#how she doesn’t want to go back to them- will /never/ go back to them but how she can't help but worry and wonder

[brucethegirl]

#she’s literal sunshine here#ugh. this scene is just so painful. bc killian’s hating himself and in pain and feeling guilty#and emma’s just happy that he’s BACK bc he died and she thought she’d never see him again. that he was gone#and even before that. their finally both themselves which hasn’t happened since season four but they’re together again#and she’s happy ab that but i think she also has to pretend to be happier bc he’s in pain and seeing him like that must terrify her#so she wants to heal him and have him back but she also has to know that he hates himself so she’s all smiles and love to show#that she doesn’t blame him for what happened and all she cares about is having him back#just. sunshine vs midnight rain. and god it’s painful <Notes from mccallhero

because I want to add that all of this yes. 100%.

Also, The fact that he's supposed to be (ACCORDING TO THE SCRIPT and when you know to look for it you can see it) looking at the crib. And the extra layer there. That they promised to look to their future moments before he died and everything went to hell an she turned to darkness and turned him into a dark one. but moments before that happened, he told her to not be afraid of their future, and she told him she wanted a future with him. And here is the crib that was meant for her, and her lost childhood, in the house he knows he picked out for them for their future. Like WHAT!?

And okay lets move on to the look he gives her when she says to come sit down so she can look at him. He tries to make a joke, she tries to make one back. They're both so raw and this is the first time they're alone together. And the weight of the last couple months is weighing so heavy. Everything said and done and all the cruel words he said WANTING TO HURT HER. Her IGNORING what he wanted. All of it weighing in that one look. But notice he says "You sure you want to?" Before THEN making his joke.

I have NO DOUBT that the joke was an after thought. "you sure you want to?" You sure you want to be with me, alone with me, with me at all. How can you stomach looking at me after what I did and said. He condemned her family, he condemned HENRY. All because he knew he wasn't strong enough to deny the darkness, which itself meant he was condemning her future without him, even if he was happy she had one. "You sure you want to?" and then the camera jumps to her reaction. She takes a breath in, she straightens. She heard it too. That's when he makes the joke and she sighs (excuse me their acting is another fucking level) and then smirks at his jokes. If he's got jokes he'll be fine. I think its why when he snaps and doesn't kiss her after she heals him its so shocking to her.

But before that, she gets him on the sofa and sits next to him, she's all smiles. He's here, he's safe, they're going to escape. They're going to be together again. Insert everything from the prev tags.

365 days of captain swan :: day 225

[melanchoire]

hiiii meya,

i love love LOVE ur work and I cant move on from dom!karina x sub!reader with oral fixation

Can we please get one more like that? ❤️

one more and this one is dedicated to you my dear friend~~

OKAY my favorite section on this account: karina and boobies because both are the things that girls love the most!! (check out my drabble about the reader with an oral fixation and my fic about it~ karina told me you all should read them.)

what if this time it’s karina who has an oral fixation? she doesn’t know when or how it started, but the only thing she is aware of and conscious of is the way she always has her gaze on your chest 😊 you tend to be so focused when talking that you never notice her intense gaze on your tits, maybe it’s partly because she hides it quite well, nodding slightly every now and then or responding to what you say to make it seem like she wants to have a conversation. she is listening to you! she is just focused on other things

and karina goes twice as crazy when you don't wear a bra 😵‍💫 when walking in the comforts of your home of course you would opt for a comfortable option, this is also an option that karina agrees with because she loves seeing the curve of your chest when a t–shirt fits snugly against your body…

until you notice her looks 😥 karina thinks she looks sneaky and stealthy, but seeing it from a different point of view and perspective of another person, she is literally staring at your tits, furrowing her eyebrows in concentration while lightly biting her lower lip...

you get her attention by calling her name and shoving her shoulder, making her flinch and blink repeatedly as she comes out of her trance

“karina, are you even listening to me?”

“mmh yeah.”

but she loves the stern, annoyed look you give her when you hear her tone, trying to hold back her smile as she notices how you were starting to get annoyed with her, another thing karina loved! getting dirty looks, purposely pissing you off just to watch you practically nail her just by looking at her 🥰

“c’monnn babe, relax a little.” and she is putting her hands on your hips, practically forcing you onto her lap while giving you an amused smile when she sees that you’re completely ignoring her…

“you’re an idiot.”

“i am now?” UGHH AND SHE TILT HER HEAD AS GRIN AGAIN???

“you’re staring at my tits like a pervert. not even a baby would be as obsessed as you.”

“aww, but i would love to be a baby so i could have your tits in my mouth.” and she does it!

now karina making you sit on her lap, letting you continue talking about whatever you were saying before, looking straight into your eyes through her eyelashes as her tongue circles your nipple and slowly her mouth surrounds it 😵‍💫 making you stop mid–sentence and gasp, thinking karina would say something about it, either a joke or a taunt, but no! she just hums a little, releasing your nipple from between her lips for a moment to say “you were saying? i’m listening.” in the most casual way as if she wasn’t making your head spin

but she is a bit of a tease too 😭 nibbling and sucking on your nipples harder than she should when you're deep in thought or mid–sentence, enjoying how an involuntary moan leaves your lips, feigning innocence when you look at her with annoyance and returning to sucking your tits with the tranquility she was having before

KARINA WITH A HAIR PULLING KINK? i honestly had an obsession with her when she used to have long, silky black hair during 2021, which makes me believe that she likes to feel hands on her locks, but karina with short hair gives me a somewhat similar vibe… SO it doesn’t matter if it’s long or short hair, karina loves to feel your hands pulling her hair to push her closer to your chest, demanding her attention

and karina won’t go to bed until she gets your nipples sensitive enough for you to cum just by having them played with! rest assured

[pinkmoontaco]

Hug in the Limelight || Xu Minghao

Pairing: Idol Minghao X Idol Y/n Genre: Romance, Fluff, Idol romance Summary: When Y/n’s group wins their first trophy, she breaks down in tears—only for Minghao to hug her on live TV, shocking everyone. Authors Note: Hey everyone, 😊!! I'm back with a short story that was requested by one of you! First off, I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love and support you’ve shown for Fated to Love You. The incredible response honestly feels like a dream, and I’m beyond grateful for each and every one of you💕 Your sweet comments, reblogs, and kind words truly inspire me to keep writing, so please keep them coming!! Love you guys ❤️ And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other group

The music was deafening, the lights blinding, and the cheers of the crowd an intoxicating high. But even in the midst of all that, her eyes always found his.

Y/N was used to the chaos of the industry. The long nights, the endless rehearsals, the weight of expectations pressing against her shoulders. She had debuted five years ago, climbing the ranks of the industry, her group steadily growing into one of the top names in K-pop. She had learned to balance fame with sanity, but nothing quite prepared her for meeting Xu Minghao.

They met during a special year-end collaboration stage. Her group and SEVENTEEN had been paired together for a mixed performance, a fusion of styles meant to showcase their versatility. Minghao, with his effortless grace and piercing gaze, had immediately caught her attention. But she wasn’t the type to easily show interest. She kept things professional, exchanging polite greetings and focusing on rehearsals.

Minghao, however, was different. He wasn’t loud or overbearing like some of the other idols she had worked with. He moved through the world with an air of calmness, always observing, always calculating. And yet, there was a warmth to him—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Their first real conversation happened backstage after a long rehearsal. Y/N had been stretching when he approached, a bottle of water in hand. “You should take a break,” he said, offering it to her.

She raised an eyebrow but accepted it. “You sound like my leader.”

He chuckled, settling down beside her. “I just know how exhausting this industry can be.”

For some reason, she found herself opening up. “Sometimes, I forget what it’s like to rest. It’s always go, go, go.”

Minghao hummed in understanding. “Then you should find small moments for yourself. Even in the chaos.”

She thought about that conversation for weeks after. It wasn’t just his words, but the way he said them—like he truly understood. From then on, stolen moments became their thing. Between rehearsals, at award shows, in the quiet hallways of music broadcasts. A glance, a fleeting smile, a whispered joke. They were never reckless, never obvious, but they found each other in the places where the cameras didn’t reach.

One night, after another successful performance, they found themselves alone on the rooftop of the venue. The city stretched out before them, lights flickering like stars. Y/N pulled her jacket tighter around herself as the cool air bit at her skin.

Minghao leaned against the railing beside her. “You were amazing tonight.”

She smiled. “So were you.”

They stood in silence for a moment before he turned to face her fully. “Y/N… do you ever wonder if there’s a version of us that doesn’t have to hide?”

Her heart clenched at the question. She had thought about it more times than she could count. “All the time,” she admitted. “But we both know the reality.”

He nodded, looking up at the sky. “Then we’ll just have to make the most of what we have.”

She reached for his hand, fingers lacing together. It was dangerous. Reckless, even. But in that moment, she didn’t care. Because despite everything—the cameras, the contracts, the expectations—they had this. Their stolen moments. And for now, that was enough.

But then, everything changed.

A week later, a blurry photo of them holding hands surfaced online. It spread like wildfire, speculations running rampant. Their agencies moved quickly, arranging emergency meetings and discussing possible responses. They had two choices—deny or come clean.

Minghao was the first to make a decision. “Let’s be honest,” he said, looking at Y/N with certainty in his eyes. “I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Her heart pounded as she nodded. “Me neither.”

The next day, they posted matching statements on social media. “Yes, we are together. We’ve found comfort and happiness in each other, and we hope you can support us.”

The reactions were mixed—some fans cheered, others felt betrayed. But through it all, Minghao stayed by her side, holding her hand just as tightly as he had that night on the rooftop.

And this time, they weren’t just stolen moments. They were theirs to keep.

The stage of Music Bank was deafening. Cheers, screams, and a wave of emotions crashed through the air as Y/n’s group was announced as the winner.

For a moment, she just stood there. Did she hear that right?

Her leader’s hands flew to her mouth, another member collapsed to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. Their dream—the thing they had fought for, cried for, bled for—was finally in their grasp.

Y/n tried to hold herself together, tried to keep her emotions at bay, but the moment she locked eyes with the fans in the audience, the ones who had waited years for this just as much as they had—the tears fell.

She covered her face with her hands, her body trembling as reality sank in. Her members wrapped around each other in a tight embrace, crying, shaking, overwhelmed.

And then, through her blurred vision, she saw him.

Xu Minghao.

Standing on the other side of the stage, his gaze locked onto hers. His lips were slightly parted, as if he was trying to find words, but the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides told her everything.

In that moment, he didn’t care about the cameras. He didn’t care about the industry’s rules.

He moved.

The entire stage seemed to freeze as Minghao crossed the boundary between them.

The MCs' voices stuttered. The other idols gasped. The audience erupted.

Before Y/n could even process it, she was in his arms.

A collective gasp filled the studio.

She didn’t hesitate—her arms wrapped around his torso as she buried her face into his shoulder, shaking from both the weight of the moment and the warmth he provided.

Minghao held her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other securing her against him as if shielding her from the entire world. He didn’t care about the rules. He didn’t care about the headlines.

She had won, and he needed her to know he was there.

The MCs didn’t know what to say. The idols behind them exchanged stunned glances, some covering their mouths, others clutching their chests in shock. The broadcast camera zoomed in, capturing every moment—a moment that would become legendary.

Y/n trembled in his arms, gripping his jacket so tightly that her knuckles turned white. “I—I can’t believe it…” she choked out between sobs.

Minghao exhaled shakily, his own eyes glassy. He pulled back just enough to look at her, his hands gently wiping the tears off her cheeks. “Believe it. You deserve this.”

Her lip quivered, fresh tears threatening to spill.

The murmurs of the other idols grew louder, whispers of “Oh my God,” “This is insane,” and “They really don’t care anymore” filling the air.

Finally, one of the MCs stammered into the mic, “W-Well… I think we just witnessed something… historic.”

The audience was already exploding, social media in flames with headlines flooding in real-time.

"SEVENTEEN'S MINGHAO DEFIES INDUSTRY RULES—PUBLICLY EMBRACES Y/N DURING FIRST WIN!"

"MINGHAO AND Y/N: LOVE IN THE SPOTLIGHT"

"IDOLS AREN'T SUPPOSED TO SHOW THIS MUCH EMOTION—BUT MINGHAO JUST DID."

But at that moment, neither of them cared.

Minghao cupped her cheeks, his thumbs tracing gentle circles as he whispered, "Let them say what they want. This moment is yours.”

Y/n sniffled, nodding, and for the first time that night, a smile broke through her tears.

With their hands still intertwined, standing under the brightest lights in the industry, they had never felt freer.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

bragger

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.6k (lyrics included)

Warnings: fluff

Summary: Spencer is the best thing to ever happen to you, and you make it known to everyone just how lucky you are to have him.

Square Filled: bragger by kelsea ballerina for @criminalmindsbingo (formerly @spencerreidbingo)

Author’s Note: this is based on the song "bragger" by Kelsea Ballerini

x

He's got the look, he's got the touch He's got the arms that make me clutch And he's not one to make a scene But he deserves the spotlight

You set the curling iron down once you finish with your hair, and you spray your entire head with hairspray to make sure the curls don’t straighten out during the night. You walk back into your childhood bedroom and see Spencer standing in front of the floor-length mirror straightening his tie. Club attire doesn’t require a tie, but Spencer will always wear one if the choice is up to him.

“Thanks for coming with me. I know this isn’t really your scene.”

It’s true. You two are visiting your parents for the week, and all your friends invited you to go to the club as a way to unwind before the dinner with your parents. Spencer despises clubs but he’s going to this one for you.

“It’s no problem, really. I want to meet your friends. It’s about time I do, don’t you think?” The only reason he hasn’t is because you moved halfway across the country for him. You left everything behind to be with him, so he wasn’t able to see your friends and family early on in the relationship. “How do I look?”

He turns to face you and your mouth goes dry. He looks damn delicious, and you make it a point to tell him every single day. His big brain and loving personality aren’t the only reasons why you married him. What he doesn’t show other people is that he has muscles. Lean but strong muscles. He doesn’t show them off like Derek does, but you get to feel them every single night you take him to bed.

You walk over to your husband and run your hands over the front of his shirt, feeling his muscles flex under your touch. You wrap your arms around his neck and he pulls you in by your waist.

“Looking good, Dr. Reid.”

He leans down and rubs his nose against yours. “Feeling good, Mrs. Reid.”

With a grin, you lean up and kiss him.

He ain't from 'round this side of town But he fits into every crowd And he knows how to do my body and my heart right I know a lady should always be modest but I'm just being honest

You and Spencer walk into the club that’s beaming with life. Your group of friends isn’t hard to miss. Your best friend, Cheryl, loves wearing anything sparkly, so she lights up every room she walks into. Your other friend, Trina, is super loud so you’ll always be able to hear her. Cheryl sees you and squeals in excitement. She runs over to you and practically jumps into your arms.

“You made it!! You’re here!”

“I’m here! God, I’ve missed you!” You hug all your other friends, giving each of them a bit of love. “I’ve missed all of you guys!”

“You must be Spencer.”

“You must be Cheryl. Y/N’s told me all about you.”

“Same,” she grins.

“Spencer, this is Trina, Kacey, Iris, and Ophelia. Girls, this is my husband, Spencer Reid.”

Spencer doesn’t shake their hands but Cheryl does pull him into a tight hug. Your friends and family never came to your wedding because you two had eloped in a courthouse, but you agreed to have a vow renewal in a few years that everyone would be invited to. Spencer isn’t used to being around all these people but he fits in like he does.

One of your favorite club songs comes on, and you drag your husband to the dancefloor. He twirls you before pulling you into his arms with your back to his chest. You grin and turn to face him, swaying your hips to the beat.

“You’re fitting in nicely here.”

“You make me feel confident and comfortable. You make it easy.”

Spencer runs his hands down your body and turns you so that your back is to his front. You reach back and slide your hand into his hair, moving your hips against his to the music. It’s the fact that he hates this scene but he’s here dancing with you because he loves you.

I've got his nights, I've got his name There ain't no shame in this girl's game If he was yours, you'd do the same Without apologizing

“Remember, my dad loves golf and fishing while my mom loves romance novels and true crime. So, that’s good if you just want to talk about your job.”

“Okay,” Spencer nods.

You two walk up the front porch steps to your family’s home. They were excited to hear you and Spencer were coming to town, so they organized a dinner with immediate family. You don’t knock when you get to the door and instead push it open. The house is warm, chatter comes from the kitchen and living room, and you smile from the memories attached to this house.

“Hi! We’re here!” you call out.

“My baby is home!” your mom grins. She pulls you in for a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” Your dad comes and hugs you a bit tighter than your mom did. You love his crushing hugs. “Daddy, Mom, meet Spencer. He doesn’t like to shake hands.”

