to die) and instead doing the hard work of rebuilding, and seeing a future for herself that isn’t painted in tragedy, surrounding herself w ppl who love her and help her grow (while silco loved her he could not help her grow bc of his own unhealed wounds) using her ingenuity to rebuild w ekko, like, ugh. These are very rough thoughts that got kinda, long, but yea in conclusion, while I loved the characters, the refusal to *commit* to the political message they started hurt the show a lot, and I’m rlly sad for what could have been.

I have a lot more thoughts about sevika and Mel as well but I’m mostly just bummed.

[cellophaine]

Chapter X: APPROACH

Masterlist

Pairing: Patrick Zweig x F!Reader, Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan

Warnings: Angst.

Author's Note: I'm not going to apologize for what I've done, but I will apologize for uploading this chapter 10 minutes late.

GIF Source: @/spookyrps

2019. New Rochelle.

There was no music in the elevator, you noticed. You were alone with your thoughts that echoed back and forth in the chamber of your mind. Sleep didn't come easy the night before, even with the help of the prescribed sleeping pills you hardly ever reached for. After all these years, being face-to-face with Art still managed to draw a reaction from you. One that didn't make much sense. You were a different person now, as he was. Things had happened, and you had changed. Knowing that you were in the same building as Art Donaldson, separated by mere floors, shouldn't make you toss and turn in your bed. You were such a fool; you scolded yourself. He probably slept fine next to his gorgeous wife, with their adorable child in the room next to theirs.

Your likeness on the glossy surface of the elevator door appeared well-kempt, but it wasn't a truthful reflection of how you felt on the inside. The little makeup you used did its job, concealing the dark circles and adding colours to your face. Right there along the seam of yourself was the fatigue, worming its way into the slight slouch in your posture, weighing down your body's effort in keeping it upright. Remembering how your mom used to strike at your upper back so you would sit up straight, you straightened up out of an innate reflex.

The elevator door opened to reveal the first floor. You headed for the hallway Jennifer had led you down, barely passing the peripheral of Art as he stood there in the lobby, talking to a man you didn't recognize. You kept your face away from his direction and quickened your pace, hoping he hadn't spotted you yet. You sighed as the almost empty hallway welcomed you in, save for a couple of people ahead of you chattering about the seat placements. But the relief didn't last long. A familiar voice that you'd tried to forget for years called your name. The marble floor echoed the voice's owner's intention of catching up to you, hurried and rushed as if you were to disappear at any moment. You turned around, stopping him in his tracks – only a few steps from where you were standing.

Art was wearing casual attire, a fitted white t-shirt and black pants, yet he still managed to make them look phenomenal. He looked like he was about to head to practice. You remembered it, all those mornings after spending the night together, watching him getting ready for the day.

For a long moment, neither of you talked, only drinking each other in with your sights. Art broke the tension first, seeming to reprimand himself for staring at you.

"You look great."

"You, too."

You reciprocated, albeit a little cold. There was no reason for you to lie and no excuse for the conversation to be longer than it already was.

"It's good to see you."

You sighed and decided to cut to the chase.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for a challenger."

"No, I meant here, right now."

You pointed to the distance between you. His answer lingered on the tip of his tongue, undecided, but eventually rolled off and made itself audible to your ears.

"I … I want to talk to you."

"We have nothing to talk about."

You shook your head. Art took one step closer to you.

"I know that I'm not entitled to your time, but I've missed you."

The latter part ignited the anger in you. How could he say that so easily? You scoffed at his audacity; your own response came with a bite that aimed to hurt.

"I don't think your wife will appreciate what you've just said."

To your surprise, at the mention of the sore subject for the two of you, his resolve remained unchanged.

"Tashi has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with us."

"Not when she resents me."

For the first time in your tense exchange, you relented. You searched for Art's eyes, looking for a hint of betrayal, of deception, but instead, you found defeat. Your resolve softened, and you felt the familiar pull of a memory from when you first met at the Stanford cafeteria thirteen years ago. Two lonely people meeting one another, and now, finding themselves in each other's paths again.

But it should end here.

"Your marriage problem isn't my responsibility to solve."

"I know, and I'm not asking you to. I just … want to talk about us."

You shrugged, keeping your tone nonchalant.

"There's no more us."

At that moment, a mix of voices from a group of people came out from the conference room area, chatting among themselves. The two of you involuntarily took a small step away from each other as if the guilt by distance association was enough to make anyone suspicious. Art's desperation was clear as day.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

You couldn't say no, so you settled for the next best thing.

"I have to go."

"Can you at least think about it?"

Art closed the distance, reaching for your hand. You were pliant to his gentle touches, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions that lapped at your conscience. A piece of paper was placed in your palm.

"Text me. I'll figure out something for us."

You said nothing to his promise and walked away; your skin felt hot from his touch. You headed straight for the conference room, and your hand slipped the note Art gave you into the pocket of your blazer.

Art's number had not been a resident in your contact for a very long time. You stared at the ten digits later that night in your room, and your fingers itched to do something about it. Burn it or throw it away; it didn't matter. You knew you should do either of those things, but in the end, you couldn't.

At about 12:40 AM, Art sent you the address to a local restaurant that was about a ten-minute drive from the hotel.

Tomorrow night. 7:30.

As the day drew closer to night, the knot in your stomach tightened even more in anticipation. You sat in the car in the restaurant's parking lot for a while despite being there early. When it was 7:38, knowing you couldn't delay it any longer, you straightened your simple outfit and walked into the restaurant. You were greeted by a bored hostess on a slow night; the place was almost empty, save for two other occupied spots. Art's table was in a more secluded area, where privacy was afforded by the enclosed booth with fake vines cascading down to the back of the leather seats in intricate weaves and big leaves. Art stood up when he saw you. The familiarity of the scene stirred a long-forgotten memory that happened seven years ago.

2012. Columbus, Ohio.

Your first book tour. After the reading and signing event, you were free to do whatever you wished, and that meant roaming the aisle of a grocery store, browsing for juice, painkillers and some chocolate. Your eyes pored over the nutritional value, or lack thereof, of a pack of chips when you felt a pair of eyes on you. That, on top of the fact that they wandered into your peripheral and hadn't made the slightest move. You did a double-take when you saw Patrick Zweig standing within arm's reach with a self-assuring smirk on his face.

"Hey. It's you."

"It's… you."

You echoed his recognition, but on the contrary to his amusement, yours was the faintest touch of dread.

"It's been a while."

"It has been. How are you?"

You turned to face him fully. He scratched the back of his head with his free hand.

"I'm … great! You?"

"I'm good. What are you doing here?"

Patrick looked around the aisle as if the answer was obvious.

"In this grocery store? I'm getting groceries."

You looked at the basket in his other hand. It was filled with chips, soda and some bananas.

"Right. No, I mean, in the city."

"I'm here for a challenger. Well, was."

"What happened?"

"I got eliminated."

He dipped his head and averted his eyes from yours, seeming embarrassed by the admission of the fact.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"That's alright. At least I'm $300 richer now."

Patrick gestured to you.

"What about you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm on a book tour."

"Ahh. Sounds like you're doing very well for yourself."

"Thank you."

You felt sheepish at his compliment. The two of you fell into a lull of silence, your eyes intertwined in a languid game of cat and mouse. Patrick looked like he wanted to tell you something, but you had nothing to say to him. So you broke the silence first.

"Well, uh, it's very nice to see you again. I should go."

He stepped forward, trying to capture your attention in the way his body language created an invisible enclosure that temporarily held you in.

"Wait. Can we go somewhere else to talk? I think we have a lot to talk about."

"Do we?"

You levelled him with an incredulous look. But he met you with earnestness.

"Yes, we do."

"I don't think so."

"They got married last month."

It took you a brief moment to understand. Still, his decision to break the news to you in an abrupt manner took you by surprise. Your heart seemed to drop into a bottomless pit, and you could feel the frantic beat of it thrumming along every inch of your skin. You quickly fixed your frown into a forced smile.

"Well, that's great to hear. I'm happy for them."

Patrick gave you a look that said your effort was all in vain.

"You don't mean that."

"We all have to move on at some point. Unlike you."

The venomous bite of your words didn't go unnoticed by the dark-haired man before you.

"If you knew what I know, then you would be just like me."

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

"Please, we're not the same. Stop being cryptic and just say what you want to say."

