#if it was all worth it. why he started this path in the first place

[apollos-boyfriend]

tags by @.transbeeduo but putting this here bc the other post was already long enough LMAO and i feel like this needs its own space but GOD i have been thinking about this since it ended

i’m just going off what we have on purpled and not any ideas to how/if he changed after the original ending and like. oh my god. he’d be so angry. i don’t even think he’d celebrate that much, if at all. because yeah, he hated quackity, but he wanted quackity’s downfall to be by his own hand. and for most of his arc, he didn’t even want quackity dead. punz and dream are the ones to implant the idea of killing quackity—up until that point, it seemed like purpled’s plan was to break him emotionally by killing slime in front of him once more. he wanted quackity to suffer like suffered. to lose like he lost. while he had a secondary motive in a “legacy”, purpled’s primary motive was always taking something that was important to quackity. las nevadas would’ve taken his legacy, the revive book his hard work, and slimecicle his connections. it was always less about ending quackity for good in a physical sense. he wanted to see that man break, and he wanted it to have been by purpled’s hands.

purpled called dream a coward for having sent punz to talk to him and “not having the balls to face [purpled] himself.” i have no doubts he’d have a similar, much angrier, reaction to finding out what happened. purpled already thought quackity wasn’t able to own up to his actions. that he’d do anything to avoid facing/admitting the truth. quackity killing himself, without ever paying for his crimes (in purpled’s mind), would make purpled lose it.

although i guess ghosts are canon, so there’s nothing really keeping purp from still getting his revenge as long as he can find quackity’s ghost. i do think it would play out in this same way of him initially being so blinded by rage and disbelief at quackity’s nerve that he completely forgets about the fact that a part of quackity is technically still out there LMAO

[livinginshambles]

Hear me out, please |James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: The aftermath of when James found out you were his 'cinderella'. James tries desperately to get your attention to get you to hear him out. A tiny twist.

Notes: Not proofread, grammar mistakes. Timeline might be a little off, but magic so whatever i guess? Sorry for the long wait, I hope you guys will think it was worth it!!

Masterlist Part one Part two

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A lot of things went through James' mind as he stood there in the Great Hall. You could hear a pin drop before Regulus finally shot into action and dashed out the hall to go after you.

The murmuring started to continue now that the first silence had been disturbed.

"Oh gosh, she's so dramatic," your sister laughed. And she put a hand on James' shoulder to pull him back to his seat.

James turned his head slowly. His attention zeroed in on the hand on his shoulder. He coiled away.

"What the fuck have you done," he spat at her.

Marla's eyebrows shot up. "We did you a favour," she stated, as if it was the most obvious thing ever.

It sent James over the edge. He grabbed her upper arm and harshly shook it.

"A favour? A favour!?" He asked incredulously. His voice raised in volume. "What on earth is wrong with you!" He screamed and looked around; his eyes blown out. "With all of you!"

"You mean what the hell is wrong with you, James?" Your other sister, Alyssa, piped up. "Why are you defending her?" That last word was spat out with so much disgust that it opened finally James' eyes to what you must have endured. He fought the urge to slap her expression off her face.

James let go of Marla's arm and pushed her a few steps back while doing so.

No, he needed to fix this. He just had to. If you would just listen to him, he would explain it all. And then he'd protect you. From every hurtful comment out there.

If you would just let him.

"Regulus," James grimaced. The boy was blocking his path and view, standing in the doorway. You were out of sight, or at least out of James's sight.

"Potter," Regulus curtly nodded at him.

"I need to talk to her."

"You've said plenty."

James 'brows furrowed, and his jaw flexed. Why was everyone deciding everything for him all of a sudden? Why couldn't everyone just mind their own bloody business? If they had, none of this would have occurred.

He would be patrolling with you in the evening, and you would make him laugh about one of your dry remarks. He wouldn't have known that it was you who he was looking for, but in time, maybe he would've figured it out. Or maybe he would've pushed his mystery girl to the back of his mind to let you and all the new feelings in.

"Actually, I haven't. I haven't said enough because everyone is saying things in my place instead. But I never got the chance to say what I want to say, and every time I do, it seems too late. I just want to talk to her." The words flew out of James' mouth, built up regret, anger, and disappointment from how things had escalated.

"Perhaps you haven't said much." Regulus looked James up and down and weighed his words carefully. "And maybe that's part of the problem. But right now, she's certainly heard enough. She doesn't want your grand words."