“That’s okay. I like hugs.”

Your mom brings him into a hug and he smiles at how welcoming she’s being. Your dad is next but he gives Spencer a fist bump instead of a shake.

“You’re just in time. Francine just finished cooking.”

Francine is your eldest sister so is a professional chef. When she heard you and Spencer were coming, she brought out the big guns. The family gathers at the table and immediately starts digging into the food.

“So, Spencer, what do you do?” your grandmother asks.

“I work in the FBI. I’m a profiler.”

Your mom’s eyes light up. “You must see a lot of gory shit.”

“Sometimes,” Spencer chuckles.

“How’s it feel to date someone in the FBI?” your grandmother asks.

You hold your left hand off and show off the sparkly diamond ring. “Married, Nana. He’s my husband.” You look at him and smile lovingly. “Don’t let him tell you any differently. I’m the lucky on here.” You look at your nana. “He’s honestly one of the best people to be around, and I thank God every day that he’s mine.”

Spencer blushes because of your words but you will keep telling him how lucky you are to be his. He’s entirely yours and you’ll flaunt him every which way you can.

If he were a wine, he'd be the shelf at the top (Top) If he were a house, he'd be the end of the block (Block) Walked up to my heart and went, "Knock, knock, knock" So I've got to show him off

“Thanks for coming with me to see my family.” You and Spencer got back last night so today is spent being lazy in bed. “My mom loved you.”

“It’s no problem. I liked them. I can’t wait to see them at the vow renewal when we have one.” Spencer rolls over in bed and pulls you closer to him, peppering small kisses on your neck. “You know what we should do?”

“What’s that?” you smile.

“We don’t have to be at work for another week. We should go house hunting. I think it’s time to move on from this apartment, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do.” You turn in his arms and slide your hands up his bare chest. “I have a few listings saved, but I haven’t found the perfect one yet.”

“We don’t need perfect.”

“Yes, we do. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, so we need the best house. I won’t stop until I find it.”

“Until we find it,” he smiles and kisses you.

I don't wanna be a bragger But my man's a heart attacker Like McConaughey and Jagger Hotter than a Saturday night I can't help that I flaunt him (All the time) I understand why you would wanna (I don't mind) And you keep up all the chatter 'bout my happy ever after 'Cause all that really matters is he's mine

After a few months of looking at houses, you think you’ve found the one. It sits on five acres of land about thirty minutes from work, and it’s a three-story farmhouse. It’s perfect for having animals and a big family. You and Spencer are newly married but you’ve always wanted a big family, and you know he’s excited to start working on kids.

“So, what do you think?” the realtor asks, a nervous smile on her face.

She’s been with you for this entire journey, and you know she hates it when you keep turning down houses. You look at Spencer and already know his answer just by the look in his eyes.

“We’ll take it.”

“Oh, goody!” she grins happily.

“This is the perfect home to start a family in. I can’t wait to start, especially with this one.” You wrap your arms around his waist. “I mean, look at him. He’d make great babies.”

Again, Spencer blushes and the realtor smiles happily.

“I’ll be right back with the paperwork.”

“You know, you don’t have to show me off to everyone,” Spencer says when she’s gone.

“You’re my husband. Of course, I do. I have to show them just how lucky I am.” You lean up and kiss him. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible,” you grin against his lips.

x

Want to be tagged? Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[fan-maddson]

Fannie, of course, kept up with his career and how his life was. She missed him every day and made sure the twins knew everything about him. She never held back how amazing he was, and when they would ask someone what happened, why they weren’t together, if they loved each other, she would tell them, “sometimes life happens, but it doesn’t change how much I love him.” The older they got, the cornier they thought it was outwardly, but they loved that she never spoke an ill word about him and wouldn’t allow anyone else to.

She even kept in touch with Will, Max, and El, who kept her up to date on all things Corrodid Coffin and Eddie. When they would mention him dating, it hurt, but she always told them to let her know if the girl wasn't treating Eddie right because she wouldn't hesitate to go back and set her straight. She even hired Will to be a designer for her clothing line, who managed to give Corrodid Coffin a steal of a deal on the manufacturing of their merch. All made in Hawkins, of course.

As they grew, the twins proved to be musical prodigies, often playing with Jason, another band member, or even their mom. But on the night of the concert, they gave her a special treat. It was to be their last concert before moving to Hawkins, so the band wanted to send them off properly. After years on the road, the kids planned, with the help of the band, to surprise Fannie by joining them on stage during the concert.

She knew they could play, but she had no idea they were planning to debut in front of thousands of people or that it would be the same night their dad did.

Can’t Breathe

“You know,  you can use the front door,” Fannie called to Eddie from her bedroom window. “We’re not kids anymore…besides, you’re useless to me dead or injured.” She flashed him a sweet smile, excited to see him. The summer was winding down and she was getting ready to head back to classes. In fact, she should have left last week, but the idea of leaving him again was too much. They’d always been friendly during school, but when she ran into him over winter break her freshman year, something changed. 

Maybe it was being away from Hawkins, actually being able to be herself without feeling like she was constantly being compared to the other girls in town. Maybe it was getting out of her head, and getting the courage to say more than hi to him. Whatever “it” was, this thing between them had grown to be more for her. But she doubted he would ever see her as more than a friend with benefits, another notch on his belt. But gods, when she looked at him, he was all she could see. All it would take was him asking her to stay, and she would. Even if it only meant there was a slight chance there could be something more.

@stuffandthangsandangelwings

[tovibeornottovibe]

Before Someone Misses You

Eris Vanserra x Healer!Fem!OC

As a result of his father's heavy-handed parenting style, Eris is mere moments away from death. He can't think straight; the faebane and the blood loss is making him delirious. With what little strength he has, he winnows to Cleo's backdoor and practically collapses into her arms. Unfortunately for him, his usual restraint is severely impeded and yeah, he's so fucking in love with her, even if he can't admit it to himself. [4k words]

warnings: implied/referenced torture, swearing, implied sexual situations, mentioned Beron Vanserra (yuck)

Prefer to read on Ao3?

“Eris, Eris, you need to breathe. Just look at me, okay?”

He’s trying. Really, really trying. His eyes don’t seem to want to stay open, his head feels full, heavy, and his saliva is thick in his mouth like molasses; he can’t swallow it. He can’t tell if he’s going to throw up or pass out. All he knows is that he’s bleeding on Cleo’s floor and leaving a gory trail behind him as she props him up and leads him to her sofa. And now he’s bleeding on her sofa too.

Shame. The cream-coloured cushions suited her living room so well.

Eris is vaguely aware that she’s positioning him so she can get access to all of the lacerations across his torso, and that her dog is sitting patiently beside him, out of the way but close enough, worrying after him. He winces when she grips his chin and moves his head, lets out a ragged, wet breath when he tries to shift.

“Don’t move,” she says. He figures she talks like this with the fae she treats on the daily. Very to the point, but with a touch of tenderness. Delirium has hit him so hard that he manages to convince himself that she might actually save said tenderness just for him. Well, it’s a nice thought to go out with if this does turn out to be his last day alive. Ah, and he still had so much more to do. 

“You need to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

Cleo has a soothing voice. It’s rich and has none of that sycophantic tartness that the females of his own court tout at every opportunity. When she berates him for not taking care of himself—namely, for not seeing a damn healer immediately, for the love of the fucking Mother—she might as well be singing a lullaby…

“Please, Eris.”

He hums what he thinks might be some kind of response and makes the effort to open his eyes. Sometime between him falling into her arms and him falling onto her sofa, she had removed his shirt and started cleaning his wounds. They’re mostly cuts from a knife, but it’s the faebane making him feel so fuzzy. He can feel how his magic putters out in his veins. Courtesy of his father. Something, something, researching the effects of high dosages. What little he had managed to regain in the hours between being dumped in his rooms and now had been used up winnowing to Cleo’s doorstep at daybreak. The Dawn Court is further away than he thought and it had felt like wading through mud.

Usually, her cleaning him up hurts. The alcohol she uses burns but it’s effective and the blinding sting helps keep him focused. This doesn’t even register. He can’t feel where she’s pressing the cotton to his skin. Can’t feel where she’s holding him down to keep him from thrashing. Doesn’t even know if he’s capable of thrashing.

The dark waves of her hair fall over her face and she uses her bloodied hands to brush it out of the way. She hasn’t had it cut for a while and the length suits her. It probably reaches her mid-back now.

“What did he give you?” she asks, that slight tenderness hidden beneath a roiling, constrained kind of anger which makes him equally pleased and sickened. If it were anyone else, them seeing him in this state would have been mortifying, worthy of threats and promises never to tell a soul, but it’s Cleo, so it’s fine.

Eris attempts to form the word faebane, but his lips won’t do what he tells them and his teeth are suspiciously static. Whatever he chokes out registers with her, and she leaves him for a moment, presumably to dig through the cupboard under the sink where she keeps miscellaneous substances like selenium solution. Keenly, he feels her absence. He closes his eyes.

This is a quaint, little middle-of-a-terrace house in a quiet part of Thesan’s city, mostly untouched by Amarantha. Small, but comfortable. A kitchen made for no more than three, a dining table with tasteful chairs, a clean living room, artfully furnished and perfect for her. Though he has never been upstairs, he imagines her bedroom is similarly decorated with classy, understated furniture. There’s a patch of a back garden where she grows herbs and her dog, Dartagnan, can bound about in the sunshine. Here, even he can see the benefit of seasons. He’d go as far to say it's idyllic. 

Perhaps she’ll construct a funeral pyre for him somewhere nearby. Dart will find sticks for her to add to the pile. The birds will sing while his body burns. It could be worse. He could be at home.

Nudging at his hand which hangs off the sofa limply—his muscles aren’t doing much for him at the current moment—has his head lolling to the side and his eyes fluttering back open again. Dart is sniffing at the blood on his forearm. He slowly pats him on the head, running his fingers through his fur, and even in his state, he can hear his tail start to swish against the floor.

Dart makes for a good distraction, and Eris stays awake until Cleo returns and kneels at his side. 

“Am I going to have to force this down your gullet?” she asks, though a response doesn’t come to mind. Anything she says right now feels like coming in from the cold and sitting in front of the hearth. “Fuck, okay, fine.”

She pulls his jaw and opens his mouth and he lets her. One of these days, she’ll cup his face and it won’t be to pour medicine down his throat. Even when she’s treating him, particularly if it’s his face that needs healing and she gets so close to him that he can feel her breath against his neck, he thinks about whether or not she’d let him seduce her. Eris knows she’d suit burgundy. He wonders if she knows how to dance. If not, he could teach her—ack!  

As soon as the foul-tasting antidote hits his tongue, he feels his magic begin to purge the faebane from his veins, burning it out of his system, and for the first time since yesterday afternoon, he can breathe properly. He lets out a sharp sigh which catches in his throat. He flexes his hands, bends his knees, the feeling coming back to them, and manages to sit himself up despite the stinging of his wounds. At that, Cleo’s relief becomes evident on her face and she sits back on her calves, looking up at him. Dart, visibly brightening from Eris’ movement, rests his chin on the sofa cushion and nudges his side again. He goes back to fussing him.

“If you had left it another hour, you would be dead. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, he pauses. His imminent death isn’t even top five on his list of things to worry about.

He flicks his attention to her, and her short-lived relief has been replaced by a quiet, seething kind of rage which somehow makes him feel guilty. It’s not something he’s used to and he decides that he fervently hates it. Cleo is so open with her emotions. She has no mask. No ulterior motive. She just is who she is. They would eat her alive in Autumn, but here, in Dawn, it’s normal not to exploit your neighbours’ weaknesses. You wouldn’t even gain anything but a sour reputation if you tried.

“It’s a good thing I came when I did then, isn’t it?” he says without any of his usual sneer. She would kick him out of her house. Has kicked him out, on more than one occasion, for being an asshole.

“Yes, very good,” she spits, pushing herself up, gathering the bloodied rags littered across the sofa. “You need to get inoculated if your father is going to keep poisoning you.”

He can’t do that and she knows it in the same way she knows not to heal his wounds, only to stop them bleeding or getting an infection, because his father likes to see the results of his handiwork. She’s smart enough to have worked that out without him needing to tell her. She’s smart enough to be able to do a lot of things and he wishes he could steal her away for himself, kids himself that he wants her only for her mind. If only he could convince her that she’s wasted here, but even he knows that she isn’t. Cleo does good work. Cleo helps people. Cleo is far too good a person to be in his consistent company.

“I doubt he’d use the same poison twice,” he says. Dart huffs at him as he swings his legs over the edge of the sofa, almost relishing the subsiding ache in his joints. He leans back against the cushions while she cleans her equipment with a flick of the wrist and sends him a glare. 

“One of these days, he’s going to kill you,” she says gently, like she was breaking some bad news he wasn’t already aware of. She perches in front of him on the coffee table and tilts her head, assessing the way he moved in case she needed to heal some unseen injury. Internal bleeding is a favourite of his father’s. “Or else you’re going to die on my sofa and trust me when I say that will be a difficult one to explain to the guards.”

“Shall I provide you with a note to let them know it isn’t your fault?” he drawls, but it’s tinged with something sincere. All of this frank discussion makes Eris uncomfortable. The idea that she might actually be upset if he died sits uneasily in his chest and makes his stomach flip. 

Dart hops up on the sofa, which he isn’t allowed to do, and rests his head in Eris’ lap. When Eris scratches behind his ears, his tail starts again. His smokehounds would eat him alive too. Or else protect him within an inch of each of their lives. Softie.

Cleo drags a hand through her hair, pulling at the tangles she finds. In turn, he shakes the thought that, even when she’s worried, annoyed, angry, she is incontestably beautiful. These are unhelpful things for him to spend his time on. He shouldn’t even be sitting here. He should have already winnowed back to the Autumn Court. Should be preparing to make a miraculous appearance at breakfast and scare his father into thinking that he can truly recover by himself. Should be attempting to reassure his mother that no, he really is fine, no need for concern. Alas, he’s here, lavishing her dog with attention and ignoring the fact that he likes the smell of her living room now that the coppery tang of blood has been cleared away with her magic. 

Eris Vanserra considers himself to be many things, but a fool isn’t one of them. Perhaps he should start reevaluating.

She winces when he shifts and it pains him. “You don’t need me to lecture you,” she says, “but for the love of the Mother, Eris—”

“—see a healer immediately. Yes. I know,” he finishes for her. 

With the haze of the faebane gone, his body recuperating however much blood he lost, he can look at her, really look at her. The tan of her skin seems a little deeper compared with the last time he was here. The definition in her muscles is just a bit more pronounced. She wears a frown which he wants to wipe off her face, and a matching set of a pale green vest and pair of shorts which reveals so much skin he reasons that she simply cannot be meaning to wear that in public. In Autumn, just the fit of her shorts around her waist would be indecent, let alone the cut of the vest. Truly, Dawn Court fashion confounds him.

“You’re in your pyjamas,” he says. He needs the normality of a conversation before he can steel himself to go home.

She raises a brow at him and he takes that as a victory. No more of that frown. “You’re shirtless.”

His state of undress suddenly becomes very, very apparent to him. It’s so pleasantly warm in here that it doesn’t make too much difference to him. It must be summer in the Solar Courts. “I take it my shirt is thoroughly ruined?”

She shrugs. “I’m told ‘tattered and bloodied’ is very in at the moment.Torture-chic.”

He huffs a laugh despite himself; Cleo has that kind of morbid, absurdist humour which appeals to him. It probably has something to do with the fact she deals with dying fae every day.

“Do you want another one or are you planning on scandalising your servants?”

“Firstly,” he says, emphasizing his point by putting up a finger, “they’re maids.” She rolls her eyes as if to say, like that makes any difference. “Secondly, I don’t think any of your shirts will fit.”

The corners of her lips tip up into a ghost of a smile. “Ah. Hang on.” She stands and Dart promptly does the same, meaning to follow her around like a lost puppy as usual. Eris, for just a second before he gets a hold of himself, misses the comfort. In his absence, his cuts start to throb. Cleo calls that the placebo effect and it is infuriating that he’s susceptible to it (“Everyone is, Eris. That’s why they did research on it. If it was only the case in insufferable, idiotic, half-dead—” “Okay, enough. No need to injure me further.” ). She stretches and he averts his eyes from where her vest rides up and shows her midriff. “I’ll be back in a mo’,” she says.

And she disappears upstairs, Dart padding after her. Unequivocally, he does not watch her go, busies himself with taking in the full-extent of what his father subjected him to. It’s not a pretty sight, and though Cleo cleaned him up as much as she could, he’s going to gain some more fairly unpleasant scars. By his guess, it’s going to take a week, maybe more, for these to heal. It was either him or Caelan, and he somewhat finds Caelan tolerable, so he took the knife for him. He had better remember that when the time comes, he thinks.