He tilted his head at you, an idea dancing in his blue eyes.

"How about this? I'll tell you over dinner. We can use some catching up."

Your lack of a response made him feel like he needed to apply a little pressure.

"You'll want to know what happened. Trust me."

You rolled your eyes. You couldn't believe you were seriously considering his offer. You exhaled deeply and decided then that spending some time with your ex's wife's ex-boyfriend was better than a night alone in the hotel room.

"Where and what time?"

His smirk deepened, and you wanted to wipe that off of his face.

"There's an Applebee's nearby. How about we meet up there … around 7?"

"Fine."

That was how you ended up here, sitting across from Patrick Zweig, sipping on a Rum and Coke while waiting for your food. Whatever he wanted to say to you might pair better with the taste of alcohol. You hadn't even bothered to change out of the sundress you wore just hours before when you ran into him.

"How's it going for you career-wise?"

Patrick took a sip of his drink to delay answering your question.

"Oh, you know, it's … good. I'm making a name for myself."

You recalled his grocery haul, the pair of shorts that resembled pyjama pants, and the state of his car when you arrived around the same time as he did. The interior was messy, with rolled-up socks and clothes draping all over the back seat, trash and parking tickets in the front. Doubt swelled in your head.

"Are you? I have a feeling that you wouldn't be sleeping in your car if that was the case."

A playful smile appeared on his lips.

"Ouch. The hostel I was staying in had bed bugs, so my car was the next best option. I'll go to a motel after this, though."

You hummed, thinking back about what Art had told you about Patrick.

"Isn't your family rich?"

"They are. Not me."

His long middle finger traced the rim of his drink in a pensive mood.

"Why don't you ask them for help?"

"I don't want to. Let's just say we always fail to come to an agreement when it comes to the choices that I've made."

Your acknowledgement came in the form of slow nods of your head. You understood him for not wanting to depend on your family for anything. It would only give them one more reason to call you a disappointment for daring to seek their help.

The waiter brought out your food, and your conversation was pulled into a lull of quietude as you ate your food. You dabbed the corner of your mouth for a drop of the creamy pasta sauce, while Patrick munched on three pieces of fries. You picked up what was left off moments ago.

"You're still privileged in a way, you know? You could give up and crawl back to your family's mansion. I'm sure they'll welcome you back with open arms."

"I could. But there's no fun in that. Besides, I prefer being a disappointment anyway."

You shared a small chuckle. Under the low light of the restaurant, you allowed yourself to take him in fully. Curly dark hair, contrasted with the soft edges of his face. The light stubble along his jaw added a rugged charm to his laid-back attitude. You couldn't help but compare him to Art. Patrick's confidence was loud, veering on cocky. Art's was quiet, but full of surprises when the moment called for it.

The heady allure of Patrick and his association with Art had started to draw up dangerous ideas in your mind. You inhaled sharply, your fingers rubbed your temple in small circles in an attempt to bring yourself back to the conversation. The one you needed to have the moment you settled in the booth of Applebee's.

"So … they got married."

"Yeah. Pretty recently. Didn't even get an invite."

A sardonic huff of air escaped your lips.

"Join the club. I found out about their engagement last year, but I didn't think …"

You trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought. But the silence did it for you. Patrick nodded.

"Art moves fast. He knows what he wants and he goes for it. And no one can tell him otherwise."

"I know it all too well."

"Little fucker."

You took a sip of your second Rum and Coke. A deep sigh escaped your lungs.

"I get it, though. She's beautiful, she's passionate about tennis. She can help him in ways that I can't."

At that, Patrick stayed quiet. His eyes took you in, all of your honesty and insecurity displayed in a glass case in front of him. You felt the briefest brush of vulnerability on your spine and shivered, but you ignored it. Despite the lack of dialogue and contact during the short period Patrick visited Stanford, your shared history ran deeper than the surface-level interaction that you had.

Patrick set down his burger and wiped his mouth with the napkin. His fingers created a rhythm on the wooden table, but then, the dull melody was cut short.

"Art is devoted to Tashi, but she's not."

"What do you mean?"

You prompted him to continue.

"Tennis is not everything to Art. But to Tashi, it is."

"I figured as much. It's not new news."

An inkling that Patrick was deliberately withholding information from you came to your mind. You sat up straighter, setting your fork down.

"Spill, Patrick."

He relented after a moment.

"I was in Atlanta last year. A couple of months after they got engaged."

You looked at him, unsure where he was going.

"Both of them were there for the Atlanta Open. I … saw Tashi in the hotel they were staying that night, and we … slept together."

You searched for a hint of deception in his face, only to come up with none. His face remained unreadable, betraying nothing, leaving only sincerity despite the irony of the situation. Your mouth opened, and closed, as you were at a loss for words. Patrick shrugged as if what he had just confessed was no more than a harmless, made-up tale.

"She wants an obedient little dog to carry out her fantasy of being a great tennis player. And Art is more than eager to do that for her."

He continued, seeming oblivious to your lack of response.

"She didn't seem happy, being engaged to Art. And if I can be honest, I think Tashi only likes Art because he's loyal to her to a fault, and he'll do anything to please her. I don't think she even loves him."

That somehow took you out of your bewildered state.

"Are you even listening to yourself? He was your best friend."

"My best friend? Who sabotaged my relationship, stole my girlfriend and basically abandoned me for her?"

Your rebuttal shot forward like a bullet out of its chamber.

"So you slept with her? To revenge? Even though she was engaged to Art? You're no better than him, Patrick. Two wrongs don't make one right."

You shook your head and couldn't help the thought that rolled off of your lips.

"You tennis players are such fucking assholes."

Patrick only nodded in agreement and didn't say anything. You sighed, asking the question you'd wanted to know.

"Does Art know?"

"I don't think so."

You shook your head, feeling a wave of fatigue taking over.

"I've had enough of you people. Just leave me alone."

He held his hands up in defence.

"All I'm saying is, you still have a chance if you want it."

You gave a rueful smile.

"Am I an idiot for wanting to believe you?"

He took his time, roaming over you with a pensive gaze. You felt exposed under it, after the confession you had never dared to verbalize out loud. Perhaps it was both of your positions in this game of tennis, the back and forth that inexplicably wove the four of you together in these intricate patterns, so tightly entangled with one another, that made you feel like Patrick would recognize. There was only understanding, and no judgement. The irony was that. Tennis was a simple game when you stripped it down to its barest principles, but the interconnection between everyone was anything but simple.

"No, you're not. You must really love him."

You looked down at your empty glass, unable to meet his eyes.

"I hate that I still feel this way about him."

Even though both of you were hurt by Art, you couldn't help the question that came afterward.

"Do you miss him?"

Patrick was his best friend, and Art was his. They had a life-long history between them that you weren't privy to. Your pain and his were different in kind, but you could understand all the same.

"I do."

The rest of the meal was cast in a sombre hue, with both of you mulling over a mutual understanding and the similarities you shared. Neither of you was the winner, but that didn't matter now.

/

"You didn't have to pay for my meal as well."

He said as you walked together to his car. You came here by taxi, and Patrick had offered to give you a ride back to your hotel. You waved a dismissive hand.

"Don't mention it. Giving me a ride back is enough."

His car was only within a few strides away when Patrick stepped in front of you.

"I can do more than that, you know? To pay you back."

"How?"

"I, we, can make Art jealous."

You halted and repeated your previous question. He arched an eyebrow, his expression said nothing but trouble, and when understanding dawned on you, you levelled him with a glare.

"No. Sleeping with you is the last thing I need right now."

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

You scoffed at the obvious bait, sidestepping him to reach the passenger side of his car.

"We can make out, take a photo, and I'll send it to Art. Make him realize what he's missing."

"If you want to kiss me, just say that. No need to make up excuses."

You rolled your eyes at him and realized just how much closer Patrick was to you than moments ago. He dipped his head to look at you, his gaze traced the shape of your lips and drifted to your eyes. When he spoke, his voice softened, low and careful, and your curiosity responded, pushing back the guard your inhibition had put up.

"I really do."

He leaned in, and you rose on your tiptoes to meet his lips. The touch was gentle and slow at first as you tested the pieces you needed to fit together. Then Patrick took over, and you followed his lead. His presence was all-encompassing, sweeping over your senses. Your lips lapsed and locked together in a feverish rhythm, a playful and exhilarating chase of lust. His tongue prodded at your entrance, and you opened yourself up to him. Your tongues intertwined, determined to draw whatever you needed from the other.