James closed his eyes in frustration. He wanted to protest, he wanted to scream at himself and pull his hair out, but ultimately, he just wanted yet another chance.

He hadn't expected it to be you. Not at all, but the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense, and the more it seemed... right. And he didn't know why he had been so adamant to form some sort of relationship with you, but the way his heart blossomed when you were around only pulled him further in.

James looked at the ground, as if the solution to his problems would be written down there.

"Okay," he relented.

Without a moment of hesitation, Regulus went to slam the door in his face but stopped at the box that James held put to him.

"What's that supposed to be?" He flatly asked James.

With a heavy heart, James showed Regulus the pair of glass slippers that you had left behind at the Yule ball, and that he had so carefully carried around with him.

James searched for his words his. "I've been holding on to these to return them to their owner," he made an attempt at a smile but dropped it, feeling pathetic. He wondered if he looked as pathetic to Regulus as well.

"Well, I suppose I should return them, now that I've found her." James pushed the box into Regulus' hands, threw one glance past the boy in hopes to catch a glimpse of you, and rubbed his face with both hands as he dejectedly walked away from the Slytherin dormitory.

Perhaps he could try again later.

You stared at the glass slippers in your hand. It felt cool to the touch and looked so beautiful, but you couldn’t help the bitter taste left in your mouth. With one smooth movement, you threw and smashed one of the slippers against the wall opposite of your bed. It shattered in pieces, and you had to smile at that. Even with every spell to reenforce the glass so you could actually walk on it, it broke. Then you gathered every bit of frustration you had in you, and you screamed as hard as you could, tears flowing in frustration.

You hated that you were crying. But the sheer defeat and powerlessness that you felt was too overwhelming, your voice cracked mid-scream and you threw the other slipper to pieces in anger as well. It wasn’t even about the gossiping amongst the students anymore.

You were so tired; you actually couldn’t bring yourself to care about what everyone must be thinking right now. But your sisters and James. You dug your nails into your palm.

You looked at your reflection in the mirror and straightened your posture. With your hands, you smoothed out your frown, fixed your hair and put on a wide smile. All in all, you looked psychopathic, but anything was better than pathetic. You turned on your heel and got ready for your first morning class.

James watched your empty seat in Divination class. This was the only class in which the last two years were put together. He wondered if you would show up. But he knew you. Possible more than anyone. So, he knew that you would never miss a class, because you wanted perfect grades and a perfect attendance rate. You were just like that. Ambitious.

James mind replayed your words again. He was every worst characteristic of Gryffindor; you had said to him. ‘Arrogant, prideful, and reckless’.

Next to James, Sirius was also lost in thoughts. Your words resonated in his head as well. Prejudice creates a vicious cycle. It was true. Sirius’ eyes flickered towards the other empty seat where Regulus was supposed to be. He had completely abandoned Regulus, giving his brother the cold shoulder, and despising his elitist thoughts, undoubtedly created by his mother. Because he had abandoned Regulus.

Sirius wondered what would have happened if he had tried to maintain a good relationship with Regulus after having been sorted into Gryffindor. He wondered if he would have been able to convince Regulus to run away with him.

There was a knock on the door and Regulus walked in with a blank face. He nodded his head in apology at the Professor and took a seat. The door opened again, this time with a little more force.

“My sincere apologies, professor.” You wore a smile that sent chills up James’ back. His body almost involuntarily shot up to go up to you, but he caught himself, and he longingly looked at you as you passed by instead.

After having gotten used to your discrete gestures of acknowledgement in the form of waves, smiles, nods or even winks, James’ heart tugged when you didn’t spare him a glance. You graciously took a seat and motioned at Professor Trelawney to continue.

James jumped up when class was over. His belongings had long since been packed, and he dashed towards your leaving figure.

“Y/N!” he called out to you.

You turned around and looked him in the eye. All the words that James had prepared during the rest of class escaped his mind. James felt those chills again and he finally understood that in all his years with fights between the two of you, you had been petty, threatening to take points away. You had been angry, throwing insults back at him, and you had very much been a major asshole in general. But you had never been this hostile.

“Let me say this once, so we can all be done with it, and never talk about this again, Potter,” you sharply stated. “I am sorry that I wasn’t who you wanted me to be. However, let me make it clear that this was my secret and mine to share. And I made perfectly clear that I was not going to, so your blatant disrespect to publicly call me out the way you did, is simply appalling.”