Though Cleo knows far, far too much to be safe, she doesn’t know anything about his plans to overthrow Beron, and she certainly doesn’t know it’s mere months away. With the coming Autumn equinox, he will crown himself High Lord. Dramatic intent never hurt. After that, he can visit her any time he likes. Maybe she could even come to him…

Cauldron, he’s fucked, isn’t he?

This is all for afterwards. He can’t think like this now. Not when his freedom is so close he can almost taste it and one wrong move will spell not just his death but those of everyone who is counting on him to depose his father. Every spy, every guard in his employ, every maid, cook, and gardener who warn him of his father’s whereabouts and look after his mother when he can’t. Every damned faerie in his damned Court who are sick of Beron’s rule. And Cleo. They’ll probably come for her too for daring to be kind to him all those years ago. 

So, failure isn’t an option.

Eris is broken from his reverie by a white shirt hitting him in the face. He might hate himself for noticing, but it smells like her: freesias and ginger. It is concerning that he has that piece of information tucked away in his brain somewhere. 

He pulls the shirt off his head and glares at her while Dart settles himself next to him. She shoots him the kind of smile that would make his heartbeat dangerously fast if he had the blood to spare. Just as he’s about to pull the shirt over his chest, he hesitates, because this is another male’s shirt. He swears if Cleo has some horribly charming and horrendously attractive partner/lover/whatever else in her life he is going to—

“Relax,” she says, drawing out the word. “It’s my brother’s. He left it here a couple of months ago.”

Damn her for reading him so well. 

Damn himself for being so obvious. And damn the Mother Herself for making him feel so happy about it. He’s the Heir to the Autumn Court and a general threat to anyone stupid enough to cross him—it’s a wonder no sentry of Thesan’s has picked up his presence in the Court—he cannot and will not carve out time in his day to feel content. 

Instead, he starts doing up the buttons and stands, maybe just a little too close to her to be friendly. The slight height advantage he has makes it so she has to look up at him. He enjoys the angle more than he cares to admit. 

“You shouldn’t go around telling members of other Courts when Thesan’s council members sleep on their sisters’ sofas,” he says, working out the roughness in his voice. 

“Why?” she laughs, then she gasps. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on kidnapping my brother and holding him for ransom.”

Eris leaves the top two buttons of the shirt undone. “I hadn’t been,” he says, “but now that you mention it…”

“He’s always wanted to see the Autumn Court, you know.”

“Yes, he’ll get a splendid view from a dungeon cell.”

“You had better give him the finest rags money can buy.”

“They’re all woven from the finest jute, I assure you. The rats who chew the holes have three square meals a day and the shackles are covered in the most exquisite rust that only severely cuts into the skin.”

“Excellent,” she says. “I’ll be sure to tell him you have a surprise for him next time I see him.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Frankly, Cleo’s brother is a prick, so, if she wanted him put in a dungeon, he would do it for her. Not that he’s offered. Yet.

She lets out a little chuckle and some kind of irresistible impulse wracks through him. 

They’re so close he can see the flecks of green in the blue of her eyes.

If he doesn’t leave soon he’s going to do something stupid like leaning down and kissing her. Then, if he got that far, he might do something even worse like slipping his hand under that fucking vest and finally, finally finding out what she feels like, tastes like, sounds like if… No. So what if he finds her attractive? So what if he hasn’t had a dalliance in years because he can’t stomach the thought of it? It won’t matter if his father kills him or scents her in his hair and goes to great lengths to find her and make him suffer for opening himself up, for being weak.

He tamps down every lingering, heated thought his brain bombards him with and tightens the defenses Cleo so easily pulls down every time he sees her.

“I should return before anyone notices I’m gone,” he says, but he doesn’t quite reach his desired level of harshness. In fact, he almost sounds disappointed.

It irks him that he can’t tell if Cleo feels the same. Instead of perhaps confessing her undying love for him, or calling him some profane name he’s never thought to imagine, she slips past him, straight to the backdoor which leads out to her garden, and gestures outside. “After all this time,” she says, “you’d think you’d know where the door is.” When she opens it, the songs of early-morning birds float through.

The walk feels too short, and he’s finding himself on the threshold of the house far too soon. 

Eris takes a deep breath, inhales the pleasant scent of mid-summer in the Dawn Court, of the flowers which border the back wall of her house and the wisteria tree which hangs over the brick separating the garden from the alleyway in cascading violet. 

He turns back. Slightly. Doesn’t fully turn his body. Their eyes meet.

“Thank you,” he says. Any other words die on his silver tongue. 

Cleo leans against the doorframe. For a moment, she flicks her gaze to the garden, then back to him. She swallows. “You know you don’t have to thank me, Eris,” she says softly, then she smiles again. “Just bring a good bottle of wine next time maybe?”

“You say that like I plan on these visits.”

She exhales a laugh and crosses her arms. “You know what I mean. Now, go, before someone misses you.”

Right. 

Mask on. He wears his ego like armour and his arrogance is sharp like the finest blade in his repertoire. Anyone who makes the mistake of being in his way, of impeding his progress, meets the business end of his endless influence, and no one will find the skeletons in his closet unless he wants them to. He takes what he wants and makes no apologies. He’s a Vanserra; blessed by the Mother with fire and the coppery hair to prove it; he’s born to scheme and lie and cheat his way to the top; he’s built for blood, to betray, betray, betray until he gets what he—

“Eris.”

 Cleo’s hand wraps around his arm before he can take a step. 

This is… they don’t do this. There’s rules for touching each other within the exclusive context of making sure he survives the night. On her sofa, there are no boundaries. Cleo does what she needs to and he lets her because he knows what’s good for him and she’s terrifying when she’s disobeyed. But, this, her hand, on his arm, stopping him, this is stepping over the line. The heat of her seeps through the shirt and it takes a lot of effort not to shiver from the contact.

“I meant what I said,” she continues, her touch lightening a fraction. “Be careful.” He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed.”

Oh.

Someday, not today, but sometime in the near future, she’s going to say something like that and he’s going to kiss her senseless. For now, he’s settling for her hand on his arm. 

So much for taking what he wants.

“Do you truly think I’m stupid enough to—?”

She narrows her eyes at him and he shuts his mouth. He shuts his eyes like the idea physically pains him.

“You really want me to promise, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs a long, heavy breath. Composes himself.

“I promise you,” he says, leaning toward her slightly, his voice low, “I won’t get myself killed. Happy?”

Whatever she searches for on his face, she seems to find. Satisfied, she lets go of him. The lack of pressure around his bicep feels wrong.

“Very,” she says. “Okay. Go.” A nod to the little wooden door that leads to the alleyway and out of the wards which surround the house. “And take pain tonics if it gets too much. I don’t care if they’re illegal in Autumn. That’s a shit law and you should repeal it.”

He plans to.

They don’t say goodbye. They never do. Some traditions will never change. There’s too much finality in the word, and they settle for no farewell at all, like the next time they see each other will simply be a continuation of the previous meeting. On-going. A constant in the background. 

With every step, he rebuilds his mask. By the time he’s home, it’ll feel normal again. Like second nature.

Even as he enters the alley, Eris doesn’t look back. Still, he knows she’s watching him go, and she won’t go back inside until she’s sure he’s winnowed away. 

a/n: am i potentially going to make this a series of one-shots? maybe

[shanastoryteller]

Thirteen Magpies

Dean’s pissed and trying to act like he isn’t. Sam’s head is throbbing and aching, there’s still blood crusted in the corner of his eyes, and he doesn’t have the energy to try and fix this right now.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to tell Dean. He’s thought of telling him ever since his brother pulled him from the fire, since he opened his eyes and realized he was living in his nightmare. But he can’t, the risk versus the reward is too great.

There’s no point, anyway. Jessica’s dead. Whatever freaky dreams he had, whatever he should have done to prevent it – none of it matters.

Letting his brother know that he’s a freak, that he might be something like the things they hunt, won’t get him anything. Dean thinks he’s mad now? If he knew Sam’s secret, mad wouldn’t begin to even cover it.

So he lets Dean make jokes he doesn’t mean, ignores the twitch in his jaw, and falls asleep fully clothed, boots still on right there on the covers. He really is that exhausted, but mostly it’s to gauge how angry his brother really is.

If he wakes up with his boots still on, no blanket thrown over him, he’ll know to tread lightly for the next few days.

~

“We got a live one.”

Dean flicks his eyes up from the map to Risa is leaning against the doorway. When she doesn’t say anything further, he raises an eyebrow. She knows better than to waste his time.

She shrugs. “He’s pretty freaked, it’s weird. He doesn’t seem to have any idea what’s going on, but he’s not infected from what we can tell.”

Well, she usually knows better than to waste his time.

“Probably better to gank him just in case,” he says, already focusing back on the map. There’s nothing around here but the infected, the military, and them. Soon there won’t even be that.

She hesitates. “He’s pretty young. And scared.”

So what? Aren’t they all? Hell, he’s thirty five. He’s still young, although he hasn’t felt it in years.

There’s a crash, and then Chuck is pushing Risa aside, eyes wide and panicked. Tension coils in Dean’s gut, even before Chuck says, “You need to see this.”

Fuck, fine. Whatever.

He’s so tired. Of this, of them, of everything. His only solace is that he won’t have to deal with it much longer.

He tucks a gun in the back of his waistband, giving them both a dark look as he stalks past. Does he really have to do everything around here? With his luck they’ve brought a crote right into camp who’s about to feral and start bleeding on people any second and they’re going to have to deal with a damn outbreak right in the middle of the base –

What the hell.

His chest is tight. He should be doing something, shooting him, giving orders, something, but just then all the air leaves his lungs.  

“Dean!” Sam shouts, relief breaking out over his face.

This isn’t the Sam of a couple years ago, or even five years ago when he saw him last – really saw him, saw Sam. This is how Sam looked when he picked him up at Stanford, broad and tall but still gangly and young, the strength of his muscles long instead of bulging. There’s a sweetness to his face that hunting had carved away within the first year, or maybe that was visions or the demon or whatever else Dean failed to protect him from. Sam breaks away from the hands gripping his elbows to the shock of James, who probably thought he’d had a good grip on the kid, and hurries towards him, which is when he sees that Sam is in dirty socks and a pair of slides that look to be a couple sizes too small. What the hell? Dean should stop him. It’s not really Sam. It can’t be.

“Thank god, I woke up alone and I thought, uh, never mind. What the hell is going on…” He trails off as he gets closer, squinting. He looks Dean up and down then reaches out and pokes him in the corner of his eye by his temple.  

Several people gasp. He can’t make himself look away, even as all the ways this is impossible, all the tricks it could be, run through his mind. It looks real. Is this a trick from Lucifer? But the base is warded against angels and demons and anything in between. No one but a human could walk in here. A witch? If there are any witches left, they’re hiding somewhere nowhere can find them. What would they gain by looking like his little brother at twenty two?

“You’re old,” Sam says, half delight and half incredulity. It makes him think of when he fell into that swamp when they were kids and Sam laughed himself sick after he helped him out. “Dude, did you piss off a witch or something? Were you trying to sleep with her? You really have to learn when to love them and when to leave them.” His gaze rises a little higher. “Got any grey hairs?”

He sounds like Sam.

“Okay, buddy, that’s enough,” James says, stepping forward gun first.

Sam reacts automatically, no longer hunched next to Dean, but straightening to his full height of nearly six and half feet and as he steps in front of him. He knocks Dean an extra inch behind him even though he doesn’t have a weapon or shoes or any clue what’s going on.

Something inside of him that he thought was long dead breaks and resets.

Yeah, that’s Sammy.

People always got it wrong. If this were someone’s idea of a trick, they would have had Sam looking to him for protection and asking for his help. Dean was notorious for being over protective, after all, always taking the hit, always making himself a target. That’s what people remembered.

Sam tolerated it at best.

He let Dean take the lead when he was comfortable. When he felt safe. He didn’t argue about Dean going in first or playing bait only because it wasn’t worth the effort, only because it meant that Sam was at his back and could cover him if something went wrong. He put up with Dean’s control freak tendencies until he didn’t, until he got stressed or pissed or scared, and then all bets were off and good fucking luck to anyone that got in his way.

But the Sam in front of him looks like shit, he clearly doesn’t know what’s going on, and he apparently woke up in apocalypse alone and somehow managed to get here. He’s probably a great combination of stressed, pissed, and scared right now and Dean may looks older, but he’s still him, the only familiar thing in this unfamiliar world.

Of course Sam sees a gun pointed in their direction and steps in front of him. Of course he doesn’t bother playing small like usually does, using ever scrap of intimidation he has even though he’s weaponless.

His brother at the end of his rope wouldn’t do anything else.

He’s not going to be an idiot about this, he’s still going to check, but every instinct he has is telling him that this is Sam.

How the fuck is it Sam?

He's drowning, he's suffocating, he wants to get his hands on Sam, wants to shake him, wants to bruise him just so he knows he's real.

He's practiced at not getting what he wants.

“Down,” he says to James, his voice coming out even and steady despite everything. He points the gun to the ground almost before Dean’s finished speaking. “Everyone, as you were. Sam, with me.”

“Who died and put you in charge?” Sam bitches, still glaring at James. He sticks close, looking around the camp curiously, eyes catching on all the symbols that he doesn’t recognize.

You did, he thinks, and almost laughs, except for the way it’s not funny at all. They head to his cabin and he pointedly ignores all the looks they’re getting. Little hard to bring a giant back without anyone noticing. He points the table. “Sit.”

“Do I look like a dog to you?” Sam asks, crossing his arms and not sitting. “Dean, what the hell is going on! What is this place? Where is everyone? What’s wrong with the people out there? Why are you old?”

“Just,” he lets out a harsh breath. For fuck’s sake. “Can you not argue with me and do what you’re told for one minute?”

Sam glares at him, but must see something in Dean’s face that sways him because he huffs and nods. Then he ruins it by literally setting his watch and saying, “One minute.”

He still doesn’t sit down.

Christ. He’d forgotten how much of a little shit Sam used to be. He should probably restrain him for this, just in case, probably shouldn’t have brought him back alone, it’s just.

He thinks it might actually be Sam. A Sam, anyway. He goes through salt, holy water, iron, and silver. It takes longer than a minute, but Sam seems intrigued enough to go with it. Some of these tests are brand new to him. In the end, all it gets him is an irritated eye roll. “If you’re really Sam,” he says, “tell me something only the real Sam would know.”

“If?” he repeats, rolling back around from intrigued to irritated. It’s the same little brother annoyed face that Dean knows so well, lips pursed and eyebrows pushed together.

He’s missed Sam so much.

“If it’s occurring to you that you should have been concerned about me being me, don’t worry about it,” he says tiredly. “You can test me too.”

Sam’s nose scrunches. “Don’t be stupid. You’re you. Just old and sort of bitchy.”

His lip almost twitches at that.

Sam looks around again, chewing on his bottom lip. “Dean, what year is it?”

He thinks a lot of things in his life would have been easier if he’d had a dumber brother. “What year is it for you?”

Sam glares. For a moment Dean thinks he’s going to refuse to answer until Dean tells him what’s going on, but he says, “2005. We just finished dealing with Bloody Mary.”

Fuck. That’s barely a month after Jessica.

It could still be a trap. He doesn’t believe it, hasn’t believed it from the moment he saw him. “Tell me something only Sam would know.”

He throws up his hands. “How would I know that? I’m clearly in the future, somehow, or crazy, and either way I don’t know what you or other people don’t know. Ask me something only I would know. You’d know better than me.”

Dean thinks that makes sense. Maybe. But he’s drawing a blank, trying to go back ten years in his memories to remember what secrets they’d shared then, and if any of them are still a secret now, and nothing’s coming to mind.

Sam softens, holding his hands open. “Come on, Dean, it’s me. I know that you’re you. Can’t you tell that I’m me?”

Yes. But Sam had always been better at that than he was. He'd known within three seconds that the skinwalker hadn’t been him, even though they’d only been back on the road together a few months at this point. Sam had never been able to explain to him how he’d clocked it so quickly, only that it had been obvious.

No one else knows him that well. Never have, never will.

It’s obvious to him that this is Sam. But it’s stupid to rely on his gut. It’s betrayed him before.

“Fuck,” he groans, running a hand over his face. This Sam hasn’t even faced a skinwalker yet. “Okay, fine, Jesus.”

Sam grins, smug in his victory in a way that makes Dean want to go over there and give him a noogie like they’re kids again. He wants to pretend for one second that not everything is misery and shit.