You didn't know when Patrick had pushed you up against his car, but you were grateful as your strength had become dependent on him. The cold metal of his car and the solid yet soft feel of his body created delicious friction on your skin. You grasped at each other's body, groping and pulling, your lips barely parted for a much-needed gulp of air. He grunted when you bit his lower lip, and that earned you a harsh, handful squeeze of your ass under your sundress. Your body called to his, and yet, a small part of your mind beckoned you to resurface, to come to the admission of the truth that you had been running away from.

Your ardour exchange slowed as you parted to breathe. Still, you met each other in the middle for brief touches, and you eventually pulled away. Patrick's thumb rubbed at the curve of your bottom lip as if he were admiring his work of art, which was swollen and glistening with his mark. His whisper was warm on your lips.

"Did you think about him?"

You nodded and swallowed.

"Did you think about her?"

It took him a moment, but he nodded. A woeful smile graced your swollen lips.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Revenge is always a good idea."

You touched his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes.

"You don't win by sleeping with me. I don't want to be a perpetual pawn in the game that all three of you play. Besides, I don't think Art cares anymore."

Patrick shook his head.

"About what happened all those years ago? Maybe not. But I think he still cares about you."

"It doesn't make a difference though, does it?"

"I guess not."

You playfully and gently pushed him back, making Patrick set you down on your own shaky legs. Your front brushed against his arousal, and you bit your bottom lip in amusement.

"Come on, you still have to drive me back."

Before getting out of his car in front of your hotel, you reached for his hand.

"It was nice to see you again, Patrick. I really mean it."

His hand came up to meet yours, giving it a soft squeeze.

"You, too. I'm glad that we got to catch up."

You left his car without saying another word. Your heart was heavy, but at ease. Moving on and forward was your only option, but it felt much easier now. Still, you wished you would never have to see any of them ever again.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

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[1425fivefive]

↻FLIP FLOP for Learned Behavior

Monaco afterparty toilets scene - Oscar's POV

would love to see a little sneak into what was going on in Oscar's head, the whole Charles thing, the sex, and especially after the kiss, poor guy has been dealing with Lando's mixed signals for months

Beloved anon, this took me ages. Have 2k of the Monaco toilets scene in Learned Behavior from Oscar's perspective:

Watching Lando from across the room—glaring at Charles, sucking angrily on the straw of his drink—Oscar can’t help but wonder about it. What Lando and Charles were to each other.

When Oscar had asked about it back in Miami, Lando had gotten all weird and cagey, done this awkward, forced laugh and insisted that Charles was straight. But Oscar’s seen the way Charles looks at men. Noticed the way Charles looks at Lando, sometimes, when Lando’s not looking. Something hungry in his gaze.

A part of Oscar doesn’t really want to know all the details. The thing with Lando feels delicate, breakable. Like if Oscar pushes too hard it might shatter, Lando looking at him with watery, hurt eyes, even as he’s telling Oscar to fuck off.

And, like—things are fine the way they are, probably. Good, even. Oscar reckons he’d put up with a lot of shit if it meant he could still have Lando fuck him every weekend, call him a good boy, get off on telling him not to come. Trace a thumb over his lip, pull his hair, tell him how pretty he looks getting fucked.

Oscar surreptitiously tries to adjust his shorts. It’s just—he hasn’t come since Imola and he’s fucking aching for it, keeps dreaming about how good Lando feels inside of him and waking up hard, dripping onto the sheets. Sometimes he thinks about taking a picture of himself, hard and swollen and wet, sending it to Lando, begging Lando to let him come, secretly hoping Lando will tell him no.

Watching Lando staring at Charles, still, Oscar wants to beg Lando to pay attention to him. To forget about whatever bullshit happened with Charles and drag Oscar back to his flat, take him apart until he’s crying, finally let him come. 

But Lando can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Charles and before Oscar can really think he’s walking across the room, sliding into the pocket of space beside Lando.

Lando glances over at him and Oscar sees the way his cheeks flush, eyes going dark. It’s gratifying, at least, to know Lando’s attracted to him. But Lando goes right back to staring at Charles and it stings, being dismissed so easily.

Oscar tries to keep the annoyance out of his voice as he asks, “What’s got you all pissed off?”

“Nothing,” Lando says, still openly glaring at Charles.

Oscar glances over at where Charles is standing in a crowd of people, eyes bright, laughing and smiling. “You could at least pretend to be happy for him,” Oscar says.

Lando’s brows unfurrow slightly and he finally manages to tear his gaze away from Charles, looking over at Oscar.

It feels like a win, however small. “There you go,” Oscar says softly.

He thinks, for a moment, about letting it go. Asking Lando to take him home. 

But Lando’s been ignoring him for most of the night, and Oscar can’t resist saying, “I’ve never understood why you two don’t get along. Charles is nice—”

Lando snorts. “Charles isn’t nice. He’s polite, yeah, but he’s not nice.”

Oscar wants to say, Of course you’d think that, you two have some weird, fucked-up psychosexual thing going on that’s honestly getting extremely fucking annoying.

Instead, Oscar tries to make a joke of it. “Dunno, mate, the whole adoption thing—”

“Yeah, we’ve heard,” Lando snaps, letting out a mean little laugh. “No one’s been able to shut up about it, honestly.”

Oscar can see the flash of regret on Lando’s face the moment he’s said it, the look Lando always gets when he knows he’s crossed a line. Normally Oscar forgives him. Knows Lando says shit without thinking and doesn’t mean most of it. Especially when it comes to Charles.

But Oscar’s sympathy can only go so far when Lando won’t fucking talk about any of it. Won’t even admit the basic fact that something happened between them.

“Right, well.” Oscar knocks back the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass on the bar. “I’m gonna leave you to it.”

Lando looks like he’s about to say something, but Oscar’s not really in the mood to hear it. He turns to go, accidentally catching Charles’s eye in the process.

“Oscar!” Charles calls, waving him over.

Oscar knows how it’ll look to Lando if he goes over to Charles, but he sort of wants to make Lando jealous. After Lando’s been, frankly, a bit of a cunt all weekend, even after Oscar finished P2. Lando hasn’t even congratulated him on the podium.

So Oscar goes over to Charles, lets Charles pull him into a hug, lets Charles crow about their father-son 1-2, lets Charles grip the back of his neck and smile at him. It’s nice to have someone care, but Oscar can’t help but wish it was Lando touching him like this, smiling at him and reliving the race.

But before Oscar can really say anything, he hears Lando’s voice saying, “Mind if I borrow Osc here for a sec?”

—

Lando drags him to a toilet and he’s on him as soon as the door’s locked, backing Oscar up against the sink, fingers digging into Oscar’s hips, mouth sucking at Oscar’s neck.

“Fuck, Lando,” Oscar moans, too loud by half for a bathroom in the middle of a club. But he can’t bring himself to care, too relieved at the feeling of Lando’s hands on him, Lando’s thigh slotting between his legs.

Oscar grinds down on the hard muscle of Lando’s thigh, whimpering at how good it feels to finally get some friction on his cock. 

It feels like he loses any capacity for rational thought the moment Lando gets his hands on him, the second Lando starts telling him how good he’s being, gripping his arse with his massive fucking hands. 

“You sound so fucking good,” Lando says, breath warm against Oscar’s neck, sending little sparks down Oscar’s spine. “So fucking hot, Osc.”

Oscar can’t help but whine, grinding harder against Lando.

“Fuck,” Lando groans. He slides a hand down, gripping Oscar through his trousers.

Oscar can feel his briefs get wetter, cock straining against the zipper, the friction unbearable as Lando rubs at Oscar through the fabric.

It’s insane how Lando’s hand practically covers him completely. How Lando barely has to move when he strokes Oscar’s cock, his hand so big it makes Oscar’s cock look tiny, only the flushed head peeking out of Lando’s fist. Lando calls it cute, sometimes, tells Oscar what a pretty cock he has, small and perfect. It makes Oscar feel insane, makes him want to come all over Lando’s fingers and lick it off, beg Lando to fuck him, ask Lando to never let him come again.

“Have you come since Imola?” Lando asks.