Remus called James’ name and James made the mistake to look back. When he turned to you again, you were already further down the hall, turning the corner with a steady pace.

James didn’t see you around anymore until Thursday morning. His eyes basically lit up and he repeated his apology in his head. “L/N, wait,” James tried, and he chased after you. Unlike last time, you didn’t stop. Curious students watched you two pass while James tried to match your pace.

“Hear me out, please.”

“I said all I wanted to say, Potter. Let’s stay out of each other’s way from now on.”

“After you let me explain,” James pleaded.

You laughed. “Nothing you tell me will change my mind. I won’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth.” You gave him an annoyed look.

Still, James was not planning on giving up. You weren’t the only determined one here. He grabbed your arm and dragged you into a room. Your eyes squinted and gave him the dirtiest look they could. James immediately let go of you, hands up in defence, a string of apologies following suit.

You glared at him and went to walk straight out of the room when James pulled you back again, and this time, he cupped the sides of your face, and pressed his lips to yours.

For a moment, you hesitated, utterly confused and surprisingly rather okay with the unwarranted kiss. And then anger hit you. Did he bloody think this would woo you, and sweep you off your feet and make everything alright? How dare he kiss you in attempt to manipulate you. You slapped him across the face in shock less than a second later. James blinked back at you in horror at his own actions.

“Godric, no- I- I am so bloody sorry, I shouldn’t have- I’m- I don’t know what went through my head, please wait-” You slammed the door in his face when you left. James hit his head softly against the door. And then he hit it again but a bit harder as he cursed. “What the hell is wrong with you mate,” he groaned to himself. “You bloody git.”

He stared at the dark wood of the door in front of him reluctantly. To be honest, he wouldn’t mind just staying in the room to rot away, how was he going to face you now?

“Lily, please go in my place,” he begged the redhead. “I’ll take your Tuesday shift, I promise.”

Lily shook her head. “Stop being a baby, James. You reap what you sow and I’m not patrolling tonight.” She walked past James and then turned back around.

“Some friendly advice, James, stop being so pushy. No is no, and it might have been cute as 11-year-olds, but not anymore. We’re no longer kids. But good luck.”

James reluctantly dragged himself towards the Great Hall where he could see you pick your nails in front of the door. He felt ashamed, guilty, and absolutely not ready to look you in the eye.

“Hi,” he awkwardly managed. “So about-“

“You’re late. Let’s get a move on it.” You cut him off.

“Right, yeah, we should do that- patrolling.”

It was quiet, not a word spoken between the two of you as James trailed half a step behind you. He glanced at the side of your face. Shadows and light flickered across your face every time you passed a torch.

The silence of the castle did him good, he realised. He’d much rather walk in silence next to you, than be in the midst of all that chaos that was going on right now. He smiled and stuffed his hands in his pocket happily.

“What are you smiling about,” you asked, a frown on your face.

“Hm? What? Oh, sorry.” The smile dropped of James’ face.

“Well, you don’t have to stop smiling because I said so,” you shot him a strange look. “I just wanted to know what’s so funny.”

“Oh, it’s nothing.” A beat. And then, “Lily told me to stop trying to apologise to you if you don’t want to hear it.”

You considered his words. You supposed you mostly wanted someone to be angry at. You didn’t want to hear James out and then maybe see that your anger was misdirected. You wanted to stay bitter.

“I don’t.”

“Okay, well, I’ll stop.”

“Good.”

Despite the fact that he hadn’t been able to apologise, and nothing had been cleared up between the two of you, both of you felt yourselves relax a little more. You continued to roam the corridors in silence.

The next three patrols were spent in the same basked silence, occasionally one or two words exchanged. James had so many things he wanted to tell you, but he didn’t want to ruin anything. And then you suddenly spoke up again.

“Good luck tomorrow.”

James perked up at your words. “Thank you,” he grinned at you gratefully. “Are you going to watch the game?”

You shook your head. “No, I’ll be helping out in the infirmary.”

“Did you finish your herbal research then?”

Your eyes flickered up at him in surprise. “Yeah, Madame Pomfrey and I will put it to test.” James nodded along.

“Well, if you ever need a patient, I’d volunteer,” he joked. He watched in triumph as you shook your head in amusement.