Christ, Sam basically is a kid right now. He’s only twenty two. Dean’s hit just then with the enormity of what Sam doesn’t know. They haven’t even met Missouri yet. He doesn’t know about Azazel, about the other psychic kids, about his powers, about what the demon did to him. He doesn’t know about angels, doesn’t know about Lucifer, or all the terrible fucked up things waiting for him.

“How did you get here?” he asks quietly, can feel the panic clawing at his throat. It’s too much. Sam is here. He was never supposed to see Sam again. His brother is long gone.

His brother is right in front of him.

Even if it’s not a trick, it is a trap. The day before he’s set to finally retrieve the Colt and kill Lucifer for good, a kid version of his brother appears? He doesn’t know the angle just yet, but he knows that there is one.

It was supposed to be over. He was going to finally be free.

But he can’t leave Sam in this piece of shit world alone. Not again.

“Beats me,” Sam shrugs. “I went to bed next to you and woke up in a different motel and met some rabid people and ran and ended up here and then I saw you. Nothing was weird or different before, or at least nothing I noticed. Will you tell me when I am now?”

“2015,” he says finally, watching Sam’s face, bracing for a freak out but also unsurprised when it doesn’t happen.

When the chips are down, Sam’s never been anything but steel.

“Huh,” he says finally, eyes downcast. He nods, more to himself than to Dean, than lifts his head to look him in the eye. “Where’s Dad?”

Will the thought of his father ever stop hurting? Probably not. Especially not now. He’s looking the baby brother he was supposed to save in the eye and he failed. He failed to save him and now he has to go and kill him.

If there were any mercy left on earth, Dean would have died the moment Sam said yes in Detroit.

He shakes his head.

Sam’s face crumples briefly before he rallies, swallowing down the grief that’s all too clear to Dean. “Yeah, probably should have figured that out as soon as I saw you barking orders. Okay. Where am I? Future me?”

Dean tries to control his face, to keep it impassive and empty, but by the way Sam jerks back like he’s been hit, he knows that he failed. He’s good at this normally. Really good, in fact. Maybe he still is, he’s just forgotten how well Sam used to be able to read him.

“Oh, man,” he says quietly. “I’m so sorry.”

He jerks his eyes to Sam’s, searching his expression. Does he know? Has the same thing that brought him here also told him something of what they were throwing him into?

“How did I – no, don’t tell me,” he decides. “Are you okay? I didn’t even like the idea of you hunting alone, never mind this.”

Sam thinks he’s dead.

It’s almost a relief.

“Fine,” he says.

Sam gives him a look. “Yeah, your whole family’s dead and the world's gone to shit, you’re clearly doing great. I don’t know why I even asked.”

Dean smiles. It’s been a long time. The muscles feel unused.

He still wants to touch him. But he can't. Once he starts, he doesn't think he'll be able to stop.

Sam stares at him for a long moment, eyebrows raised. “Are you crazy?”

“Probably, yeah,” he says, feeling the urge to laugh in his chest, another forgotten sensation. He’d forgotten how much Sam used to backtalk. The demon, Dad’s death, his deal, what Sam had gone through when he’d been gone, fucking Ruby. It had all worked to stomp out his brother’s attitude, to grind down Sam in a way that John Winchester had tried and fail to achieve for nineteen years.

In some ways it feels like he lost Sam long before he released Lilith. He’d feel guilty about it, but Sam probably feels the same way about him.

Felt the same way. Sam’s not feeling much of anything right now, with Lucifer walking around in his skin.

[littlesoulshine]

Hi!! I was wondering if you could write for Clark Kent.The reader is always cool and colorful she doesn’t cry especially in front of Clark.But as there relationship is developing she can’t help but notice he does treat her like how he did with Lana.she sees them together and even though she knows Clark wouldn’t cheat she can’t help but feel like she can’t compare to Lana.Chole catches on and talks to the reader causing her to cry her heart out.What they didn’t know was that Clark was listening in on them.Lots of angst but could you make a happy end.Thank you!!

clark isn’t cheating, you know that. he would never. but God, does it ache anyway—watching the way he looks at lana, how soft his voice gets around her, how easy they are together.

it’s stupid. it’s ridiculous. you don’t do jealousy, don’t do insecurity. but there’s a whisper in the back of your mind, low and insidious: you will never be her.

chloe catches on before you can bury it deep enough.

“okay,” she says, cornering you in the torch’s office, arms crossed, brow raised. “what’s going on?”

you snort, rolling your eyes. “nothing? what, am i not smiling enough for you?”

she doesn’t buy it. of course she doesn’t. “you get quiet every time clark and lana are in the same room. and for someone who’s usually all sunshine and sarcasm, that’s...kinda alarming.”

you open your mouth, ready to deflect, but she beats you to it. “do you think clark’s in love with her?”

and that’s it. that’s the question that breaks your heart into little pieces, that cracks through the layers of forced indifference and lets everything ugly spill out. your throat tightens, your vision blurs, and before you can stop it, the first tear slips free.

“oh,” chloe breathes, eyes going wide. “oh, honey.” you hate this. hate feeling this weak, this vulnerable, hate that she’s seeing you like this when you’ve spent so long making sure no one ever does. but once the dam breaks, there’s no stopping it. your shoulders shake, and you sink into the chair behind you, hands trembling as you press them to your face.

“i just…” you choke out between sobs, voice barely above a whisper. “i know he loves me. i know that. but i can’t help feeling like…like i’m just a second choice. like if she wanted him, really wanted him, i wouldn’t stand a chance.”

chloe kneels beside you, squeezing your hand. “you don’t actually believe that, do you?”

you let out a wet, shaky laugh. “right now? i don’t know.”

what neither of you realize is that clark is standing just outside the door, frozen in place, every word hitting him like a punch to the gut.

he never meant for this. never meant for you to feel like anything less than everything to him. and god, it kills him that you do.

so when you finally step out of the office, eyes red and puffy, face blotchy from crying, he’s there. waiting.

your breath catches. “clark.”

his expression is unreadable, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides. then, before you can say anything else, he’s closing the distance between you, cupping your face in his hands, thumb brushing away the last traces of your tears.

“i need you to listen to me,” he says, voice thick with something raw, something desperate. “you are not a second choice. you never were, and you never will be. i love you. you. not lana, not anyone else. just you.”

your lip trembles. “but—”

“no buts.” he shakes his head, pressing his forehead to yours. “i don’t know what i did to make you doubt that, but i swear to you, there is no comparison. you are everything.”

notes: thank you for sending a request! ⭐️

[malum-forev]

Eyes, They Never Lie

Summary: Sam and Bucky try to recruit (Y/N), Bucky's ex and a former Avenger who has left that life behind. But they realize her life has changed completely once they meet a her daughter with striking blue eyes.

Pairings: Bucky x Former!Avenger!Reader

“They want me to assemble a group,” Sam takes a long sip of his beer, thinking that it’ll do something to ease his mind. “The New Avengers.”

Bucky lets out a low whistle.

“I know.” Sam mutters. So far, it’s Captain America and the Falcon, but other than that, he’s completely lost. “Back when Steve was here, there was a place for us to go. We could aspire to one day go into the compound and train, but now, anyone who is willing to be part of the team is scattered all around the world.”

Bucky hasn’t said anything, not because he doesn’t know how to help his friend but because he’s so lost in his own journey. Running for congress sounded like a good idea, until he started dealing with the political world. So much bureaucracy, so many people wanting to fatten their wallets. And not enough actual helping.

“You got any ideas?” Sam asks, bringing him out of his mind.

But Bucky just hums, because the idea he does have is crazy.

“C’mon I know that being a silent watcher is your whole deal but I need some help over here. How the hell am I going to build a team from zero?”

Bucky finishes his drink, as if that’s going to help jumpstart his confidence. “Are you looking for fresh meat? Or do you got space for an old timer?”

Sam’s eyes widen. “I thought all your fighting days were behind you.”

“I want out,” Bucky loosens the tie on his neck. “I want to go out on the field again. Really help.”

Sam runs a hand down his face, there’s hesitation in the way he looks at Bucky. 

“Unless…” Bucky gulps. “Unless I’m not what you’re looking for.”

“No, no.” Sam places a hand on his shoulder. “I just need to tell you something before you say yes to this-“

“What is it?”

“I was-uh-“ Sam looks up at the screen above them, not wanting to look at his friend in the eye when he says it. “I was gonna ask her to join, too.”

“Oh,” Bucky can’t help but think back to when you were his, at least for a moment. Every time he thinks about being happy, you’re right there next to him. 

You were the first woman he was actually interested in. He spent years wasting time with thousands of women, letting them in his apartment but never into his heart. But your eyes reeled him in from the moment you started as an agent. Steve would always tease Bucky, saying he’d have to see you fall in love with someone else if he didn’t ask you out. 

Those were the best years of his life. No doubt.

Until you left. You retired, and wanted nothing to do with him. And all the love you had seemed to evaporate from one day to the next.

But Bucky? He was still waiting for you to come back. 

“I-I thought she disappeared, retired.” Bucky stutters at your memory. 

“I found out where she lives now. And I planned on talking her into the group.” Sam looks down at the beer in his hand.

“I’m in.” Bucky says, but he’ll never be sure if he accepted because he wanted out of the political world or if he wanted another glimpse of you. 

-------

“The house is supposed to be up the road.” Sam mutters, trying to find cel reception. But the two of them were so deep into the woods, it was almost impossible. 

Bucky had always imagined you’d end up like this. Off the grid, living off your land. But in the dream, the two of you would be together. He’d spend the day cutting wood and harvesting whatever you’d grown, and you’d be deep into a hobby, spending your nights recounting your wild life. 

They see an opening up the road, but as they come closer, their eyebrows knit together.

“This can’t be it.” Sam says under his breath.

A huge cabin, surrounded by pine trees, is the only thing around. There’s a big tree at the front of the cabin, with a tree house on one of its branches. A glittery pink bike on the lawn along with a replica of Mjolnir next to it.

Sam parks his truck and they both step out cautiously. Bucky looks around, wondering how the woman who used to scream at the sight of a spider could live here, all alone.

As they come closer to the front door, they hear rustling from the tree house.

Bucky nudges his friend’s shoulder. “There’s someone over here.” 

Sam’s head whips just enough to see a pair of binoculars looking at them from the wooden window. 

“Hello?” He calls out but there’s no answer.

“Do you live here?” Bucky asks, only to be slapped on the chest by his friend.

“You can’t ask that! It’s creepy!”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “How else am I supposed to get an answer if I don’t ask a question?” 

But there's no response from the person inside the tree house. Instead, there's clanking and banging and before they even realize it, there's a little girl pointing a bow and arrow directly at them.

"State your name! Now!" She tries to look menacing but her outfit is too much for the two men to handle. Sky blue rain boots with a purple tutu, a Def Leppard t-shirt and heart shaped sunglasses.

"Oh my god." Sam immediately melts. "Aren't you the cutest little thing I've ever seen."

But the little girl doesn't fall for the Captain's words, she points the arrow directly at Sam. "Don't make me repeat my question, I know how to use this."

"Do you live with an adult? Your aunt, maybe?" Bucky's throat dries up as he asks the question. He knew you had siblings before you went into the crazy line of work that were the Avengers, and he begged that the little girl before him was theirs.

Bucky spent hours thinking about you on the way here. He'd been dreaming of seeing you again, thinking of what must have changed and what stayed the same. But he never thought there was a possibility you had moved on.

"Is your-" Bucky clears his throat. "Is your dad home?"

Sam eyes his partner. "Smooth."

The little girl walks backwards until her back bumps into the cabin's front door. "I'll call my daddy."

Bucky's heart stops. After years, he was still thinking of you whenever his eyes closed, and you, you were completely over him. Started a family with someone else.

"I'm sorry, Buck." Sam pats his back, immediately noticing the shift in his friend's eyes.

"S'okay." Bucky mutters, grinding his combat boot into the ground. "I'm not here for her, I'm here to assemble the team."

"I know, but-"

"I said I'm fine." Bucky snaps, running a hand through his shorter hair.

You'd begged him, for years, to cut his hair.

"I love your long hair," you'd once murmured against his lips. "But I also love how you looked during the Howling Commandos era."

"Era? You're making me sound more old than I am." Bucky smiled against your lips.

"I'm just saying, you could shorten it." Whenever you looked into his eyes, it made him feel like he was the only thing in the world.

"I thought you liked pulling my hair." Bucky flipped you on the bed, taking in your bubbling laughter.

The creaking sound of the cabin door brought him back to now. Bucky sucks in air, preparing to meet the man who is apparently so incredible that you decided to drop everything to be with him.

He has to be at last six feet. Well I'm 6 foot 1, on a good day. Bucky responds to his own thoughts. And he must be jacked. Not as jacked as me, I'm the fucking Winter Soldier for fucks sake! He must love her. Well I, I've loved her every day since I met her.

It feels like it takes hours for this mystery man to come out. The door opens slowly, only to reveal... You.

Bucky's knees buckle as your eyes meet his. You hadn't changed a lick, and if he didn't know better, he'd think that you were still his. Bucky's hands ball into fists at his side, needing a physical reminder to not reach out and hold you. Beg for your kisses. Tell you he doesn't care that you left, just as long as you take him back.

"Sam? Bucky?" Your voice trembles. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

The little girl pokes her head from behind your legs. "Mommy!"

"Mommy?" Sam and Bucky shriek at the same time.

"Attack them! Take them down!" Your daughter laughs.

"Young lady!" You scold.

But the little girl interrupts you, raising a chubby hand to stop your words. "I've already told you my name is Tashi Romanoff."

"Tashi, please, go upstairs and play. I need to talk to them for a moment. In private." You enunciate your last two words, knowing they were her least favorite words in the world.

"Fine," she huffs, turning on her heels. But not before taking off her rain boots and heart shaped sunglasses to reveal a pair of striking eyes. Clear blue with a steel ring surrounding her iris. Bucky's brows furrow as he catches a glimpse of Tashi's eyes, almost the same exact shade as the one he sports.

"W-wai-She's-" Bucky stutters out, not being able to comprehend what just happened.

"Tashi, huh?" Sam raises his eyebrows.

"Yeah," you close the door behind you. "Auntie Nat came to visit us during the blip and she just latched on to her."

"W-was her dad blipped?" Bucky tries to act normal but his heart is beating out of his chest.

"Her dad isn't in the picture." You cross your arms. "She was a surprise."

"So-uh-so that means." Bucky points between him and the house. Not being able to get the words out. "There's no way that."

"She's not yours, Barnes." You roll your eyes at your ex boyfriend.

"But she-her eyes." He blinks.

"There are a lot of guys with blue eyes out there." You let out a light laugh. It was strangely easy for you to slip into how things were, teasing and sharing laughs was the base of your relationship with Bucky. But now, so much time has passed, and you're definitely not the same person you were back then.

"What are you guys doing here?" You look down at the floor as you ask the question.

"Someone out there has created a mind controlling substance that puts everyone in danger. And we need to stop him. We found his lab and we got some of the vials but we need your help taking him down." Sam says but you're shaking your head before he even has time to finish. "I want to form a group. The world needs us again."

"Look, Sam, I appreciate you going through all the trouble to find me but, as you can see, I have other priorities now." You look back into the house through the window to find your four year old daughter peeking through the window.

"But-" Bucky speaks up but you stop him.

"You guys can stay the night if you'd like," you say, looking at the darkening sky. "But I'm not going back. There's a reason I left that life."

Bucky bites his tongue to stop himself from asking you what that reason was.

"Thanks for letting us stay." Sam smiles as he passes the threshold of your home.

You never thought this day would come. Seeing your daughter run around your back yard with one of your best friends.

“She’s beautiful.” Bucky comes to stand next to you, but you only hum in agreement. Words seemingly disappeared from your mind the second his scent wafted closer to you. Sandalwood and fire, clean linens with a dash of something else. So masculine, so protective. So incredibly, Bucky. 

“How old is she?” He asks.

“Don’t do this to yourself.” You take a deep breath in, letting him coat your lungs. 

“I just want to know.” Bucky tries to act innocently. He dissects every trait he can tell comes from you, but the rest, they look awfully similar to him. Tashi’s nose has the same bump as his and her eyes crinkle just like Bucky’s when she smiles. 

“Faking was never your forte.” You smile. “She’s not your daughter Bucky.”

“Bucky.” He repeats his name like it hurts him to say. “You never used to call me that.” 

“Well, I used to call you baby but I wouldn’t want Tashi to start asking questions about who my other baby is.” 

Bucky lets out a laugh, it’s a low grumble that shakes his ribs. It’s been so long since he felt this peace. “I missed this,” he lets the words slip out.