Oscar shakes his head, whimpers. “No, I—you didn’t say I could.”

“Jesus, Osc.” Lando tips his head against Oscar’s shoulder, still rubbing Oscar through his trousers.

At this rate, Oscar’s scared of coming in his clothes. But he wants it so bad, feels like he’ll lose his mind if Lando doesn’t get him off. He’d hold it, if Lando said he had to, but he feels tears pricking his eyes at the thought of not being allowed to come tonight. He just—he needs it so fucking bad. Needs Lando to make him come, needs Lando to look at him like Oscar’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, needs Lando murmuring praise while Oscar spills over his fingers.

Lando seems to be able to tell how desperate Oscar is, because he says, “You need to come, yeah?”

Oscar nods, frantic.

Lando’s already undoing the button of his trousers, tugging them and his briefs down his thighs, freeing his cock to the cold air of the toilet.

But Lando’s palm is warm when he wraps it around Oscar and Oscar can’t help the moan that escapes him, eyes sliding shut in relief, head tipping back against the mirror.

Fingers slide through Oscar’s hair, pulling, hard, and Oscar whines, eyes flying open.

“You have to look at me,” Lando breathes, stroking Oscar firm and fast. “You have to look at me if you want me to let you come.”

Oscar forces himself to look at Lando, forces himself to watch as Lando drags him closer and closer to the edge. Lando’s spouting nonsense and Oscar can’t help himself, whining and crying out as Lando rubs a thumb over the head of his cock, brings his hand up to Oscar’s mouth and tells Oscar to spit, before wrapping his hand around Oscar again, everything slick and hot and wet.

Oscar feels like he’s seconds away from coming, his abs aching from the efforts of holding back, thighs trembling.

But Lando looks like he’s enjoying it, like he likes seeing Oscar strung out and desperate. When Oscar meets Lando’s eyes, Lando’s pupils are so wide his eyes are practically black.

Oscar realizes, then, that he might never be able to walk away from this. That he’d let Lando behave as badly as he wants, treat him like shit, never talk about anything, as long as it meant Lando would touch him like this. Firm and confident and in control, looking like it’s a fucking privilege to get to see Oscar flushed and trembling with need.

It’s never—Oscar’s always felt fucking weird about how much it turns him on to be ordered around a bit, told not to come, fucked hard and rough. With his ex he just—shoved it to the back of his mind. Watched porn and otherwise tried to ignore it. There’d been a few blokes throughout the years, but—they all acted like they were doing him a favor. It wasn’t like Lando, who stares at him in awe, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing when Oscar begs for it, whimpers and whines and lets Lando tell him not to come.

Lando’s still stroking him steadily, asking Oscar all sorts of questions—whether he likes it, whether Charles would treat him like this. Oscar barely knows what he’s saying, just knows that he’ll do whatever Lando wants, say yes to anything, as long as Lando will make him come at the end of it.

“What’re you good for?” Lando breathes, eyes flitting over Oscar’s face, hand steadily stroking over Oscar’s cock.

Oscar takes a shaky breath, tries to figure out what the right answer is. He can’t work it out and, ultimately, he simply tells the truth. “Being used.”

Lando’s brain seems to short-circuit at that. He bites at Oscar’s shoulder, grip tightening around Oscar’s cock.

Lando’s hands are pulling at Oscar’s hair and his cock and he feels caught in Lando’s firm grip, laid out on display for him, here to be used however Lando wants. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does.

“By who, Osc?” Lando murmurs, staring at Oscar’s mouth like he’s thinking about kissing him.

Please, Oscar thinks. Please fucking kiss me, I’ll do anything you want.

And Oscar’s already telling the truth, so he says, “You.”

“Come,” Lando breathes, fingers pulling at Oscar’s hair, eyes locked on Oscar’s. “Come, baby, please.”

Oscar’s shaking as he comes, jerking forward as his cock spills messily over Lando’s fingers. It almost hurts, coming after being denied for so long but Oscar likes the edge of pain, likes how it feels almost sharp. Like he can’t do anything other than feel.

Oscar lets out a shocked gasp when Lando darts forward, pressing his lips to Oscar’s.

Lando’s lips feel incredible, warm and soft, swallowing Oscar’s desperate sounds. Oscar wants to fist his hands into Lando’s hair, pull him closer, keep him there. But his orgasm’s still rolling through him and he barely feels in control of his limbs, too overwhelmed by pleasure and the shock of being kissed to do anything other than moan into Lando’s mouth.

But Lando doesn’t seem to care, whining and licking into Oscar’s mouth, a shock of heat as their tongues slide against each other. 

Oscar doesn’t want to stop coming, wants to keep coming in Lando’s tight grip, whimpering against Lando’s mouth, surrounded by Lando’s heat and slightly-sweet scent.

But soon enough he’s slumping back against the mirror and Lando’s blinking at him with a dazed expression.

Oscar’s about to ask Lando to kiss him again when Lando’s stumbling back, grabbing paper towels and wiping Oscar’s come off his hand, tossing them in the bin and banging his way out the door.

Oscar lets out a shocked laugh, staring blankly at the closed door. “Cool,” Oscar mutters, grabbing a paper towel to clean himself up. “Really fucking cool.”

It’s classic fucking Lando. Acting like Oscar’s the hottest thing in the world, like Lando will die if he doesn’t get to fuck him, then going back to being weird and distant the moment it’s ended.

This would all be a whole lot fucking easier, Oscar thinks, if he could stop convincing himself that Lando actually feels something.

[parkersbliss]

Met Him Last Night | P. Graves

pairing: phillip graves x gender neutral reader 

synopsis: you make a decision to trust him, just this once. don't be surprised when it backfires.

warnings: graves, mentions of soap's death, possible timeline inaccuracies, one sexual reference

a/n: based on the song "met him last night" by demi lovato ft. ariana grande :) down bad for this man pls he's my american babe

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for call of duty!

—

“Red or white?” 

“Neither.” 

“White it is,” They tell the server, pointing to one of the names.

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. What were you doing this late at night here? With him? 

Graves is sitting in front of you, smirking at your sour expression and you want to rip it off his face. 

The server returns with the bottle and two glasses, pouring it for both of you. Graves thanks him and then gestures for you to take a sip. He grabs his glass, raises it to you in a toast, and waits. You hesitate for a second before grabbing the other glass. After all, what’s there to lose? You’ve already sat here with him, might as well make it more bearable. 

“That’s more like it,” He chuckles as you take a huge gulp. It has a hint of white peaches, delicate, but rich and intense as you finish it. 

You set the glass back down. “You’re an instigator.” 

“So they tell me,” He replies with ease. “But isn’t this so much more fun than drowning in your own sorrows?” 

You’ll give him that, at least. You weren’t sure why you thought this was a good idea. You don’t really believe in Graves and what he stood for. Or lack of what he stood for. 

Yet, here you were, sat in this restaurant with him, indulging him when you shouldn’t. A meeting with the devil. 

“You know you don’t have to like so sour to be here, darlin’. It was your choice to contact me.” 

“I’m starting to regret that,” You mumble, knowing he was right. In a moment of weakness, you begged for a contact with him and did some dingy shit, but you got it. You should at least give him a chance after all that hard work. 

“I’m not good enough company?” 

“I’ve had better.” 

He fakes a frown. “Hurtful, really. But I know you’re mourning, so I’ll let it slide.” 

You roll your eyes. “How generous of you.” 

“You know, they do say I am quite a giver.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. Giver? He must have spoken wrong, he was a digger. Grave digger or gold digger. They both fit him. “Well, that’s some bullshit.” 

Graves laughs, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “No, I’m generous to the right people,” He corrects you. “My shadows get bonuses every year for Christmas.” He extends a hand to gesture at the table. “I’m paying for our lovely dinner tonight. Think that must constitute for something.” 

“Thank you,” You said, honestly. He was right after all, you called him here and all you’ve done is hurl insults at him. “I’m sorry.” 

He quirks a brow. “For what?” 

“I could be better company.”

“Ah, nonsense!” He waves a hand, dismissing your apology. His voice lowers, “Anyone in your position would be the same way, snippy and all.” 

“I’m not snippy!” You’re quick to defend. Though the look on his face says you might have just proven his point. “A little snippy,” You admit. 

“And that’s okay. It’s never easy losing a teammate to something so… preventable.” 