“Better check your broom for hexes tomorrow,” you replied. “wouldn’t want you to fall off your broom and break a bone or two.” James snorted.

You pulled the curtain to the side with an exasperated expression. “I was only kidding Yesterday, Potter. What on earth are you doing here.”

James gave you a weak smile, trying to hide the pain in his arm and ribs. “Volunteering to be your very first patient, of course.”

“Tell me you didn’t break your bones on purpose,” you squinted your eyes at him.

“I didn’t break my bones on purpose,” James obediently replied. He shifted in curiosity as you rummaged through a cabinet. “Is this not fixable with any spells?” He pondered when he saw you pull out several vials.

“Externally, yes. But you’d be in the same excruciating pain as if they were still broken. You motioned towards the vials. “Hence the herbal potions.”

“Is that the one with the Nettle and Dittany?” James nodded his head to the bottle on the left.

You hummed in approval, not bothering to hide the fact that you were impressed. “Who knows, Potter. Maybe you have a future of a healer as well.” James beamed in pride at your compliment.

“Just keeping my options open.” James sighed happily. He was glad that he could joke around with you again. You tapped a bottle against his cheek. He let you pour the potion into his mouth.

“Now what?”

“Now we wait.” You pulled out a stool and sat down with a notebook in case you needed to take notes of the effects of the potion. At one point, you must have fallen asleep with your face buried on James’ infirmary bed. A strand of hair was tickling your nose and you huffed to get it out of the way. James shifted to tuck it away with his non-injured hand.

You opened your eyes and jumped up. You looked around disoriented and when your eyes landed on James, who had tilted his head, you felt embarrassment creep up on you. “I’m terribly sorry, that was unprofessional of me. Are you feeling any better?”

James nodded. He sat up to prove it, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “All better. And if you get to apologise, so do I, right?” He looked at you hopefully, internally praying that you wouldn’t just march out straight away. “Will you hear me out?”

You sighed, knowing what would come next, but this time you sat down on the stool again instead of walking away.

“I didn’t know.” When you didn’t respond, he repeated himself. “I didn’t know it was you, and I didn’t know it was going to be published in the newspaper because I wouldn’t do that- you know that I wouldn’t.”

He looked at you and saw you staring back at him. He took it as a sign to continue and cleared his throat. It felt so dry all of a sudden. You quietly reached for a cup of water and handed it to him. James took a sip, a deep breath, and started to ramble on without breaks.

“Sirius found your parchment and then you sisters found it too, but I didn’t. I really didn’t. Sirius said they had already run off and he tried to fix it on his own, so he didn’t tell me, and I only found out right before you did and I would never have written such a mean article about you, because we’re friends- well, at the very least I considered us friends- and I just wanted you to like me because-” James stopped.

“What, you fancy me?” you rhetorically commented. 

James’ heart stopped and his face flushed. “No, of course not! I just- Well, I don’t know- It’s, uh I guess I just,” James tried to form a coherent answer, trying to weigh what answer would scare you away.

You frowned and let your eyes flicker across his face. “Stop it,” you shook your head in denial.

“Would it be so bad?” James murmured. “I didn’t know. But I know I liked the girl behind the paper. And I know I liked my patrol partner.” He hesitated and took a step forward. “I think you liked me too, before you knew my name.”

“Yeah,” you replied. “Before I knew your name. Once I learned it, I no longer did,” you lied. “Because we would never work. Every student said so. All the whispers and comments, insults and rumour were right.”

James shook his head.

“So, date me to spite them. Prove them wrong,” It was a pathetic attempt, but he saw the consideration flash in your eyes, and the more he thought about it, the more he started to get convinced that this was a decent idea.

“You’d have us enter a fake relationship to spite everyone?”

“It wouldn’t be fake to me,” James shrugged, getting more confident by your open attitude. “And who knows, maybe I can convince you that the guy from the paper is still inside of me.”

“This is so stupid,” you shook your head.

“Guess what,” Sirius asked Remus, he covered the page of the book Remus was reading to capture his attention.

Remus slapped Sirius’ hand away. “What,” he replied curtly. Sirius moved to sit on the table of the library. “Are you angry?”

“Mildly annoyed, yes.”

“Because…” Sirius trailed off unsurely. He hoped that Remus would finish the sentence for him, which, luckily for Sirius, Remus did.