“I missed this too.” You say, barely above a whisper, stopping yourself before you say that you missed him. But you did.

Every day since you left, you thought of Bucky. Of the way he used to hold you so tenderly and the kisses he gave you at night. Of how he said I love you and made it sound like the only words that existed.

But all those memories were of the past, your life before Tashi came in. And you should keep them like that.

-----

The moonlight is the only thing that illuminates Bucky as he wanders around the cabin. He didn't mean to lurk but he'd woken up from a nightmare.

Your home was different than he imagined. A lot more stuffed animals and toys and less trinkets from your past life. There were a couple of pictures here and there but they were mostly of Tashi and you.

"What are you doing up?" Bucky jumps up at the sound of her squeaky voice.

Tashi looks up at him with those goddamned eyes. They looked so much like his, it was concerning.

"I-I couldn't sleep." Bucky rubs the back of his neck.

"Do you have nightmares?" She asks so innocently. If only she knew the things he dreamed of. "I have them too."

"You do?" Bucky whispers, making her nod her little head.

"Mommy usually helps be back to sleep but I don't want to wake her up." Tashi brings a finger to her mouth, motioning for the Sergeant to keep quiet. "Don't tell her I woke up, promise?"

"Promise." Bucky brings out his pinky, wrapping it around her little finger. "I'll let you in on a little secret of mine."

Tashi's blue eyes widen, urging him to go on.

"You may not know about me but, there was a time your Mommy helped me with my nightmares." Bucky smiles at the memory.

"I know about you, silly goose." Tashi covers her giggles with her hand.

"You do?"

She nods, holding her hand out and taking him to her playroom. Sitting Bucky in an incredibly small chair. "You're the boy from my book!"

Tashi places in his hands a hand sewn felt book. The characters were a bit wonky but Bucky could immediately spot himself in the fabric.

"You're the boy with the heart of gold and the arm of steel." She says, proudly pointing to the book.

"The boy with the heart of gold and the arm of steel would save anyone, especially the people he loved," Bucky read his description on the book. "People around the world misjudged him, but that didn't stop him from being good. He proved them all wrong."

"You're my favorite character," Tashi smiles wide. "Don't tell Uncle Sam."

"Your secret is safe with me." Bucky lets out a watery smile, setting the book down on the floor. "How about you go up to your room and I can tell you a story about your mom."

"Really?" Tashi jumps up.

"Only if you promise to try and go to sleep again." Bucky raises his eyebrow, trying to appear strong but the little girl already had him wrapped around her finger.

"Under one condition," Tashi crosses her arms. "I can go outside and get my Natasha figurine."

Bucky bites down on his lip. "It's quite late to go outside."

"Please?" She pouts. "It'll only take a second."

God she looks so much like you.

"Fine." Bucky gives in. "But I'll be watching by the door, can't let you go outside all alone."

The super soldier walks behind the little girl, watching as she runs outside and sifts through the grass.

Bucky should have known something was wrong, he should have heard them lurking in the bushes. But he was too distracted by her, too distracted by the idea that this could have been his life. That in some multiverse, Tashi was his daughter and he could've retired next to the love of his life.

But he didn't. And it was too late once he realized what was happening.

Tens of agents dressed in black closed in on the cabin, running onto the property. Tashi was the first thing they grabbed.

He heard her yell out his name, but it happened in slow motion.

"No!" Bucky screamed, running towards the man who kidnapped her. "Let her go!"

Tashi's red splotched eyes was the last thing Bucky saw before they crammed her into a black van and left down the only road. His feet burned as he ran behind them, but not even Bucky was able to catch up to them.

Once he came back to the cabin, Sam and you were running around trying to understand what happened.

"I'm sorry." Bucky lets the tears run down his face. "I couldn't stop them."

You dropped to the floor with a sob.

Bucky's knees finally gave out. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry- We're going to get her back, I promise that I'll get her back."

Authors note: hi hiiii omg I went a little bit overboard with this one. It's been a looooong time since I wrote something this long. I hope y'all like it! Xx

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @whoreforbarnes @ironwinnerwonderland @oikarma @ellabellabunny123

[spicycinnabun]

for make me write: 🤖🤖🤖🤖

adore this au!!

The team had decided they were going for a beer after work. Tommy had skipped the last two outings, so he agreed.

He shouldn't have.

“Bring your girl along, huh?” Sal said. “We all wanna meet that little pistol you're bein' so tight-lipped about.”

All eyes turned towards Tommy. He didn’t react much beyond a quiet hmm, though his pulse jolted.

EB, who was busy organizing the tools in the rig, started getting noisier. Clang! Bang! Slam!

“I’ll ask,” Tommy hedged, pulling his chamois through his hands. She’s not my girl. She doesn’t even exist. “Not sure I want to subject her to you boneheads.”

Anderson laughed. “Aw, come on. We’ll play nice. Won’t we, boys?”

“Can I come?” EB asked abruptly, turning to face them, prybar clenched in his hands. His firemark darkened as their conversation halted.

Tommy frowned.

EB had never asked to join them before. They'd never invited him, either.

EB was always at the station. A permanent fixture. He only left to go on calls or to run errands.

It hadn't occurred to Tommy that he might want to come out and do something unrelated to his tasks. Maybe bots needed to unwind, too.

Eventually, there was a ripple of shrugs and okays.

EB looked to Tommy first, seeking. Tommy nodded. Then, EB looked to Gerrard.

Gerrard scoffed. “Fine. Just don’t break anything. We’ve spent enough on repairs already. You’re leaking money like a faucet, EB600.”

EB nodded, full bobblehead mode. “Y-yes. Understood, Captain.”

“I, uh... actually don't think the bar allows androids, EB,” Bailey interrupted, hesitant.

“Let me check.” EB’s LED flickered for less than a second. “Oh. You’re right. It's an anti-android establishment.” He failed to hide his disappointment, deflating like a balloon. “Um, n-never mind. You guys have fun.”

He turned back to the drawers of tools, arranging them much more quietly than before.

Tommy had seen the signs on the doors. It hadn’t bothered him before how androids were treated, but now that he was close to one, his feelings had shifted.

“We can go somewhere else,” he said. EB failed again to hide his reaction, this time a hopeful noise full of static. Tommy succeeded in repressing a smile, just barely. “The drinks there are overpriced, anyway.”

“I know a place that does flaming Thirium shots,” Anderson offered, eyebrows raising.

Gerrard sighed, breaking them up. “Alright, ladies. You can enjoy your cocktails and gossip hour later. Back to work!”

⚙︎

tag list: @brassm-tagged @leashybebes @thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish @setmeatopthepyre @bibuckeroo @station18908 @hmg621 @buffaluff @disastardly @figuringitoutaloud @bbbuckalou @ambernotember @theredrenard @hyperfocusthusly @tedious-waffle @screamlet @xmidhel @nochance-noway

@rcmclachlan @popfly @powersuitup @nonotyourspumoni @espressopatronum454 @loulou-land @all-the-feelss @comeon-intothemadhouse @jake-is-screaming-in-tune @therealstacyfakename @whizzzerbrown @the-omniscient-narrator @5ammi90 @crazypenguin88 @thuperrah @just-barrow @exhaustedpirate

[theonottsbxtch]

ANXIETY PT 2 | CL16

an: and here she is! i hope you guys enjoy her, please come and talk to me about it in!!

wc: 4.4k

part one

AT FIRST, SHE DIDN’T SLEEP.

Not really. The chair was uncomfortable, the ropes cut into her wrists, and every time she let her eyes close, her mind jolted awake with the same question hammering over and over: Where am I?

At some point, exhaustion won. When she woke, her neck ached from slumping forward. The room was dim, only the soft glow of a lamp in the corner. Her stomach was empty now, hunger gnawing at her ribs.

And Charles was there.

Sitting calmly on a chair opposite her, reading a book like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.

She stiffened, heart thudding against her ribs. “How long was I out?”

He glanced up, gaze unreadable. “A few hours.”

She swallowed hard, her throat dry. “You can’t keep me here.”

He sighed, setting the book down on the table beside him. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” She yanked at the ropes again, ignoring the sting. “You can’t just—just take someone and expect them to—”

“To what?” His voice was calm. “To accept it?”

She glared at him, breathing hard. “I will never accept this.”

Something flickered in his expression, but he only nodded. “You’re hungry.”

She clamped her jaw shut.

Charles stood, moving toward the door. “I’ll bring you something.”

“I’m not eating anything you give me.”

He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “You said that last time, too.”

And then he left.

She bit her lip so hard she tasted copper.

He’s lying. He has to be lying.

Doesn’t he?

On day three, the ropes were gone.

She woke in a different room—a bedroom this time, the bed soft, the room too grand to feel real. Dark wood, deep emerald curtains, a chandelier above her that glowed with warm golden light.

She sat up so fast the world spun.

The door was closed. Not locked. She knew that because when she stood, moving hesitantly toward it, she tried the handle.

It turned easily.

Her stomach clenched.

A trick. A mind game. He wanted her to think she was free.

Carefully, she edged the door open, stepping into a long corridor lined with paintings. The air smelled like old books and polished wood. No signs of anyone else.

Her breath quickened. If she was somewhere new, if she wasn’t tied down—maybe she had a chance. Maybe—

“I wouldn’t do that.”

She spun, heart slamming into her ribs.

Charles stood a few steps away, arms folded, watching her with that infuriating calm.

“Do what?” she forced out.

He nodded toward the far end of the corridor. “Try to leave.”

She clenched her fists. “Or what? You’ll drag me back?”

His lips quirked slightly. “You’d only get lost.”

She hated how certain he sounded.

“I want to go home,” she said, voice shaking.

Charles tilted his head slightly. “You are home.”

A chill ran down her spine.

“No,” she whispered. “I’m not.”

Charles said nothing. He only turned, walking away.

And the worst part?

Somehow, she knew he was right.

She would get lost.

Because she had no idea where she was.

On day five, she ate.

Not because she trusted him, but because hunger gnawed at her so fiercely she could barely think.

Charles didn’t comment when she finally picked up the fork. He simply sat across from her at the long dining table, reading another book, drinking from a glass of wine.

Like this was normal.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, her voice quieter now.

He turned a page. “Doing what?”

She gestured around. “This. The house. The food. The—freedom.”

At that, he glanced up. “You call this freedom?”

She swallowed, setting the fork down. “It’s more than the chair.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just studied her, his gaze sharp, like he was assessing something.

Then, finally: “Would you like more?”

More.

The word sent a shiver through her.

She should have said no.

Instead, she whispered, “Yes.”

The garden stretched endlessly, walled in by high iron gates. Roses bloomed in neat rows, and somewhere in the distance, a fountain trickled softly.

She stood on the stone path, arms wrapped around herself, the warm breeze brushing against her skin.

Charles had let her outside.

That morning, he’d simply left the door open, said nothing.

And so she’d walked.

Not away—because where would she go? There was no way out. Not yet.

But here, in the open air, something inside her loosened.

She turned, slowly, finding him watching her from the terrace.

She should have hated the way he looked at her.

Should have feared the way he watched.

But she didn’t.

Not as much as before.

And that was the part that scared her most of all.

In the three weeks she was here she still flinched when the doors closed behind her.

She still watched the windows, traced the lines of the gates with her eyes, searching for weak spots, exits, anything.

But she walked freely now.

She could move through the house, through the halls lined with dark wood and grand chandeliers, past the velvet curtains that swallowed all the light when drawn.

She ate when she wanted.

Read when she wanted.

Walked outside in the gardens without him hovering over her shoulder.

It was a trick, of course. A slow, careful noose around her neck that Charles kept loosening, letting her believe she wasn’t trapped—until one day, she’d forget she ever wanted to leave.

But she wouldn’t forget.

She wouldn’t let herself.

Would she?

That night she found the man by the main door.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit.

His back was to her, but something in the way he stood sent a jolt through her, something familiar.

Her stomach turned as she took a step closer, her voice hesitant.

“…Carlos?”

He turned, and there it was.

The same sharp cheekbones, the same neatly-trimmed beard, the same deep brown eyes she had passed a hundred times in the lobby of her old building.

Carlos.

Her doorman.

The man who had held the door open for her every morning. The man who had nodded politely whenever she returned home late.

The man who—

Her breath hitched.

He let Charles in.

A chill ran down her spine.

Carlos studied her with a neutral expression, his hands folded in front of him. Not nervous. Not guilty.

Like this was normal.

Like he belonged here.

“I—” Her voice was barely a whisper. “I don’t understand.”

Footsteps.

Soft, deliberate.

Then, a voice from behind her.

“I see you’ve met Carlos.”

She froze.

Charles.

His presence was immediate, filling the space even before she turned to see him standing there, watching, a small smile playing at his lips.

“You know him, don’t you?”

A shudder rippled through her.

She looked back at Carlos, at his blank, unreadable face, at the way he didn’t deny it, didn’t react.

Her mind reeled.

How long?

How long had Carlos been watching her? How long had he been letting Charles in and out of her apartment, standing there while she went about her life, oblivious?

Her stomach twisted.

“Why?” she whispered.

Carlos didn’t answer.

Charles only smiled.

A slow, knowing smile.

And in that moment, something inside her cracked.

The days blurred together.

She told herself she was still angry.

Still fighting.

But anger was exhausting.

And fear—fear ate away at her like a slow poison, seeping into her bones, making her limbs heavy, making her thoughts sluggish.

She couldn’t live in a state of panic forever.

Could she?

Charles never raised his voice.

Never locked her in a room.

Never forced her to do anything.

He gave her space.

Gave her freedom.

She wandered the mansion now. Sat by the grand windows that overlooked the gardens, let the golden light of the afternoon spill over her skin.

She could walk outside.

Could touch the flowers.

Could breathe in the crisp, fresh air.

But not once—not once—did she ever make it past the gates.

She thought about running. She did.

But there were cameras.

Carlos was always nearby.

And Charles…

Charles would know.

He always knew.

He was in her head.

It was in the little things.

The way she’d hesitate before touching something, as if waiting for his approval—even though he wasn’t there.

The way she found herself choosing clothes she knew he liked, soft fabrics, delicate things, things that felt beautiful.

The way she caught herself listening for his voice, the sound of his footsteps, the subtle shift in the air that meant he was near.

She hated it.

Hated how much space he took up in her mind.

Hated how her body had begun to relax around him.

One evening, she sat by the fire, staring into the flames, the heat licking at her skin.

Charles sat across from her, reading.

Just reading.

Not speaking. Not looking at her.

But his presence—his quiet, calm presence—wrapped around her like a thick, suffocating blanket.

She should leave.

She should go to her room.

But she didn’t.

She stayed.

And when the fire crackled, and she flinched, he finally looked at her.

“You’re safe,” he said.

Simple. Soft.

Something in her chest ached.

She turned away, her jaw tight.

Because she knew—she knew—what he was doing.

But her body didn’t.

Her body had already started to believe him.

Sometimes at night she would have nightmares, she dreamt of her old apartment.

Dreamt of the cold metal handle of her front door.

Dreamt of reaching for it—

And finding it locked.

No matter how hard she twisted, how much she pulled, it wouldn’t open.

She turned, frantic, searching for help.

And there, standing in the hallway—

Carlos.

His face calm. His hands folded in front of him.

Behind him, Charles.

Watching.

Smiling.

She jolted awake.

Heart pounding. Breath shaking.

She wasn’t in her apartment.

She was here.

In the mansion.

And when she turned her head—

Charles was there.

Sitting in the chair beside her bed.

Not touching her. Not speaking.

Just watching.

Her breath caught.

“Bad dream?” he asked, voice low, smooth.

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t move.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, studying her with that unreadable expression.

And then—

“You called for me.”

Her stomach dropped.

“No, I—”

“You did.” His voice was steady. Certain. “You said my name.”

A lie.

Had to be.

She wouldn’t have.

Would she?

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms.

His eyes flickered to her hands, then back to her face.

“You don’t have to fight me,” he murmured.

The worst part?

It sounded kind.

It sounded gentle.

She turned away, pressing her forehead into the pillow.

She didn’t want to know if he was lying.

Because if he wasn’t—

If she really had called for him—

Then she was already losing.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but she awoke a second time to a knock at the door.

She had learned to read the silence in this house.

Knew when Charles was near, knew the way the air shifted when he entered a room, how his presence curled around her like an unseen force.

But this—this was different.

The knock echoed through the grand halls. Sharp. Unexpected.

A voice—low, irritated—followed.

Charles.

She couldn't hear the words, only the tone.

Something wasn't right.

She barely had time to sit up before her bedroom door burst open.

Charles stepped inside, closing it swiftly behind him.