You clench your jaw at that mention and he takes quick notice. “But enough of that. Let’s talk about you.” 

“What about me?” 

“Anything you like, darlin’.” 

“I have a cat,” You blurt out. 

“Do ya?”

You nod. “Yeah, my friend takes care of him while I’m away. He’s uh… a tuxedo.” You pull out your phone to show him a picture. “He’s a little shit.” 

Graves leans in to look at the photo of your cat. “He’s cute, can’t blame him.” 

You snort. “I can’t have a Christmas tree 'cause he scales that thing to the top.” 

“So he likes a little fun.” Graves shrugs. “Don’t see nothin’ wrong with that.” 

You shake your head, a little amused. Of course, he would say that. “It’s more than that.” 

“Then tell me.” 

The conversion becomes easy after that. After you stopped insulting him, at least. Anyone who knew you knew the easiest way to get you to open up was through your cat. Maybe the wine is getting to your head, but he’s not so bad. Phillip makes you laugh, you make him laugh. You banter, you rant, you cry, and he understands. He promises you exactly what you’re looking for.

“We don’t play by the rules, darlin’. Believe me, I can get you exactly what you want.” 

You’re gone after that, having split the bottle of wine between the two of you. Any rational thoughts of what’s wrong and right have left your mind. The devil has promised you something, and he always keeps them. And perhaps you’ve promised something you shouldn’t have. 

He pays the bill, he walks you home with a hand on your back, and he stands at your doorway saying ‘goodnight.’ 

But you don’t want to be alone. 

He spends the night. Once. Twice. Three times. Too many to keep track of, but you didn’t care to anymore. Not when you sang Phillip’s praises when he was between your legs, or when he’s bringing you flowers when he sees you, or holding you late at night as you continue to mourn and find comfort in someone like him. 

There’s something warm and fuzzy about him. Something that makes your head spin and your legs weak. You don’t think when he’s around (maybe that’s the problem), but you don’t need to. 

“Never have to worry your pretty head ‘bout a thing darlin’.” Phillip would say, and so you did. 

You let him take care of your plan, your revenge, his promise. You let him take of you, healing some part of you that hadn’t after you lost Johnny. 

At least that’s what you thought, but maybe you got lost along the way, turned around, and headed straight into his arms. 

He made it so easy after all, didn’t he? To believe in him, that is. And you did a fucked up thing, really. A mistake on your part. Phillip had loyalty to no one but his shadows. For you to even think he’d extend that to you? Well, you had to be stupid or in love. 

And you weren’t stupid. 

You storm around your apartment, phone gripped tightly in your hand. You were fucked.

“Are you kidding me?” You practically scream. 

“Darlin’, please, it’s not personal.” 

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You used me.” You’re practically fuming at him. He was smart, finding you when you were vulnerable, and letting you reach out first. He prayed on your innocence, on your hurt. You damn sure weren’t letting that happen again. 

“Used is such a strong term,” Graves chides. “And really, I didn’t. You’re overreacting sweetness. This has nothing to do with you.” 

“It has everything!” 

You can hear his eye roll through the phone. “Would you just trust me on this?”

“Are you being serious? No! I’m never making that mistake again.” Graves didn’t wear disguises. You should’ve seen right through him. You knew better now. How could you ever have thought to believe him? Someone like him, with only a history of deceiving. You were there when he turned his back on you in Las Almas, at Shepard in the courtroom, and yet you believed him. He was your vice, your flaw, your reason. 

He was horrible in so many ways, but you came back every time. You craved him holding you at night, wiping the tears away. The way he’d kiss you when you would meet up, his hands roaming your body— you’d never felt this way.

“(Y/N),” He drawls and you want to fall for it, but you don’t. 

“No, I’m done. I’m leaving.” 

“Don’t be like this.” 

“You gave me a pretty damn good reason to leave. This is on you.” 

He chuckles through the phone. “If you’d let me explain, you’d see I’m not such a bad guy.” 

You shake your head. “No,” You said firmly. “No, you betrayed me and I betrayed my team.”

What were they going to think of you after this? You weren’t like this, so reckless, engaging with the enemy. No one expected this from you, and you certainly didn’t expect it from yourself, to fall so hard. But you weren’t going down without a fight. 

You bounce back like you always did. “This is the last call we’re having, Graves.” You practically spit his name out and he’s hurt when you hang up. You were always so stubborn with him. So quick to dismiss his reasons, like you’re looking for a reason to hate him. Whatever, you’ll come back. You’ll see he did this for you. He was not a bad guy, he was carrying out the plan you wanted. It just happened he had to screw over a couple people for it. He just didn’t expect you to get so worked up over it. 

You dial the next person, heart thundering. 

“(Y/N)?” A voice calls out, familiar to you and you hope they won’t hate you. That was the last thing you needed right now. You lost Johnny, and now you lost Graves (it’s a good thing you tell yourself, but your heart says otherwise), you couldn’t lose your team too. 

“Kyle, I,” You swallow, tears clouding your vision when you realize what you’ve done. “I fucked up.” 

– END –

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[biblical-chronicles]

A quiet shift

_______________________________________________________

where Liam starts distancing himself as his mind has led him to believe that the reader feels summat for Noel, the reader helps him to understand that he's actually the one for her.

_______________________________________________________

You’d always been caught in the middle of the Gallagher brothers. Not in a dramatic way—most of the time, anyway—but in that strange, chaotic balance they both seemed to keep. You were mates with both, though in different ways.

For months now, you’d been growing closer to Liam. There was an ease about him that felt like home—well, when he wasn’t winding you up for fun. He had this knack for making you laugh when you needed it most, for knowing exactly what to say to brighten your day. Somewhere along the way, the laughs and the banter shifted into something more, though neither of you dared to admit it.

But then, something changed.

At first, it was little things. Liam didn’t call you "love" as often, nor did he call you at random times of the day just to make you laugh. Then, when you’d pop over to see him, he’d make an excuse to stay busy, the warmth of your conversations cooling into something awkward and distant. The banter, the light-hearted insults, and that signature Liam energy—it all seemed to drain away. You’d catch him watching you sometimes, but when you’d look his way, he’d turn away like nothing happened.

You’d tried to brush it off, thinking maybe he was just having an off week. But weeks turned into over a month, and the pit in your stomach only grew heavier. It wasn’t just that you missed him; it was the way he’d gone cold without explanation. You started overthinking every interaction. Did you say something wrong? Was he annoyed at you for some reason?

One afternoon, after a particularly awkward encounter where Liam barely acknowledged you, you found yourself pacing in Noel’s kitchen while he leaned lazily against the counter, sipping on a brew.

“What’s up with you then?” Noel asked, raising a brow. “You’re wearin’ a hole in me floor, stomping about like that.”

You stopped, crossing your arms. “It’s Liam. He’s been acting... weird. Like, properly weird.”

Noel smirked, already amused. “Weird how? He finally grown a brain?”

You shot him a look, but he just shrugged.

“He’s been avoiding me,” you admitted, biting your lip. “Won’t talk like he used to. Barely even looks at me and I don’t know what I’ve done.”

Noel took another sip of tea, clearly holding back a laugh. “You? Nah, you ain’t done owt. He’s probably just bein’ his usual daft self.”

“That’s not helpful, Noel.”

“Look,” Noel said, setting down his mug, “Liam’s stupid. Like, properly thick, always has been, always will be. He probably thinks you and me have summat goin’ on.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “Me and you? That’s ridiculous, he surely doesn't”

“Yeah, I know that,” Noel said, chuckling. “But him? He sees you hangin’ round here, havin’ a laugh with me, and his brain turns to mush. He gets all shy when he’s actually feelin’ summat for someone, y’know.”

Your cheeks flushed. “He—he feels something for me you think?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Noel muttered, rubbing his temples. “It’s so obvious it hurts. He’s just too much of a muppet to say owt.”

The pieces started falling into place, and a mix of relief and frustration flooded through you, although you were still doubtful of Noel's theory. After all reading Liam wasn't the easiest of tasks.

“Well,” you said, taking a deep breath, “I’m gonna have to talk to him either way, aren’t I?”

Noel raised a brow. “Good luck with that. R’kid’s as stubborn as a mule. But, hey, might be worth it, just don’t tell him I helped, yeah? Can’t have him thinkin’ I’m nice or owt.”