“Because I think it’s time you guys stop pestering her. I know you planned to get James in the infirmary. Leave her be, you’ve done enough damage as it is.” He sounded disapproving. Sirius dropped himself back on the table, laying across it as if he was a sacrifice on an altar.

“Prongs likes her.”

“Yeah? Well, he’s handling it terribly,” Remus drily remarked. He took off his glasses and started to wipe them with the hem of his sweater. Sirius patted his pockets, reached into his left one and handed Remus a cleaning cloth for glasses.

“Why are you guys nice to me,” Remus asked quietly.

“What are you talking about Moony, you’re our best friend?”

“I know, but why?” Remus lowered his voice. “I’m a werewolf, aren’t I? I’m a literal monster. So why are you nice to me. But somehow feel the need to keep pranking and bullying Slytherin students? We’re in our last year. Don’t you think we should grow up?” And with ‘we’, he meant ‘Sirius and James’.

‘I know, Moony.”

“Do you now?”

“I think I’m going to talk to Regulus.”

Remus choked on his spit. “I’m sorry, Pads, you’re what?”

“I just don’t want to be like L/N’s siblings. I know I sort of am, but I don’t want to be. And you said we should start being nicer right?”

“Pads, last time you said something to him, he literally hexed you.”

“I insulted him,” Sirius heard himself say and he felt weird for a moment.

“He’s after your ass during every Quidditch game, trying to knock you off your broom.”

“Well, that’s just the point of Quidditch,” Sirius defended again.

Remus smiled at Sirius. “Alright, just be careful. Mid-terms are coming up and I’m too busy with studies to fix you up again.”

Sirius grinned. “If all goes well with Prongs, I could ask L/N to patch me up.” Remus threw a quill at him. “I think I’ll go find L/N later, see if she knows where my brother is.”

The door opened and Remus looked behind him. He did a double take and put his glasses back on to make sure he was seeing things correctly. Sirius was still laying on the table, looking at the ceiling.

“I think I’ve found her,” Remus remarked, uncertainly.

Sirius sat up and gaped at the sight on you and James, walking into the library together while talking. James was holding a pile of books and by the colour of the cover, he knew that those were not James’.

“I’m sorry, did I miss something?”

You looked up in alarm at the words and found Sirius and Remus sitting at a table in the corner. “We talked it out,” you nonchalantly mentioned. Remus gave you a smile and Sirius just stared at you. Then; “Hell yeah, Prongs, I knew you had it in you to confess.” Sirius jumped off the table and patted you on the back with a grin.

You laughed back uncertainly and looked at James with questioning eyes. James looked back at you, reassuringly. He moved all of your books to one hand and guided you to a seat with the other.

“Where’s Regulus,” Sirius asked immediately as soon as you sat down.

You raised your eyebrows. “He’s in the astronomy tower. Didn’t want to join James and I to the library.” You smiled at recollection of the younger Black’s reaction to you and James.

“No way.” He had replied. “What are you two planning?” James had looked at Regulus with an offended look. “What are you talking about? I fancy Y/N and she fancies me, so we decided to make it official.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe you fancy Y/N, but there is just no way she would enter a relationship with you of all people. What’s the deal.”

Sirius nodded. “Well,” he started, “I mean, if he wants to, he uh, the library is a public space, so he could join. If he wants.” Sirius awkwardly sat down on a chair. You squinted your eyes at him. “I’ll be sure to let him know,” you said. You watched as Sirius puffed out a sigh in relief.

You glanced down at the messy scribbles on Sirius’ paper and raised your eyebrows. You’d imagined that the elder Black would have a better handwriting than that. “Anyway, do you need help with Transfiguration as well?”

The news of your relationship spread like fire. Your sisters both received it with a sour look on their faces. “He’ll see we were right, and he’ll leave you again,” they said, purposely loud enough for you to hear it. James had just entered the room and walked straight past them towards you with a flower. He dropped it next to you and sat down beside you.

Against your will, your heart made a small jump and the corners of your mouth tugged upwards. James’ eyes flickered towards your lips and quickly looked away happily. Then he leaned in a little and whispered, “We’re not breaking up if it’s up to me.”

He shifted in his seat, subtly scooting over closer to you. “Go on a date with me tonight,” James whispered.

“We don’t have time tonight. Patrol, remember?” You argued back.

James grinned and shook his head. “Afterwards.”