And in his hand—

A knife.

Her breath caught.

Not because she thought he would kill her.

If he wanted her dead, she wouldn’t be here.

But because there was something in his eyes she had never seen before.

Fear.

True, genuine fear.

She pressed herself against the headboard as he approached, his steps controlled but urgent.

"You're going to listen to me," he said, voice low and edged with steel.

She forced herself to breathe. "Charles—"

He climbed onto the bed, hand pressing the cold blade to her throat.

Not enough to cut.

Just enough to remind her that it could.

Her body went rigid.

"You’re going to go downstairs," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "You’re going to smile. You’re going to hold my hand. And when they ask, you're going to say you're my fiancée."

The word made her stomach churn.

Her fiancée.

Not his prisoner.

Not his victim.

His fiancée.

Her pulse pounded against the knife. "Who—"

"My parents."

It was barely a whisper.

And suddenly, she understood.

The fear in his eyes. The tension in his jaw.

This wasn’t just about keeping her in line.

This was about him.

She watched his expression shift—controlled, but cracking at the edges.

She had never seen him like this.

So close to unraveling.

So vulnerable.

The realisation came slow.

Charles wasn’t untouchable.

He wasn’t some godlike captor, holding all the power.

He needed something from her.

And that meant—for the first time—she had something to use against him.

She swallowed, carefully. "And if I say no?"

The knife pressed harder.

His jaw clenched.

"You won’t."

Silence stretched between them.

And then—

He begged her without words.

Not with his mouth, but with his eyes.

She should have relished it.

Should have felt some twisted sense of victory.

But all she felt was cold.

Because beneath all the threats, beneath the blade at her throat—

She realised something else.

Something worse.

He was just as trapped as she was.

And against her own will, against all logic—

A part of her wanted to know why.

She walked down the grand staircase, her heart a chaotic drum in her chest. The house felt suffocating, every shadow looming over her like a heavy cloak, pressing down on her. Charles followed closely behind, silent, his presence more oppressive now than ever before.

She could feel his eyes on the back of her neck, the tension in his hands as they gripped the knife, still not far from her body. She tried not to think about the cold metal, the threat of it against her skin.

At the bottom of the staircase, in the vast, immaculately decorated living room, an older couple stood near a fireplace. They were every bit the aristocratic picture Charles had painted of them. His mother, a stately woman with silver hair and a soft smile that somehow didn’t reach her eyes, wore an air of command. His father, frail and stooped, leaned on a cane, his expression hardened and distant, eyes too tired to care about anything beyond his own world.

His mother, however, noticed her immediately.

"Ah, Charles!" She said, her voice surprisingly warm, eyes lighting up with something that bordered on excitement. "And you’ve brought her."

Her eyes roamed over the woman who had entered their world, as if appraising her like some prized possession, before settling with a satisfied smile.

"Isn't she simply delightful?" The woman’s gaze swept over her, a smile as sharp as glass on the edge of her lips. "She’s even lovelier in person, Charles."

Charles stiffened behind her, and she could feel the way his breath quickened slightly. His mother didn’t seem to notice or care. She had already turned her attention back to her son, a pleased hum in her throat.

The woman approached her slowly, as if she were a rare animal, circling her with the precision of a predator. “Tell me, darling, when are we expecting the wedding?”

The question landed like a blow, and the world seemed to stretch in that moment, spinning around her. She blinked, unsure of what was happening - her mind whirling. The wedding?

Before she could gather her thoughts, his mother was speaking again.

“Charles, you’ve been keeping her all to yourself, I see. We can’t have that, can we? Our family is far too old, too proud, to let such a treasure go unnoticed - she’s gorgeous.”

Her voice was syrupy sweet, but there was something cold in her gaze, something unnerving in the way her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. It felt like the woman was sizing her up, mentally cataloging every detail of her appearance - her clothing, her posture, the subtle trembling of her hands.

“Charles, I’m so glad you finally found someone who matches our family’s standards.”

The words didn’t sit right. The way his mother spoke - like it was all an agreement, a deal in place. She wasn’t just meeting a future daughter-in-law. She was assessing an asset.

“Isn’t she beautiful, darling?” His mother asked, turning back to him with a satisfied grin. “Just like your father wanted.”

The mention of his father caught her attention. Wanted.

A shiver ran through her, the weight of it suddenly hitting her all at once. It wasn't just about love for him.

It was about inheritance.

And Charles.

Charles wasn’t in control of this.

She met Charles’ eyes across the room. His face was stiff, his jaw clenched. He wasn’t smiling. There was something behind his gaze, something darker than she had ever seen before.

Her stomach twisted.

She was trapped in his world now, his carefully constructed reality that he was trying to force her into.

And still, she played her part.

“Thank you” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady.

His mother’s smile widened. “You’re a smart girl. I can see why Charles chose you. You’ll fit in here nicely.” She stepped closer, placing a hand on her shoulder in a way that felt oddly possessive. “Now, let’s talk about the wedding details, shall we? I’m sure you’ll want the very best of everything.”

“Of course,” she managed, her voice quiet.

But in the back of her mind, questions bloomed like thorns. Why had Charles done this? What was his real game?

She could feel it now, the slow creeping of understanding. He wasn’t just trying to trap her.

He needed her.

More than she could have ever known.

And with each passing moment, her sense of self-control slipped further away, replaced with something far more dangerous. 

Before she knew, before she could take one more final look at Charles, she was being ushered into a room with a tea set already waiting for them. She sat opposite his mother, crossing her legs and placing her hands on her lap - the way she thought his mother would like to see.

The tea was delicate, floral, and far too refined for a situation like this. It sat untouched in the dainty china cup the maid set before her, the scent of lavender and something citrusy curling around her like an unwanted embrace.

Charles’ mother sat opposite her in the vast room. Light spilling through the tall windows, illuminating dust motes that danced in the air. Everything about the scene should have felt elegant, serene even - but it didn’t.

It felt staged. 

It was too perfect, too rehearsed. Like a moment out of someone else’s life that she’d been forced to step into.

His mother was watching her, a satisfied smile playing at her lips as she stirred her tea with an air of contentment.

“I must say, I’m relieved,” she said suddenly, her voice smooth but edged with something unreadable. “I was beginning to wonder if Charles would ever find someone.”

She tensed slightly.

His mother sighed, a hand resting delicately on the table as she glanced out towards the sprawling estate grounds. “After his diagnosis, well…” She let the words hang in the air, almost wistfully. Then she turned back to her, eyes sharp. “It’s just so wonderful that he’s found you.”

The breath hitched in her throat.

Diagnosis?

She kept her expression carefully neutral, but inside, something splintered.

His mother didn’t seem to notice - or if she did, she didn’t care. She carried on, voice gentle, as though she was discussing something as mundane as the weather.

“For so long, we worried, you know. The unpredictability, the… obsessive tendencies. It’s difficult, raising a child like that. Difficult to see them struggle with attachment. But look at him now - he’s changed so much.”

The world around her seemed to shrink, the space between them closing in as though the very air had turned thick and suffocating.

Attachment.

Obsessive tendencies.

Her mind raced, pieces snapping into place with a horrifying clarity.

His break-ins. The way he had watched her, orchestrated everything. The control. The calculated way he had slowly stripped away her autonomy, little by little, reshaping her world until she had no choice but to exist in his.

She had thought it was just manipulation. Just power. Need.

But it was more than that.

His mother reached forward suddenly, placing a delicate hand over hers, her grip deceptively strong. “You must be something special,” she said with an approving nod. “He’s never taken to anyone like you before.”

The room felt colder.

Her chest tightened.

Because now, she wasn’t just his little prisoner.

She was his fixation.

A carefully chosen piece in a puzzle he had been building long before she had even realised she was part of his game.

And Charles, he wasn’t just keeping her here because he wanted to.

He was keeping her here because, in his mind, she was slowly the only one who could truly ever belong to him.

Who could get him that inheritance.

To fulfil his life.

The weight of his mother’s hand on hers sent a chill up her spine. She willed herself to stay still, to keep her fingers from trembling beneath the woman’s touch. The realisation sat heavy in her chest, a slow creeping dread wrapping around her lungs like ivy.

She tried to swallow it down, to push past the rising nausea, but the older woman’s gaze held her in place - evaluating, assessing, approving.

“It really is lovely to finally meet you, dear,” she continued, giving her hand a light squeeze before retreating, picking up her tea as though she hadn’t just cracked the foundation of reality beneath her. “I always knew Charles had a heart for romance, but he was so particular.”

She managed a small, weak nod, the motion barely there.

Particular.

Another careful choice of words.

His mother sighed, giving her a knowing smile as she took another delicate sip of her tea. “Oh, don’t look so worried. He’s an intense man, yes, but intensity is just another word for devotion, isn’t it?”

Devotion.

The world settled uneasily in her stomach. 

She forced herself to glance away, her eyes flickering towards the garden beyond the glass. The estate stretched out endlessly, its perfectly kept hedges and winding paths giving the illusion of freedom when she knew it was nothing but a gilded cage.

“I-” she started, but the words caught in her throat.

What could she even say?

That she had no choice? 

That she was here against her will?

That her presence at this table was a careful act of survival?

His mother’s eyes were too sharp, too perceptive.

“That’s why I’m so pleased to see you two together,” his mother went on, placing her cup back into its saucer with a soft clink. “A woman like you will be good for him. Anchor him. Make sure he doesn’t slip into those… darker tendencies.”

She felt like she was going to be sick.

“I-”

But the door swung open, and there he was.

Charles.

His presence filled the room instantly, the air shifting with an almost imperceptible tension.

His expression was carefully neutral, but she saw the flicker of irritation in his eyes, the slight tightening of his jaw.

“Mother,” he said smoothly, stepping inside. “Father and I have just wrapped up in the office and while this was a lovely surprise-”

His mother cut him off, beaming. “Oh, Charles, really. No need to sound so stiff. We simply had to meet your lovely fiancee.” She gestured towards her, as though presenting a mule at an auction.

Charles’ gaze briefly flickered to her, unreadable, before he turned back to his mother.

“As much as I’d love to extend the visit,” he said, his tone still polite, still composed, “I believe you and Father have tea at the Wetherby’s soon, don’t you?”

His mother waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, they won’t mind if we’re a little bit late-”

“I’m sure they won’t,” Charles interjected smoothly. “But it would be terribly rude to keep them waiting, wouldn’t it.”

A beat of silence.

Then his mother gave a soft chuckle, shaking her head with a knowing smile. “Oh, you always were one for manners. Perfection.”

Perfection.

She rose from her seat gracefully, smoothing out the fabric of her dress.

His father walked in, just as she stood, casting a look at Charles that lingered. There was something unspoken in it - something that made Charles’ expression harden just slightly.

Then his mother spoke.

“You know,” she mused, tilting her head, “for an engaged couple, you don’t seem terribly affectionate.”

The words sat heavy in the air.

And then he looked at her.

It wasn’t just a glance, it was a look that sliced right through, that saw. As if he were peeling back the layers, peering at what lay beneath the surface.

Her breath hitched.

Charles didn’t hesitate.

Before she could process it, he took a step, his hand was at the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair, tilting her face up towards him. There was barely a second to react before his lips were on hers.

It wasn’t a hesitant kiss.

It was possessive.

Demanding.

Her body stiffened, instinct flaring up like a warning siren. But there were eyes on them.

His mother.

His father.

Watching.

Judging.

Expecting.

So she kissed him back.

The act of submission made something shift.

Charles’ fingers tightened in her hair, his other hand pressing against the small of her back, drawing her in. His lips moved against hers with a slow-burning intensity, something dark and unreadable curling at the edges of her mind.

The worst part?

For just a fraction of a second, just a sliver of time too small to admit aloud, she forgot.

Forgot the circumstances. Forgot the control he had over her. Forgot the door that had locked behind her, the cage she had been placed in.

For a moment, it was just heat.

Just breath.

Just the slow, sinking sensation of something shifting inside her, something she wanted to recoil from but didn’t.

The sound of his mother’s voice snapped the moment in two like a brittle twig.

“Alright then!” she chimed, her tone light, amused, but edged with something knowing. “Don’t defile your poor fiancee before the wedding, Cha!”

A soft laugh.

His father sighed.

Charles finally pulled back, just a breath away, his lips still perilously close to hers. His eyes locked onto hers, dark, unreadable, his breath steady and controlled.

But there was something in his gaze.

Something that said: I felt that too.

Her stomach twisted.

PART THREE...

taglist: @alexisquinnlee-bc @carlossainzapologist @oikarma @obxstiles @verstappenf1lecccc @hzstry8 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @anamiad00msday @linnygirl09 @mastermindbaby @iamred-iamyellow @taetae-armyyyyy @theoslove @iimplicitt

[queenjulia11]

Oh my god. Okay.

So I was under the impression that Crokas and Fiedra’s “boss and bodyguard” dynamic was a mutually agreed upon thing. They both knew what they had was something deeper than that, but it was easier emotionally to not actually put a label on the relationship — imagine if they called each other mother and son in Rybad-Kol and then something happened to one of them, y’know? Much easier to mourn your bodyguard than your son. I got the sense that they were both content with this.

But now we know just how one-sided that dynamic really was. And I don’t think this was something Crokas just suddenly realized with his intelligence boost: it was always bothering him, just a little bit, to see Fiedra hold him at an arm’s length. Now he just finally has the words for it. And yeah, that hurts. This scene feels particularly brutal and real in a way that I don’t think anyone was really expecting, but when you look back at the life Crokas has lived and the people he’s interacted with besides Fiedra: it makes perfect sense.

Celeste says “you are family to us.” After a few weeks of travel. Rux calls him “brother” the moment he sees him. Crokas has seen how easy it is to be accepted as family by others — how things could be. But Fiedra? He’s a prize to her. After all these years, he’s just her bodyguard.

I think with the deep gruff voice it’s easy to forget that Crokas is the equivalent of an 18 year-old. It’s a time in life when most people are able to look back at how they were raised and finally put together just what their parents got wrong; while still maybe not having all the pieces as to why, or what was really going on.

Crokas doesn’t forgive Fiedra right away because he assumes her apology is only coming now because he’s called her out. If he never said anything, would she ever call him her son? Look at Alex’s face during Fiedra’s apology: it’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear from his mother but he can’t forgive her yet. He’s still a teenager: the anger feels easier than accepting the love because the apology doesn’t undo the years of pain that he couldn’t even fully understand before now. That’s the hard part about forgiving someone: it still hurts.

“I needed a mom. Not to fight for a boss.”

But of course, she is his mom. Nothing could ever change that. The fact that she’s apologizing at all — that she’s going out of her way to hunt down a nobleman because she’s just so disgusted by anyone who would abuse a child proves that Fiedra Marrow is a mother whether she calls herself one or not. She’s his mom and he loves her, and he will always go back to her.

Unspoken love can hurt worse than unrequited love. But once it’s finally said out loud, nothing can break it. Fiedra learning how to call Crokas her son means he can finally say it, too:

“Don’t ever touch my mother again.”

And the fact that he still calls her boss sometimes is just so damn cute, and such an 18 year-old thing to do. A little nudge that acknowledges the hurt while still accepting that Fiedra is going to do better going forward. Allowing her the chance to do better. For her son.

What a beautiful story Alex and Jasmine have shared with all of us. ❤️

“Maybe one day you’ll have bodyguards of your own to be just as proud of.”

Oh my god that’s how she calls him her son. Oh my god. She’s his tiny mom and they love each other and neither of them can say it. Fuck.

[uki01]

Hi! Hope you’re doing ok!

Anyway, I thought of a cute romantic prompt for movie!Sonic, Shadow, and Knuckles, if you do the movie-verse, that is. We know that they’re the only ones who give off chaos energy (that we know of) and it’s especially tied to their emotions. It makes me think of them getting flustered by their crush/partner to the point they shoot out sparks of chaos energy and some sort of shenanigans ensue.

Damn. It actually makes me wonder if that’s why movie!Shadow is so stoic. He probably doesn’t want to hurt people by accident and tries his hardest to keep his emotions in check. The poor baby 🥺.

Anyway, it’s only these three since it’s the movie-verse and they’re the only ones so far who use chaos energy. Thank you so much, and be sure to rest when you need to and have fun doing what you do 💖💕

“Love Is Chaos.”

Movie!Sonic The Hedgehog, Movie!Shadow The Hedgehog and Movie!Knuckles The Echidna x Reader

Author’s Note: This sounds so cute! Thanks for the request!

Movie!Sonic The Hedgehog

You and Sonic met after the events of the 1st movie.

This guy was like puppy love for him.

He’s never fallen in love or felt romantic feelings so this is all new to him.