You laughed despite yourself, feeling a slight spark of hope for the first time in weeks.

The next evening, you found yourself standing outside Liam’s bedroom door, nerves rattling your chest. You’d rehearsed what to say a hundred times on the way over, but now, staring at the scuffed wood of the door, every word had fled your mind.

Still, you couldn’t back out now—not after everything. Summoning your courage, you raised your hand and knocked. A shuffling noise came from inside, and after a moment, the door creaked open.

Liam stood there, dressed in a plain T-shirt and jeans, his hair slightly disheveled. He didn’t flash that cheeky grin you’d come to expect, nor did he give his usual “Alright, love?” Instead, he just nodded slightly and stepped aside to let you in, his silence hitting you harder than any insult could.

You walked in, your eyes scanning the familiar room. The bed was unmade, a few discarded records lay scattered on the floor, and a small pile of clothes lay in the corner. Usually, the space felt warm but now, it felt muted, the weight of Liam's distance pressing down on you.

He stayed by the door, arms crossed as he leaned back against the frame, avoiding your gaze. The air between you was tense, heavy with unspoken words.

You took a deep breath, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Alright, spill it,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nowt’s goin’ on,” he mumbled, not moving from his spot.

“Don’t give me that,” you snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, Liam. You barely talk to me, you don’t even joke around anymore. It’s like I don’t even know you right now.”

He shifted uncomfortably, still not meeting your eyes. “You’re makin’ a big deal out of nothin’, love.”

“Nothin’?” you repeated, your voice rising. “You’ve practically shut me out, Liam! Do you know how much that’s messed with me head? I’ve been sitting here thinking I’ve done something wrong, that I’ve somehow fucked this up without even knowing it.”

“It’s not like that,” he said quickly, finally glancing at you. His voice defensive, his posture stiff, only fueling your frustration.

“Then what is it like?” you demanded, standing up now, unable to stay still. “Because I’m at me wit’s end, Liam. You’re the most important person in me life, and I feel like I’m losing you. Do you even care how much that’s hurt?”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and before you could stop yourself, tears started streaming down your cheeks. You hated crying—especially in front of him—but the weeks of bottled-up emotions had finally burst free.

Liam’s head shot up at the sound of your voice breaking, his defensive walls crumbling in an instant. “Oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward you. “Don’t—don’t cry, love.”

But you couldn’t stop. You sat back down on the bed, burying your face in your hands, the sobs shaking your shoulders. “It does matter, Liam,” you choked out, your voice muffled. “I’m so lost. I don’t know what’s happening, and it hurts so much to lose you.”

Liam crouched in front of you now, his hands hovering awkwardly as if he didn’t know whether he was allowed to touch you. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “C’mon now, don’t... don’t cry. Please.”

When you didn’t look up, he sighed and hesitantly placed a hand on your knee. “I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry for bein’ a knob. Just... look at me, yeah?”

Reluctantly, you lowered your hands, your tear stained face meeting his wide, worried eyes. “Why, Liam?” you whispered. “Why have you been like this?”

He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “I thought... I thought you and Noel had summat goin’ on.”

You blinked at him, utterly confused. “Me and Noel?” you repeated, your voice incredulous. “What the hell gave you that idea?” You said not believing Noel's theory to actually hold true.

He shrugged, looking down at the floor. “Dunno. You’re always round his gaff, laughin’ at his shite jokes. Figured I was just gettin’ in the way.”

Your jaw dropped, and despite the raw emotions swirling in your chest, you let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re a fucking moron, Liam.”

He flinched, misinterpreting your tone, and started to pull back. But before he could, you grabbed his hand, holding him in place. “No, listen to me,” you said firmly, your voice steady now. “You’re a moron because you could’ve just asked. Instead, you’ve been torturing me for weeks over something that doesn’t even exist.”

His brows furrowed. “So... you and him... there’s nowt going on?”

“Of course not!” you exclaimed, giving his shoulder a light shove. “Noel’s like... like an annoying older brother. And he thinks you’re a muppet, by the way, for getting this in your head.”

A flicker of his old self returned as a sheepish smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t be wrong, would he?”

You rolled your eyes, but the sight of that smile sent a wave of relief washing over you. “No, he wouldn’t. But you’re me muppet, alright? And if you ever pull this shite again, I’ll knock some sense into you.”

For the first time in weeks, Liam let out a proper laugh—a warm, hearty sound that filled the room. “Fair play,” he said, his voice softer now. “I’m sorry, love. I dunno what I was thinkin’. Just got scared, I guess. Thought I’d lose you either way.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me,” you said, giving him a watery smile. “so get that through your thick skull.”

His grin widened, the mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Stuck with me, eh? Lucky you.”

You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Before you could say anything else, Liam pulled you into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around you like he never wanted to let go. You melted into him, the weeks of tension and confusion finally slipping away.

As you pulled back slightly, he tilted his head, his nose brushing against yours. “Can I...?” he started, his voice uncharacteristically shy.

You didn’t let him finish. Closing the gap, you pressed your lips to his, the kiss warm and full of all the emotions you’d been holding back. When you finally broke apart, he smirked down at you.

“Knew you fancied me,” he teased, his energy back to normal.

You swatted his arm playfully. “Don’t push it, Gallagher.”

But as he leaned in for another kiss, you couldn’t help but smile. It was good to have your Liam back as a friend and summat more now.

________________________________________________________

me daft brain totally left this one sittin' in the drafts... So massive apologies to the person who asked for this a while back. But it’s here now, so I hope it was at least worth the wait. Proper sorry again, and if you wanna throw another request my way, I’ll sort ya with a priority pass xx

[losergender]

you know what's timebomb coded? the entire home video album by lucy dacus released in 2021. (s2 act 3 spoilers ahead)

"you used to be so sweet, now you're a firecracker on a crowded street" -> from powder being a major sweetheart to jinx being (lovingly and not so lovingly) a pain in the ass that annoys everyone (and also literally carrying explosives around) | "led me to the floor even though i'm not a dancer" -> literally them dancing in ep7 | "how did i believe i had a hold on you? you were always stronger than people suspected, underestimated and overprotected" -> GUYS THIS IS LITERALLY EKKO TALKING ABOUT POWDER ISTG !!! "a hidden gem, my own goldmine, you had the wide and wild eyes" -> jinx eyes changing color and all "NOW YOU'RE THE BIGGEST BRIGHTEST FLAME, YOU ARE A FIRE THAT CAN'T BE TAMED, YOU'RE BETTER THAN EVER, BUT I KNEW YOU WHEN IT'S BITTERSWEET TO SEE YOU AGAIN" -> GUYS IS THIS NOT EXACTLY EKKO'S FEELINGS ABOUT JINX COME ON GUYS

the entire "first time" is peak "can we pretend like it's the first time?" | "YOU CAN'T FEEL IT FOR THE FIRST TIME A SECOND TIME" , "and how will i know if history repeats itself? how will I know when it's gonna come back around? how will i know? has my face changed, baby? how will I know?" this ekko after breaking free from the perfect dimension guys ,,, guys..

cartwheel guys. cartwheel. "FIREFLY juice on your skin / you're glowing like an ATOM BOMB" it's them it's them it's so them | "this natural thing that you've undone / outgrew older sister's clothes again / won't admit you're growing tall and thin" ekko watching her turn from powder to jinx from afar,,, | "i thought back to many years ago: a late-night promise on the telephone, we'd build a house of twigs and vines, grow old together just to pass the time // now there's only past and present day, i can't believe a word you say" EKKO WATCHING HER TURN EVIL FROM AFAR GUYS !!! WHILE STILL KEEPING FEELINGS !!!

thumbs it's ekko thinking about what silco has done to her. "i would kill him if you let me, i would kill him quick and easy, your nails are digging into my knee, i don't know how you keep smiling" / "you've been in his fist ever since you were a kid, but you don't owe him shit even if he said you did"

please stay. please stay is literally canon because he literally had to stop her from killing herself a good 5 times. "change your name, change your mind, change your ways, give them time [...] call me if you need a friend or never talk to me again, but please stay" like pleaseeee

and triple dog dare,,, "you're dancing in the aisle 'cause the radio Is singing you a song you know and the kid at the counter is gawking at your grace / i can tell what he's thinking by the look on his face, it's not his fault, I'm sure i look the same / it's what you do, but it's not you i blame" EP 7 TIMEBOMB GUYS | "you know i'll be seeking if you run and hide, if the door were to open, would you walk through the frame? if you're too afraid, it won't be you i blame" that's ekko trying to save her at some point | "i want you to tell me that you miss me, want you to hold and hurt and kiss me [...] it's a triple dog dare, you're a chicken if you don't" -> no explanation needed. | "i can fish for our food and you know how to start a flame, if you don't get out now, you'll only have yourself to blame" this is what he sounded like when he tried to save her from silco (bc i know he tried guys) "You said 'you have me there, if it's a triple dog dare'" bc tell me she is not the kind of person to do anything if it's a challenge. | "they put our faces on the milk jugs, missing children 'til they gave up [...] can't find the feeling of relief, nothing worse could happen now" -> ekko literally putting her face on the missing/dead poster, ekko disappearing in s2, jinx fleeing (she did not die guys trust me),,,

[dyns33]

The Best Friend part 2

Yes I made a lil 3 parts series for Homelander and his bestie.