“It’s past bedtime afterwards. I will not-”

“Sneak around the castle and get caught, I know. But you forget that I have an invisibility cloak.”

You laughed this time. “I’m almost tempted to take 20 points off Gryffindor for your outrageous plan.” Your eyes twinkled and James joined in. He put his hand over his heart in fake shock. “You wouldn’t do that to your boyfriend,” he squinted his eyes, challenging you.

“If he misbehaves,” you answer amusedly. But then you hummed in thought. “Fine, I’ll bite, what do you have in mind.”

James’ grin widened. “The lake’s still frozen,” he whispered. You deadpanned. “I can’t skate.”

James leaned his head against you. “Exactly, it’s the perfect chance for me to show you my gentlemanly skills and woo you.” You turned your head and breathed in the smell of James’ shampoo. "You just want an excuse to hold my hand," you mumbled in his hair. You could feel James smile against your shoulder. “I’m your boyfriend, I don’t need excuses,” he joked.

James swore his heartrate sped up an unhealthy amount when you confirmed, “No you don’t.”

He was absolutely beaming next to you as you were patrolling down the corridor, hand in hand. Your eyes flickered over to James once in a while. It was suspicious to you that he’d been quiet the entire time. James on the other hand was just looking at your intertwined hands with interest.

“Never held hands with a girl before, Potter?” You laughed, but no venom was found in your voice.

James nodded. “Never held hands with a girl before,” he confirmed, not ashamed at all for it. Why should he. You looked at him with curiosity. “What about Lily?”

James snorted. “Have you ever seen us hold hands?”

“Nope,” you popped the ‘p’.

“I was stressing a lot about being a good boyfriend, my hands got really sweaty,” James bashfully explained. You lifted both your hands and squeezed his hand a few times. “You don’t stress about being a good boyfriend for me?” you couldn’t help but ask. You immediately groaned internally and looked straight to the floor, intently watching your feet as they simply fascinatingly put one in front of the other. I mean, have you ever seen something so-. James wasn’t having it.

“’m not stressing with you. I have a pretty good feeling about us.” He sighed contently. You huffed. “Well, I have high standards, and I’ve been told I’m pretty high maintenance, Potter.” You stuck your nose in the air haughtily.

“First, you should stop calling me Potter,” he remarked.

“James,” you nodded. A chill ran up his spine. “And second?” you inquired.

“Second?”

“Second,” you looked at him expectantly.

“Oh! Right, second; I didn’t know you had a relationship before?” And just as soon as those words left his lips, he cussed himself out in his head. Great, now he seemed either a twat as if he couldn’t believe someone like you could have a relationship, or a twat who was jealous and obsessive. And it’s only the first week. James averted his eyes to the wall on his left. Ah yes, the wall seems to be made of stone. Very sturdy, very wall-like-

“No, I’ve been single pretty much my whole life.” You put on your usual sour face, and vaguely gestured to it. “Not very approachable, as I prefer.”

“Then who calls you high maintenance?” James thought bitterly, feeling the need to defend you. “Calm down, prince Charming,” you reassured him with a laugh. Maybe you could see the charm in his recklessness. “I can fight my own battles. And basically, everyone calls me high maintenance.”

The two of you walked side by side in silence again, making your way to the prefect room. You rummaged through a drawer, pulled out a document and started to fill it in. James leaned against the table. “Where do you go during Spring Break? Do you stay at Hogwarts? Because I can also stay at Hogwarts to keep you company, you know.”

“I have my own apartment.”

“You’re not even of age yet,” James pointed out, trying to hide his disappointment unsuccessfully at a missed opportunity of spending time with you.

“Professor McGonagall vouched for me,” you replied. James’ eyebrows flew up. “McGonagall?” He asked in disbelief. You just hummed in reply while you flipped the page to continue filling in the report.

“Well, if you want you can come with me?” You stopped writing and looked up at him intently. As if you were searching his face for any hidden intentions. When you didn’t find any, you gave him an apologetic look.

“That’s kind of you, James,” you smiled. “But I have Regulus staying with me.”

“He doesn’t stay at the Black manor?” James was surprised. You tilted your head. “Tell me, does Sirius stay at the Black manor?”

James quickly shut his mouth as realization dawned on him. Oh.

“Well,” he awkwardly shifted. “You’re both welcome,” he offered. You shook your head in laughing at the mental image. The thought of Regulus and Sirius living together for two weeks was just hilarious.