He’s told Maddie and she got excited, explaining what he’s feeling towards you.

He goes all out on trying to impress you with his tricks, cool adventures and badass speed.

It ends with a big ol fail, but you find it entertaining at least.

During the events of the 2nd movie when he first turned Super, you were mesmerised by the sight.

Soon as he was still himself, you hugged him tightly, grateful that he was okay.

Sonic feeling his face flush red, got to excited as he hugged you back, he accidentally caused a spark between you two.

Shocking you a bit.

Sonic was scared and apologised quickly but you laughed it off, he sighed of relieved.

He think this was the start of something beautiful.

And deep down, you were ready for it too.

Movie!Knuckles The Echidna

Knuckles has met you after the events of the second movie.

This was the first time Knuckles ever felt romantic feelings.

First he felt very confused, so he went to Sonic.

Sonic who teases Knuckles for his crush on you which Knuckles, of course, doesn’t understand.

”What do you mean I have a crush on Y/N? I don’t want to crush them, they will be deceased by my strength.”

”No no knucklehead, it means you have romantic feelings for them.”

”I don’t get what you mean hedgehog.”

”Ugh… it means you love them in a way Maddie and Tom love each other, like lovers.”

”Ah, so I see.”

After that, he awkwardly tries to make conversation and give subtle hints of his love towards you, you think this is just him trying to get to know more about earth.

Which is partially true in a way.

When he does show you his super form, you are in love with how he glows.

As you two start doing silly shenanigans whiles in his super form.

When he gets way too excited he accidentally sparks you it knocked you back down.

This worried Knuckles a lot as he runs up and checks on you.

But he just finds you laughing at this, saying how cool and badass he looks.

Knuckles face begins to feel red but still stands tall and confident.

He can get use to your cute and funny laughter.

Movie!Shadow The Hedgehog

Shadow met you after the events of the third movie and joined the Wachowski family.

You were intrigued by his nature while so was he with you.

You reminded him a lot like Maria with your kindness.

Like her, you never saw him as a freak and was always comforting him whenever he had his upsetting moments.

This caused Shadow to gain some romantic feelings for you.

But he has no idea what any of this means or is which frustrates and confuses him.

He goes to ask Sonic what this is.

Like Knuckles, doesn’t get the gist but understands more since he felt love with Maria (platonic love though).

”Ooh looks like someone has a crush on Y/NNN~”

”Crush? Why would I want to crush them? I would knock them out in one go, I don’t want to do that.”

”No dude, it means you feel loving feelings for her, you know Maria? It’s like that but in Tom and Maddie’s way, you feel what Tom feels about Maddie.”

”Hm..”

He took this information and started working on getting to know you more.

This confused you since you knew Shadow wasn’t the type to make connections.

Not after his best friend and eldest sister’s death.

But this made you happy knowing he was trying his best.

Soon as he revealed his Super form, you were amazed by it and was telling Shadow how cool and amazing he looked.

Shadow smiled at this.

Soon as he got a bit excited, sparks came out of him hitting you.

This immediately worried Shadow but faded away after hearing your laughter.

Saying that felt funny and tickled a bit, still complimenting him how badass he looks.

This made Shadow smile even more.

He was going to love this, as much as he didn’t admit it.

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoyed this request!

[strwberri-milk]

ahh omg ive always wanted to do one of these tytyty!!! <3 tossing in some of my older lesser known fics too in here as a promo <33

now im realising how hard this actually is LMAOO i had to search through my entire drive files to parse thruogh and find some of these lolol my excerpts are a little longer for some bc i wanted the context to shine through [sob]

my words were!: abandon, reckless, breath, gaze, gesture

and to you, dear reader who wishes to partake i offer anybody:

Banquet

Desperate

Suffer

Turmoil

Engage

Bloomed Flowers: (Obey Me!Beelzebub x OC)

Rin nods to herself, agreeing with that. The last time she was touched in any sort of explicit manner was weeks ago, back at her old location of service. It’s most likely just her touch starvation kicking in mixed in with [abandon]ment issues. It wasn’t as though she fell in love with him. He barely gave her the time of day being busy planning this massive event. She didn’t even know why he was planning it. The staff all seemed excited, flitting about and planning what they’d wear even though it seemed to be months away. Some of them said things under their breath or to each other and all she could gather was that his brothers would be arriving to help celebrate his birthday.

Your Mark On The Universe: (Amber to Kaeya)

And not to mention the time you tried to come into work with a broken rib! How stupid of you was that? You’re just going to make the rest of us die with worry over you! Just because you’re my senior it doesn’t mean you get to make [reckless] decisions! You should think about what I’ve said! I guess this isn’t really part of the whole good memories thing and now I feel bad but I don’t want to scribble everything out, especially not about making you take better care of yourself so instead I will add a brief note to thank you. When I joined the Knights you were as friendly as someone like you could be, so I guess it made things a little easier even if it was an absolute pain to get used to your….quirks. 

Passing Hands: (Bridgerton!Diluc x Reader)

It’s exhilarating and terrifying to be in this position and he wants so much to make it more than whatever is happening right now. The meeting of your eyes makes his [breath] catch in his throat and he wants to lean down and bridge this gap that exists between the two of you but knows that he can’t. “You make me feel things I’ve never felt before, I’ve never even dreamed of feeling. I thought that this was all impossible, that it was some sort of charade that everybody took part in but this draw that you have, something that is impossible for me to escape from, it has to be that romantic notion of falling in love with someone. What else is it if not that?” he mutters against your lips, wanting so badly to just drop his head down a little more and kiss you.

Last Friday Night: (Motrocross!Sylus x Reader)

The engine cuts out behind you and you heave a sigh of relief, walking a little more relaxed for just half a second when someone clears their throat from behind you. Despite your better judgment you decide to give them your attention, turning around to meet an intensely scarlet [gaze]. Your breath catches in your throat, trying not to seem too distracted by the handsome stranger standing in front of you. 

Songs of Sorrow: (Rancher!Boothill x Fem!Reader)

You return the [gesture], wondering how she knew Boothill to feel so comfortable holding him the way she is. He doesn’t really say anything, turning his attention back to her as the two of them start to back out of the house. It looks like he’s telling her to go home, gently patting her shoulder with his hand. She pouts playfully, swatting at his chest but he doesn’t seem to respond in kind. It takes a second but she finally leaves, waving goodbye before looking at you through the window. You mouth a farewell to her, an unsettling feeling sitting in your stomach at the slight glance she gives you. 

Writing Tag Game 🏷️

Rules: I'll give you five words. Find the word (or the closest approximation you can) in your works and post an excerpt. Tag others to play and give them new words too!

My words were: Touch, Heat, Lick, Time, Ache — tagged by @oncasette, original post here! (This is such a sweet idea, thank you for thinking of me!!)

New words: Home, Dream, Hand, Think, Feel — Tagging: @solifloris @irandial @zara-renata @kentofic @grabby-smitten @comatosebunny09 @leighsartworks216 and anyone else who writes!

Touch

When Sylus touches you— when the tip of his finger catches yours and makes an honest, desperate request— you don’t pull away. Something inside tugs at you, warns you, tells you a monster without a sword in its chest is one that can bite. What colour of blood would your hands prefer? His? Your own? — (Monster)

Heat

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves. — (Technical Difficulties)

Lick

You’re feeling everything too keenly: the water licking at your throat, the darkness beneath you, around you, waiting to pull you under and fill your mouth. You never feel further from Rafayel than when you remember he calls that darkness home. — (Practice Makes Perfect)

Time

Pretend you have time: His gaze is full of faith and oh, the world is going to enjoy punishing the two of you. “I know,” he insists, because this is the second time you’ve fooled him tonight. You feel his hand on your face and you let him kiss you— again, then again— so achingly slow, so arrogant. The world can wait; he wants to punish you first.  — (To Remain Silent)

Ache

Your life is hunting monsters, and his is finding beauty in a world where they exist. It’s not what you see, it’s how you see it. Crimson to him is a sunset; to you it’s blood. Something in you aches as your eyes roam over his latest work. He won’t tell you what it’s meant to be, not really: that’s a private understanding between him and the canvas, his heart and every stroke of paint. — (Perspective)

[empressdede]

The Secretary - 10

Previous. Next

CHAPTER TEN

Serena didn’t waste any time.

As soon as she left the locker room, she made a beeline for Roman’s private office.

Her heart was pounding, frustration burning in her chest. She had spent years proving she was good enough, and now, just because she was close to Roman, people thought she was only here because of him?

Hell. No.

When she reached the door, she didn’t hesitate—she knocked once before pushing it open.

Roman was sitting at his desk, but as soon as he saw her, his brows furrowed. “Serena?”

She shut the door behind her. “We need to talk.”

Roman sat up straight, immediately giving her his full attention. “What’s wrong?”

Serena took a breath, trying to steady herself. “Do people actually think I’m getting special treatment because of you?”

Roman’s expression darkened. “Who said that?”

Serena crossed her arms. “Charlotte.”

Roman exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “Figures.”

Serena scoffed. “So it’s true? People are actually saying this?”

Roman leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “People are always gonna talk, Serena. They see me close to someone, and they assume things. It’s not new.”

Serena shook her head. “That’s not fair.”

Roman’s gaze softened. “I know.”

Serena let out a sharp breath, running a hand through her hair. “I’ve worked too hard for this, Roman. And I won’t have people thinking I’m only here because I’m with you.”

Roman nodded slowly, studying her. “So what are you saying?”

Serena hesitated.

Because she knew what she was afraid of—what she had always been afraid of.

That being with Roman would overshadow everything she had built. That people wouldn’t see her as her own person anymore.

And now, those fears were coming true.

She sighed, dropping into the chair across from him. “I don’t know.”

Roman leaned back, his gaze never leaving hers. “You thinking about ending this?”

Serena’s stomach dropped. “No.”

Roman’s expression didn’t change. “Because if you want out, you need to say it now.”

Serena looked at him, feeling the weight of his words settle in her chest.

Because this wasn’t just a fling for him. He wouldn’t fight her on it if she wanted to walk away, but he was making it very clear—this was real.

And she needed to choose it.

She exhaled slowly. “I don’t want out.”

Roman nodded once, like he had already known her answer. “Good.”

Serena sighed. “But this is still messy.”

Roman smirked, leaning forward again. “Serena, we were always gonna be messy. You knew that.”

Serena groaned, covering her face. “I hate you.”

Roman chuckled. “No, you don’t.”

Serena dropped her hands. “So what do we do?”

Roman shrugged. “We do what we’ve been doing. We let people talk. Because at the end of the day, your work speaks for itself.”

Serena exhaled. “And if it doesn’t?”

Roman’s expression darkened again. “Then we shut them up.”

Serena blinked. “I feel like that’s not exactly professional.”

Roman smirked. “What? You think I’d let anyone disrespect my woman and get away with it?”

Serena felt way too many things at once at those words.

She swallowed. “I hate when you say things like that.”

Roman just grinned. “No, you don’t.”

Serena groaned again.

This man was impossible.

But she knew one thing for sure.

She wasn’t walking away.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Roman was not letting this slide.

Charlotte could talk all she wanted—he was used to people running their mouths about him. But dragging Serena into it? Questioning her credibility?

Nah. That wasn’t happening.

And if he was going to confront Charlotte, he was bringing backup.

Which is how he found himself standing outside the women’s locker room, arms crossed, while Naomi gave him an unimpressed look.

“So let me get this straight,” Naomi said, tilting her head. “You dragged me all the way over here just so I can help you check Charlotte?”

Roman nodded. “Pretty much.”

Naomi scoffed. “Boy, you do not need me for this.”

Roman smirked. “No, but it’s more fun when you’re involved.”

Naomi rolled her eyes, but she was already pushing the door open.

Inside, Charlotte was standing near her locker, scrolling through her phone.

Naomi didn’t waste time. “Yo, Flair.”

Charlotte glanced up, her smirk already forming. But when she noticed who was standing beside Naomi, the smirk faltered for just a second.

Roman stepped forward, his expression completely unreadable. “We need to talk.”

Charlotte arched a brow. “About what?”

Naomi scoffed. “Girl, don’t play dumb. You know exactly what.”

Charlotte sighed dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. “Let me guess—this is about Serena?”

Roman didn’t blink. “You got something to say about her, say it to me.”

Charlotte’s smirk returned, but there was something uneasy about it now.

“I was just making an observation,” she said smoothly. “People talk, Roman. And when they see you getting close to someone, they start making connections.”

Roman tilted his head, his jaw tightening. “Let me make something very clear.”

Charlotte actually straightened, sensing the shift in his tone.

Roman stepped closer, his voice dangerously low. “Serena got her job because she earned it. Not because of me. And I don’t ever want to hear you—or anyone else—imply otherwise.”

Charlotte crossed her arms. “It’s not my fault if people assume things.”

Naomi rolled her eyes. “And it’s not our fault you feel the need to run your mouth about business that ain’t yours.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Please. It’s wrestling. People talk. It’s not that serious.”

Roman took another step forward, his presence commanding.

“I don’t care what people talk about,” he said, his voice firm. “But if I ever hear you disrespect Serena again, we’re gonna have a real problem.”

Charlotte’s smirk finally disappeared.

Naomi smirked in satisfaction. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Roman didn’t wait for a response. He just turned and walked out, Naomi right behind him.

As soon as they stepped into the hallway, Naomi grinned. “Damn, I love when you get all scary.”

Roman smirked. “That’s the point.”

Naomi bumped his shoulder. “You really care about her, huh?”

Roman didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. I do.”

Naomi smiled knowingly. “Good.”

And for the first time all day, Roman felt like he had finally shut everyone up.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Late post but I hope you guys enjoy. 😭🫶🏾 Charlotte a pain huh? 😔

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[morgana-larkin]

Alright, here's the next part of Just Tired and of course it ends on a big cliffhanger. Also I know what you're thinking, did I get distracted by the gif for 5 minutes? The answer is yes. Not edited in the slightest and I hope you like it!

On another note: I posted the first chapter of Worth It exactly a year ago, today and made a little thank you message that you can read here.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27

Just Tired - Part 28

Warnings: Manipulative Relationship (Mentioned), Smut, cliffhanger

Words: 4.5k

Melissa ends up directing you to a deli where she orders two Italian hoagies for you both where Barb and Gerald also join. You’re all sitting on a picnic bench outside at a park that was near all eating your hoagies.

“So Melissa, now you’re gonna have the house back, getting some money from him and he can’t ever go near you unless he wants to get arrested. How does that feel?” You ask her and she smiles.

“It feels really good. I never thought how fast my life can change in two months but I’ve honestly never been happier. I mean 2 months ago I was in a manipulative relationship, unhappy without knowing why, didn’t know I could be into women, haven’t had much fun, as well as the sex was terrible.” She says and Barb chokes a bit on her drink at the last part.

“Oh come on Barb, don’t tell me you’re a prude.” You tell her.

“I’m not a prude, I’m a woman of god.” Barb tells you proudly.

“Isn’t that the same thing?” You ask and Melissa starts laughing.

“Melissa is religious as well.” Barb points out.

“Melissa doesn’t consider herself a woman of god. Also she’s Sicilian so I don’t think anything phases her anymore.” You counter.

“That’s a good point.” Melissa says and then she continues eating her hoagie.

“How was last night at the karaoke place?” Gerald asks you both.

“Melissa made out with a psycho.” You tell them and Melissa looks at you with an amused expression as she tries not to laugh.

“Well I guess that’s one way to describe it.” Melissa says. 

“That’s the only way to describe it.” You counter and Melissa chuckles.

“I didn’t know she was a psycho until Y/n told me as she got warned by the bartender who you’re also going out with next weekend.” Melissa explains.

“She came onto me after we crushed that ABBA song.” You say. “And yes she warned me about Wendy.”

“So is everyone excited about Halloween tomorrow?” Barb asks and you shake your head.

“I don’t know if I’ll survive Melissa’s costume.” You confess and Melissa is smiling.

“You won’t.” Melissa simply says and takes a proud bite of her hoagie.

“Well I don’t see how anyone would survive a hot redhead dressing up as Mera.” You tell her and Melissa just shrugs.

“You’ll have to see me from across the hall all day.” Melissa teases you and you groan. “And I’ll make sure to keep my door open all day.”

“What if I close my door?”

“Be real, for whatever odd reason you never close your door.”

“I want to be welcoming to anyone.” You say.

“Hon, if people at school don’t already know that then they haven’t been paying attention to you.” Melissa tells you and you shrug.

“Unlike you, most teachers haven’t been paying attention to me and the 20 other newbies that started this year.”

“I normally don’t pay attention to newbies but you just didn’t care and kept trying. How many of you newbies are left anyway?” She asks and you count.