If Y/N had to give John one good point, it was that he had been honest.

He could have said nothing, and she probably would have never known.

But at the same time, he wasn't completely stupid, and it wasn't a good idea to keep secrets like that.

Because he himself didn't like being lied to, promising that it would never happen between them, but also that he was giving Firecracker power over him, who could have threatened to tell her everything if he didn't do what she wanted.

Maybe she was blinded by admiration at the moment, claiming that she was at his beck and call and that she wouldn't ask for anything in return, but John knew people. He couldn't trust her.

"I'm not attracted to her at all, I told her that."

"… That reassures and consoles me enormously, John."

"Look, I understand that you're angry. But it was just once, just once ! A moment of weakness. I was exhausted, a lot of things had happened, you weren't there…"

"So it's my fault ?"

"No." He growled before sighing, trying to keep his cool. "I didn't say that. She was very persuasive. How does she know that I… Anyway, it was a mistake. I can fire her, she's no use to me. That idiot is loyal, I can ask her anything I want, but one word from you and she's gone. I can even kill her if you ask."

A lot of people wouldn't know how to react in this situation.

Normally it wasn't a good idea to upset the Homelander. You had to agree with him, not cry, not yell, not talk back. It was already an accomplishment that he admitted he had made a mistake.

Maybe he hadn't apologized, but Y/N was probably smart enough to know that he was sorry and that she should forgive him.

Anyone else would have eventually said sorry, taking the blame on them and making excuses for his cheating.

But besides the fact that she had been his only friend during his childhood, John loved Y/N because she wasn't afraid of him. And that meant she wasn't going to give in when he had hurt her.

"Your solution to a problem always has to be murder. Really, John, we're not eight years old anymore."

"Exactly, that's why we're talking like two adults."

"I'm waiting."

"What ?"

"For you to act like an adult."

Then John chuckled. He put on his eternal air of a guilty child who pretended not to understand what he had done wrong, disturbed that someone dared to corner him in this way, him, the great Homelander.

But seeing that Y/N was staring at him without saying anything, waiting, he quickly regained his seriousness, hiding his embarrassment behind a mask of annoyance.

"I just told you that I wouldn't do it again. She doesn't attract me at all, she's pathetic. I only love you. I've only ever loved you, since forever. The others were nothing, distractions, puppets. You're the only one who really knew me, who made me happy."

"I'm waiting."

"You don't want me to cut her in two, and I can't go back in time by flying around the Earth in the opposite direction of rotation contrary to what some idiots think, I don't see what I can do."

"Apologize."

"… Sorry." he mumbled, looking down, showing a pout.

"No. Better than that, John. Give me your most sincere apologies."

At this point, someone else would already be dead, or at least facing a furious and threatening supe, ready to use his lasers to silence her.

But Y/N was really not just anyone. Realizing that she would not change her mind, John mumbled, hands on his hips, before displaying his fake stage smile.

"I'm so sorry."

"I'm still waiting."

"… I should never have done that, it was pathetic of me. I love you more than anything and I shouldn't take it for granted, you deserve to be treated with respect. Forgive me."

"Hmm. Almost but not yet." she decided, holding back a smile.

She was still angry, but Y/N was ready to forgive him. After all these years, she knew how John was. She knew he would never have said the word "sorry" if he didn't mean it, and he wouldn't have confessed anything if he didn't really care about her.

But the moment was tasty and she wanted to make the most of it, so that he would learn his lesson well.

"What ? You want me to get on my knees ?"

"That would be a good start."

"… Fine."

Y/N had said that as a joke. In truth, she didn't really know what she was waiting for, only that she wanted it to last a little longer. It was impossible to tell whether or not she liked seeing John at her feet, staring at her with fear.

"I'm sorry. Don't leave me."

"Oh, John…"

"I know I can be difficult. You're always good and patient with me, even though I don't deserve it at all. I love you. If you left me, I would die, truly. The day they took you from me, I thought I was having a heart attack. I couldn't breathe. I would destroy everything if you disappeared again."

It wasn't exactly a reassuring statement. It could even have been taken as blackmail or a threat. But John would never hurt Y/N, she knew that.

He would kill everyone else, leaving only them, but he would tear off an arm rather than hurt her.

Tenderly, she stroked his hair, then his cheek, before leaning in to kiss him.

"I forgive you, John."

"Hmm."

"I love you too, I'm not going to leave you."

"Thanks."

"Get up now."

"Hmm. I don't know, I like the view." he said with a small smile. She followed his gaze, still leaning over, understanding that this way he had a full view of her chest and crotch.

The small pat he took on your head made him snicker, as did Y/N's falsely outraged look.

"I know another way to make it up to you."

"It wouldn't really be a punishment."

"I'll just be a little sad if I can't find any milk. But we could also do something to change that."

"Why are you never serious ?" she sighed, rolling her eyes.

The apology ended like that, because she received a call that caught her full attention. Y/N didn't look at John either, who never left her, dangerously serious, and fixed on her stomach.

[kissorkill16]

I Hate My Eyes: A Hello Neighbor Fanfic

By JJ

Summary: Nicky tries to get his eyes back to normal.

(P.S., for @limoks-blogs !)

It was the end of the week, and Nicky was slowly starting to get better.

He wasn't sneezing so much anymore, and his throat felt less scratchy. Probably because Mr. Murtaugh had been making him take two spoons of whatever gross cold medicine each day.

Thankfully, Nicky was getting better, and he wouldn't have to take any of that stuff for a long time.

But there was one thing Nicky wished would get better.

His eyes.

He didn't feel like there was anything wrong with him. They didn't sting, strain or burn or anything, they were just...brown. At first, he didn't really care, but he noticed how a couple of people kept pointing it out.

His eyes were once jade, now they were brown.

Those jade eyes he once had made him look so lively and so happy, but now his brown eyes made him look dead inside.

And he didn't like it.

So as soon as he was well enough to go to school again, he waited until everyone was out of Mr. Murtaugh's classroom and went to see him.

He didn't have a session that day, since the science teacher said he had a meeting after school, but Nicky really needed to see him.

He waited until 4:00, slowly falling asleep as he waited for Mr. Murtaugh or anyone else from the meeting to walk out the door like they were finished. He woke up to his shoulder being nudged.

"Nicholas."

Nicky sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Hey.", he said, feeling a little lightheaded.

"Nicky, what are you doing here? I told you I needed to cancel our session today.", said the science teacher.

"I know, it's just that I needed to talk to you about something important."

Mr. Murtaugh led the boy inside his classroom and shut the door behind him. "What did you need to talk about, dear?", he asked.

Nicky looked down at his shoes, then back at Mr. Murtaugh. "Do you notice anything different about me?", he asked.

The science teacher tapped his chin, then he held Nicky's face in his hands and pulled him closer. He looked at both sides of his face, then under his chin, then around the rest of his body.

"Hmm...I'm not sure.", he said. "I normally take notes of what I notice about my students."

Nicky sighed, "It's my eyes."

The science teacher looked at him again, and his eyes widened. "Oh yes, I can't believe I didn't notice. I feel like I should have."

Nicky looked down at his shoes again.

"What's the matter with your eyes? Do they hurt?"

Nicky shook his head, "They were once jade, but now they're brown. I don't like it."