“Well about 8 left already.” You say and she hums.

“Not surprising.” She says.

“Is that why you didn’t want to talk to me? Thought I’d leave?” You ask her and she nods.

“You seem too positive to last here but I could be wrong.” She tells you.

“I’m not as positive as Janine though, she’s more positive than I am.” 

“Thank god you’re not that annoying.” She says and then takes the last bit of her hoagie. “I don’t know how you stand, not just Janine, but Jacob as well.” She tells you as she cleans her hands with a napkin.

“They actually have pretty interesting conversations.” You tell her and she hums.

“If you say so.” She tells you and you roll your eyes before you finish your hoagie.

Half an hour later Barb and Gerald take Melissa home so everyone can get ready for the work week. When you’re getting into bed, your phone gets a notification and you look at it to see Melissa texted you.

Melissa: I really want to thank you as you helped me win 

You: It’s not a problem, I love that you got your freedom

You text her that before you put your head on your pillow and you’re out like a light. 

The next morning Melissa wakes up with a big smile on her face. She’s breaking free from her manipulative husband, she’s getting the house, and money from him and she has you to thank for it. She then frowns when she remembers that she’s fallen for you and she does want to be with you but the idea of being in a relationship already terrifies her.

“Hey everyone.” You say as you walk in the break room. Melissa then walks in the break room and your mouth goes dry. There she is in the green bodysuit and her hair has looser curls then it usually has with the little crown on. She also did her makeup the same way as they did for Amber Heard and your eyes trail up and down her body. 

“Hey hon.” She tells you.

“Wow.” You say and she smiles.

“Shamelessly checking me out, hon?” She whispers to you and you nod. “Check me out all you want.” She tells you and your eyes trail down to her chest where they’re only half covered.

“And you were worried my costume was going to be too sexy.” You tell her and she gives you a wink.

“I like your sexy police uniform, officer. If we were still having sex then I’d definitely act naughty just so you’d tie me up and punish me.” She tells you with a seductive whisper and your mind blanks.

“Ya the timing is unfortunate.” You tell her and she smiles.

“Soak it all up. And I might masturbate with you in my mind tonight.” She says quietly as she passes you and goes to sit down. You go and sit down with Janine and Jacob and they compliment your outfit.

“It was my costume from last year but I didn’t have enough money to get a new one this year, but I’ll definitely get a new one next year.” You tell them.

“Well we didn’t see this was your outfit last year so technically it’s new here.” Jacob tells you and you smile and nod.

“Thanks Jacob.” You tell him and he smiles before you all jump into conversations.

You watch as she greets her students from across the hall and how some of the parents are checking her out, as well as some of the seventh and eighth grade boys. You start the class by going over the homework you assigned to them to do over the weekend and you cast a glance at Melissa who’s bending over slightly to grab some papers at her desk. She catches you checking her out and she smiles at you. At lunch you drop your kids off at the caf and when you walk out, Melissa grabs your hand and drags you to her classroom.

“What are you doing?” You ask her as you reach her classroom and you see she brought both of your lunches with her.

“I want us to have lunch together, just the two of us.” She tells you and you smile. “So you think I look sexy?” She asks you as she takes a seat and you nod. She passes you your lunchbox and you take your lunch out and start eating.

“I mean have you seen yourself? Your tits are practically out and I can’t help but stare at them, especially when I know how they look without anything on them.” You say and she chuckles. “And this tight bodysuit on you is showing off all your curves and green is definitely your colour. Like jesus christ is it ever your colour.” You tell her and she smiles. “Why did you want to have lunch with me, like just me?” You ask her.

“I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve helped me in these past 2 months. And I know it hasn’t been easy for you.” She tells you. You go to speak but she stops you. “And don’t you dare start saying that it hasn’t been easy on me since I’m the one that escaped the bastard.” She says and you immediately close your mouth as that’s exactly what you were gonna say. “I know I’m the one who escaped but you’ve helped me so much and I really appreciate it.” She adds and you smile.

“Well, you’re welcome.” You say. 

“I do have to say that the sexy police skirt is working for you.” She tells you and you blush.

“Are you trying to make it harder to concentrate today?” You ask her and she smirks as she takes a bite of her salad.

“No idea what you’re talking about.” She says innocently.

“It seems like you’re trying to make it as hard for me as possible. It seemed like you were flirting with me this morning and your outfit keeps making my mind go places.” You say and she giggles.

“Well first of all, I was flirting with you this morning, and secondly, what if I want your attention on my body?” She asks you and you stare at her, mind blank. “Also Barb and I are going out to this bar who’s having a Halloween party and wanted to know if you want to tag along. The other 2 youngsters are being invited by Barb right now.” She tells you. 

“Of course I’ll come.” You immediately say and she smiles.

At the end of the day you’re saying goodbye to your kiddos and you see the aunt from the dyslexic kid go up to Melissa and you watch.

“Hi Melissa, I have to say that you look amazing in this costume.” She says to Melissa and Melissa smiles at her.

“Thank you, once I saw Aquaman then I was pretty sure I could pull up being Mera.” Melissa tells her.

“Oh you pull it off better than her. Do you have any plans tonight? I was wondering if you didn’t then maybe we can do something together.” She asks.

“I’m going out with some coworkers and I don’t want to miss it.” Melissa says and you smile.

“Oh, well maybe another time.” The aunt says before taking her niece and leaving.

“You know if you really wanted to go out with her then we’d understand.” You say as you walk up to her after all your students leave.

“I know, but like I told her, I don’t want to miss this.” She says as she goes to grab her things and then locks her door. “I’ll meet you there, we’re meeting for about 6, I’ll send the address. And feel free to ditch the leggings.” She says as she walks off with a smile.

You get home not long after and you immediately take the leggings off. You get something ready to eat and have a meal before you go upstairs and apply some makeup. As you’re applying some mascara, Melissa’s words from lunch hits you, she was purposefully flirting with you this morning and you don’t know why. You then get the toy handcuffs that came with the costume and attach them to the belt. You then get a text from Melissa with the address and you see it’ll take about 20 minutes to get there and you look at the time, 5:20. You then decide to go there now as there might be traffic since it’s Halloween. You arrive about half an hour later and you see it’s starting to pile up in here. 

“Hey Y/n!” You hear and turn around to see Janine and Jacob there.

“Hey guys.” You tell them.

“Isn’t it amazing that Barb and Melissa invited all of us out with them? And to think I thought they didn’t like us, but if you keep trying then-”

“I’ll stop you right there.” You tell Janine and she immediately closes her mouth. “How about we get some drinks?” You suggest and you all make your way to the bar and order some drinks. 

“Hey hon.” You hear and turn to see Melissa and Barb there as they walk towards all of you. 

“Hey Melissa.” You say as you get your drink and thank the bartender before you pay. 

“What drink did you get?” Melissa asks you.

“Just a daiquiri, thought of starting small.” You tell her and she nods before she orders a beer.

Half an hour later you’re all on your second drink and sitting and talking at a table with booths. You and Melissa on one side, while the other 3 are on the other side. You’re following the story that Barb is telling about all the costumes of her students, when you feel a hand touch your leg and you look to see Melissa’s hand there. You glance over at her and she’s looking at Barb and pretending that she’s not touching you. You then feel her hand go further up your leg and you widen your eyes as you wonder if she’s going to do what you think she’s going to do. You then lean in towards her near her ear.

“What are you doing?” You whisper to her and she turns to look at you.

“Do you want me to stop?” She asks.

“We agreed no sex.” You tell her, a little breathlessly.

“Do you want me to stop?” She asks again and you go to take a sip of your drink, giving her permission to keep going. 

Her hand trails up your thigh, closer and closer to your centre. Your breathing deepens as she gets closer and you can hear Janine is telling everyone all the costumes of her students. You then feel her hand right over your centre, hand buried under your skirt. You unconsciously spread your legs to give her more access and you see her smile from the corner of your eye. You feel her hand go up and down your clothed pussy and you let out a gasp and everyone looks at you. You widen your eyes and you’re sure your cheeks are tinged pink with embarrassment. Even with everyone looking at you, Melissa doesn’t stop. In fact she pushes your underwear to the side and trails her index finger up your centre and clit. You let out a big breath and realise everyone is still looking at you.

“Are you alright dear?” Barb asks and you nod.

“Just think…the drinks, the alcohol, is starting to…hit me.” You say through breaths as Melissa is still teasing you. You then notice everyone’s attention is on Melissa and you hear her say something about a Halloween costume and realise they're still talking about their students. 

Melissa is talking about how cute her students are to get the attention off of you and sees you starting to struggle to keep your composure. She realises she can make it harder for you or take pity on you. She immediately decides to make it harder for you and slips her middle finger in your entrance as you’re taking a sip. She’s lucky that you decided to sit near the wall so nobody in the bar suspects anything as her body is blocking it. She begins pumping inside of you and sees you’re doing your best not to give anything away but you keep slipping by keeping your mouth open. She decides right there that you’ll give it away if she continues and she takes her finger out and you let out a tiny whimper that no one hears except her. 

A few seconds after she takes her finger out is when everyone turns their attention onto you and asks your favourite costumes from your students were. Melissa doesn’t make it easier for you though as she keeps trailing her hand up and down your upper thigh and it’s making it hard for you to even think about anything except where her hand is. Melissa decides to take pity and speaks up.

“I think we both need some more drinks.” She says before she grabs your hand and leads you into the crowd. You get confused as you pass right by the bar and she leads you to the other side of the place to the bathrooms. 

“Melissa, why are we-” You get silenced as she leads you into a stall and pushes you up against the door and kisses you.

“I couldn’t wait any longer, all I thought about all day was running my hands up these legs.” She tells you as she trails her hand up your left thigh, underneath your skirt. “And unzipping this shirt and see your amazing tits.” She continues as she unzips your shirt, unclips your bra and pulls it up to see your breasts. “I know we agreed on no sex but would you say no if we have sex one more time?” She asks and it takes a few seconds for your brain to catch up with the situation. Once it does and you think over her question, you put your hand on the back of her head and pull her in for a kiss. Melissa responds immediately and kisses you back as she’s had a hard time staying away from you all week, let alone not being able to touch your body or kiss you all weekend or even today. 

You feel her hands move your skirt up before she goes down on her knees and dives right to your clit. You immediately put your hand over your mouth and bite your lip to keep you from making any noises as she does everything she can to get noises out of you. She then frowns as she would like to hear you and pulls away. You look at her in confusion but help her up.

“This isn’t working, I want to hear you.” She says and you look at her.

“My car is right outside.” You suggest and she smiles before she makes you presentable again and then she grabs your hand and leads you out of the bar and to your car. She opens the passenger side before pushing the seat as far back as it can go before getting you to sit down. You bring the seat down a bit so you’re on a slightly comfortable angle as Melissa gets on the floor and closes the door. 

“Now, don’t conceal your noises.” She tells you and you nod before she bunches up your skirt and goes back to your clit again. You let out a gasp and arch your back as she does a hard suck right away. She then focuses on bringing you as much pleasure as possible as she already knows your body incredibly well. It isn’t long before you feel your orgasm starting to build and that’s when Melissa slips a finger in your centre and you see stars as she knows how to make you feel so good. She slides a second finger in you and you reach behind you and grab the headrest of the seat as she quickly pumps in and out of you. You start squirming as you’re right at your peak and Melissa lets you as she’s enjoying the sight. You then let out a high pitched gasp as you come and Melissa slows down inside of you before carefully removing her fingers and she licks your juices from her fingers. You catch your breath as Melissa watches you with a smile. You then get her to climb up on top of you and you kiss her as you calm down from your orgasm. You then reach behind her and unzip her costume before taking it off of her and leaving it piled at her knees. You then flip the both of you so that she’s underneath you and you unclip her bra and push it up before you slip a nipple in your mouth and she moans. “You’re obsessed with them.” She says breathlessly.

“When you have tits this big? Yes.” You say as you switch to her other nipple and she giggles.

“Oh god, I missed your touch so much.” Melissa moans out as you suck on her nipple while trailing your hands up and down her legs.

“Ya?” You ask as you pull away from her nipple and touch near her centre and clit.

“Yes.” She says before you touch her clit and she gasps. You start circling her clit and she pulls you in for a kiss. She has an arm wrapped around your neck as her other hand is gripping onto the carseat. “Oh god, please I need you inside of me.” She says and you do one last circle on her clit before you do as she asks and insert one finger inside of her and you feel her dig her nails into your back. You a couple pumps inside of her before you insert a second finger and you feel like adding a third finger, so you add a third and she gasps out as she grips the carseat even tighter. “YES! YES! YES!” She says in a pitched voice. “Don’t stop!” She tells you and you pump faster. “Oh god, I’m so close, so close.” She tells you and you feel her clench around your fingers and she arches her back. You kiss her neck seconds before she comes around your fingers. You pull away from her neck right as she comes and rest your forehead against hers. “I love you.” She says softly, the second after she comes and you widen your eyes and pull away from her slightly. 

You’ve heard her admit it before but it was one she was delirious and didn’t know she was talking to you. This time she knows damn well that you’re here with her and she’s not sick. A couple seconds after she says it, it’s like her brain catches up with her mouth and she snaps her eyes open and looks at you with wide eyes. You pull out of her and lick your fingers as she tries to steady her breathing.

“Oh god, I wasn’t- you weren’t… forget I said the last few words.” She tells you and you shake your head.

“I’m not going to pretend that I just didn’t hear you admit it a second time.” You tell her and she furrows her eyebrows.

“Se-second time?” She asks and you nod.

“You might have admitted it to me without knowing it was me when you were delirious when you had a fever.” You admit and she puts a hand on her forehead. “But it’s ok, I know you’re not ready for anything yet and-”

“But that’s the thing Y/n! I was never going to admit it as I don’t know when I’ll be ready and I don’t want to string your feelings along.” She confesses and you look at her. “Yes I love you, I found that out 3 weeks ago but it scares me. The last person I loved was Joe and I’m getting a divorce from him as he manipulated me for 25 years.” She tells you.

“Melissa, I’m not Joe. I know you know that but I think you need to hear it. I have no interest in manipulating you or anyone else as I have actual compassion and empathy. You know I love you and I know I’ll continue dating and being friends with you. If you ever decide you’re ready then just let me know. But until then, I’ll wait willingly for you, however long that takes.” You say to her and you wipe away the tear that falls down her cheek and you smile at her.

“I don’t deserve you.” She says as she looks down.

“You deserve everything you want.” You tell her before you kiss her forehead and she looks up at you with a smile. 

“You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” She tells you as she strokes your cheek and you lean into her touch. 

“As much as I’m enjoying this, we should probably go back to everyone before they think we’ve died or something.” You joke and she chuckles before you both get dressed and fix your makeup before you stumble out and walk back into the bar. You head to the bar and order 2 drinks as Melissa goes back to the table. You get the drinks and join back at the table and hand the second drink to Melissa.

“Y/n, I was just saying we ran into a friend of yours.” Melissa tells them and everyone looks at you.

“Yep, talked for a little bit.” You tell them as casually as possible as you sit down. 

You all then talk for an hour before you decide to call it a night as you all have to go to work tomorrow. You say goodbye to everyone and they all walk to their cars as you hug Melissa.

“I meant what I said, I’ll willingly wait for you.” You tell her and she kisses you and smiles.

“I know, and if the situation was reversed, I’d wait for you as well.” She tells you as you grab her hand. “I have to go, Barb is my ride home and I’m pretty excited to get out of this even though I look stunning.” She says and you giggle.

“You always look stunning.” You tell her and she smiles before she lets go of your hand.

“Text me when you get home.” She says and you nod. She then watches as you walk to your car before she hears a honk and sees Barb and Gerald are ready to go. She then walks to their car and gets in.

That night she didn’t receive a text from you but she figured you forgot or fell asleep right away. She sees that it’s 10:03pm and decides to go to sleep as she’s getting up in 7 hours. She then falls asleep with a smile on her face as she thinks of you

*11:06pm*

Melissa opens her eyes as she hears her phone going off and she reaches over and sees you’re calling her. She furrows her eyebrows as she’s wondering why you’re calling her so late. She then picks up and brings it to her ear.

“Y/n, what’s up, hon?” She asks.

“Excuse me, are you Melissa Schemmenti?” A voice asks her and she sits up in bed.

“Depends, who’s this?” She asks them.

“My name is Emily Brown, I’m a doctor at the hospital and you’re listed as the emergency contact on Y/n’s phone.” Emily tells her and her heart sinks.

“Is-is she ok?” Melissa asks.

“I’m afraid there’s been a car accident and I'm going to need you to come right away.”

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