Mr. Murtaugh furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "I'm afraid I still don't understand.", he said.

"People keep pointing out how my eye color has changed ever since I escaped Mr. Peterson's basement. I didn't notice it before, but now that people keep pointing it out, I don't like my eyes at all anymore. I hate them now."

The science teacher gently pulled the boy closer to him, "Nicky, don't say stuff like that.", he said. "I may not know what Mr. Peterson had done to you to make your eyes change colors, but I promise that I will find a way to get them back to normal. Just for you."

Nicky smiled, "Thank you, sir."

"Anytime.", said Mr. Murtaugh, "Now run along, dear."

The next day, when Nicky got home from school, he was surprised to walk into his room and see a small white bottle. He went over to it and picked it up, reading the label.

"Eye Changer"

On the bottle was a little sticky note, and he read the note as he slowly opened the bottle.

"Put two drops of these in your eyes each day and your eyes should be back to normal in no time."

Nicky went to the bathroom and opened the bottle, talking a small bit of it in the tube attached to the cap. He slowly held the tube over his right eye and gently squeezed it, a single drop going into his eye.

The same thing he did to his other eye.

He blinked a couple of times. When he opened his eyes a little bit, he noticed that a small hint of jade was shining through his brown eyes.

He pressed his face to the mirror and smiled so wide, tears falling down his cheeks.

Soon enough, his beautiful jade eyes would turn back to normal, and he'd have his old self back in no time!

[starlightkun]

finders keepers ⇢ teaser 2

⇢ teaser word count: 948 | full fic: 37.8k total (22.7k & 15.1k) ⇢ genre: sci-fi/science fantasy au, soulmate au, alien!jungwoo, human!reader, slow burn, fluff and angst ⇢ warnings: blood/injury mentions (but like, alien blood, if that makes a difference?), a couple needle/injection mentions, if u get secondhand embarrassment this one might hurt in places, a couple crude jokes about alien stuff iykwim (reader’s friends r kind of the worst), this fic is just a rlly sweet soulmate au i swear idk why these tags look horrendous 😭 ⇢ extra info: this will be released in two parts bc of tumblr’s 1000-block limit that was put in place to hurt me personally :)) BUT both parts will be released on the same day ⇢ estimated release: saturday, november 30, 2024, 3:00 p.m. eastern time (sign up for my taglist here)

The screen of your phone lit up from where it sat on the dashboard of Jungwoo’s spaceship, and you immediately grabbed it. It was Donghyuck, and at this point, you would’ve taken your bestie ‘SPAM LIKELY’ to get you out of here.

“Hey, it’s Hyuck, you got it here?” You asked Jungwoo, already on your feet.

“Yes, I’ll be okay,” Jungwoo confirmed, eyes momentarily leaving the screen to meet yours.

You clambered out of the hatch with haste, taking off into the trees. Hastily sending Donghyuck a text that you’d call him back in a minute, you practically bolted back up the cliffside to get to the road before doing just that.

Hyuck picked up before it could even ring once, not wasting any time, “Hey, how’s our pet alien?”

“He has a name,” you retorted, still out of breath.

“He doesn’t seem to mind when I call him that.”

“He probably doesn’t understand how derogatory it could be. His language might not have a direct equivalent for the concept.”

“Yeah, whatever, how is he?”

“Fine. All of his wounds have healed.”

Your friend’s tone immediately shifted. “You sound weird. What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” You insisted.

“Y/N.”

“Promise not to tell anyone?”

“Sure.”

And so after explaining your situation to Donghyuck to the best of your ability, you waited with bated breath for his response.

“Oh my God, he’s going to lay his eggs in you,” he gasped.

“Hyuck! Gross!” You hissed, half-ready to hang up right then.

“I’ve seen enough alien movies to know where this is going.”

“Or watched too much weird porn.”

“You didn’t laugh at my joke, clearly you’re in crisis, sorry.” His apology sounded sincere.

You sighed, staring down into the trees below you that you knew contained a spaceship and spaceman that weren’t from here, that didn’t belong here. “I mean, he’s still fixing his ship to leave…”

“What if he plans on abducting you and taking you with him?”

“Stop it!” You scolded him again. “Jungwoo wouldn’t do that.”

“You seriously think he’ll just leave his mate behind?”

“You are way too comfortable saying that word.”

“This is not about my nighttime proclivities.”

“If I told him to, yeah, I think he would. He’s been super respectful, all things considered.”

“Okay… whatever…”

You were worried. Jungwoo had continued fixing his ship, but with each passing day, you swore he was looking worse again. He said his wounds had completely healed inside and out, but the pallor of his skin didn’t look right, he was moving slower again, and he didn’t eat as much at meals. You took a risk and took him there during the day today, not wanting to risk drawing out his stay on Earth any longer than necessary.

Just getting him down to the ship today was perilous, as he tripped going down the last of the hillside. A rock had cut his arm, thankfully not very deep, but the sight of the deep blue blood did nothing to calm your anxious mind. He let you take a second to use a first aid kit in the ship on him, but then was right back to business as usual, fixing his ship.

“How’s it coming along?” You asked, hovering over him worriedly as he sat on the floor, working on a panel under the control console.

“It’s almost done,” he informed you quietly.

“Jungwoo, you don’t look okay.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it the hydrogen? Or something else that you can’t get on Earth?” You went to press the back of your hand to his forehead. It was sticky with sweat, but simultaneously cold and clammy. “Shit, dude, you feel awful.”

“I’m—I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I just need to get back to-to Galaria.”

“Okay, yeah,” you nodded. “Let’s get you back. You said it’s almost done. What else do you need?”

“One of your friends is a mechanic?”

“Yeah, Yuta. He fixes cars.” You were slightly alarmed that he apparently couldn’t remember which one.

Jungwoo held out a long, thin black tube to you. “Could you ask him if he has something like this? Twice as long?”

“Of course! I'll go right now!” You took the tube from him. “You stay right here. Rest, okay?”

He nodded, leaning against the panel and shutting his eyes.

You ran into Yuta’s auto shop, skidding to a stop and nearly crashing into a bench and toolbox, drawing the attention of everyone in the shop. Every head whipped over to look at you, and Yuta pushed himself out from under a truck on the far side of the shop.

“Yuta!” You dashed over to him, ignoring the attempts at conversation from his coworkers as you ran by them.

“Off-limits, assholes!” Yuta yelled back at them before focusing on you again, grabbing a rag to wipe his hands off. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“It’s Jungwoo, he needs something like this, but double the length.” You held the tube out to him. “Do you have anything like it? I’ll pay for it.”

Yuta inspected it with a furrowed brow, and you dropped your voice even lower as the sounds of the auto shop rose again.

“Please, he’s-he’s really not doing well. I don’t know how much longer he can be here, Yuta. Something about Earth, it’s not good for him. I’m really worried.”

“Yeah, I would be if I were you.” Yuta handed the tube back to you, then crossed his arms over his chest. “I gave him a part just like that two days ago. He said it was the last piece he needed.”

“What?!” Your heart fell to the pit of your stomach.

“I gave him a new brake hose two days ago. Unless he blew it up again, this isn’t it.”

“I’ve got to go.” You took off towards the door of the garage. “Bye, Yuta! Thanks!”

“See you around!”

TEASER TAGLIST

@bee-the-loser @ppddpjdr @tearinka @yoursyuno @yutasputa69 @winkeuu

[scorpion-flower]

Met a guy whom I was friends with, on my way back from work and we chatted for a while. He broke up with his boyfriend, whom I was also friends with and one of the things he mentioned, is that he believes that his now ex, definitely has BPD. All the knowledge that guy has about personality disorders, comes from Google.com.

Same guy is pissed of that an ex mutual friend of his and his ex bf, who has studied psychology, mentioned that he has quite a lot of narcissistic features. You know what else is funny? I know other ex friends of his who have also thought so and I do too.

At least he said that he intends to visit a therapist, so good for him?

[vilelittlecritter]

Me: "I don't like people, I prefer being on my own and not talking"

People: "oh okay we'll leave you be then"

Me: "wait no PLEASE COME BACK I WANT LOVE-"

[pepprs]

hm. i think i am going to stop going to counseling. he does not understand me. he pathologizes things that are not pathological.

[asmodeusamaryllis]

G3nshin players never beating the not playing the game allegations

[fardf150]

fuck