“I’m done, we can go.”

“Alright, I just need to pick up my invisibility cloak from the Gryffindor common room.”

“I’ll wait here,” you nodded. James offered you a strange look.

“What?” You asked, looking up at him.

“You’re not going with me?”

“What all the way up to the third floor? I think not,” you snorted, plopping down on a chair, and making yourself comfortable.

James huffed and didn’t move. “But what if something happens to me on the way there?” He dramatically sat down next to you on a different chair.

“What on earth could happen to you on the way to your room. This is Hogwarts, you know. The safest place in England probably.”

“What if a monster attacks me, and then I can’t come back, and you’ll think that I stood you up?” James retorted with a pout.

You shook your head and pinched the bridge of you nose. “There are no monsters in this castle, James, where do you think we are? You’re not going to run into a Basilisk on your way.”

James squinted his eyes at you. “But can you promise me that with 100% certainty?” You rolled your eyes in response. “Of course not, but would you take me with you and expose me to such dangers?” you sarcastically retorted.

“Well, technically speaking, and I’m not saying all Slytherins,” James held up his hands at your narrowed eyes. “Snakes are kind of your thing, right?” You closed your eyes. “Charming, you are. Let’s just go,” you sighed.

James grinned in victory as he held the door open for you. “For the record, I would totally protect you from a Basilisk.”

“If you say so.”

Sirius sat up in bed when the door opened, but no one came in. “Hey Prongs, how was ice skating?”

James removed the invisibility cloak to reveal your shivering form. Both of you drenched from head to toe, water still dripping from the locks in front of his eyes. “Got pulled under,” he stressed. “I didn’t know where to take her, I couldn’t let her clean record be tainted for being out past bedtime because of me, and I don’t know the Slytherin password, so I brought her here,” he started to ramble in a loud whisper.

Remus grumbled as he sat up too. “Bloody hell, Prongs, did you take her to the black lake or what?” And when James didn’t respond, “Mate, what is wrong with you.” He got up and walked to the bathroom to get a few dry towels to wrap you in.

James discarded his soaked clothes and dried himself off before putting on pyjamas. Then the three of them stared awkwardly at each other. “Well, she needs to get out of those cold clothes,” Remus remarked. Sirius stepped back. “Yeah, not my girl, not my duty,” he walked over to his bed and dropped down on it.

“Right.”

You woke up and the first thing you noticed was the red colours all around you. You sat up suddenly and blinked a few times. What happened? Oh, right. A hand had broken through the ice, wrapped itself around your ankle and harshly pulled you down into the freezing depths. So that means you’re either dead, or James got you out and brought you to the Gryffindor dorms instead of the infirmary because he kept your clean records in mind. Your heart filled with appreciation at the thought of that.

You looked around and found James on the floor next to you. He was curled up in an extra blanket, but it must be uncomfortable. You went to pull out your wand when you realised that you were wearing his sweater. The little shit changed your clothes, you huffed.

You quietly got up, found your clothes drying in the bathroom and slipped out your wand. With a quick levitation spell, you gently tucked James back into his own bed. Your eyes fell on the two parchments on the nightstand, and you allowed a nostalgic smile to adorn your face. You moved his hair out of the way and let your eyes rest on his peaceful face. Realising you were being creepy, you hastily turned around and snuck out of the room with your clothes and a rolled-up parchment.

“And where have you been,” Regulus sat on the common room armchair in front of the door. He looked like he hadn’t properly slept, and his tone was sharp. “And what atrocity are you wearing. Tell me you didn’t sleep with him?”

“You’re my brother, Regulus, not my mother,” you teased him. You pulled out a chair to sit next to him. “And no, I went skating, fell into the water, blacked out and woke up alive in the Gryffindor dorm. So don’t hex James, if anything you can thank him.”

There was a beat of silence. “I’m glad you’re okay, I was worried.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you. Did you stay up all night?”

“Yes, but mostly because I wanted to tell you something.” You didn’t immediately reply, waiting for Regulus to continue on his own instead.

“Sirius came up to the astronomy tower yesterday evening,” he quietly said. His voice sounded confused, as if he was still unsure of what had actually occurred.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course, I’m okay,” Regulus immediately said. “It’s just that he apologized.” He shrugged. “You think he meant it?”

You thought it over. “I think he did. He asked me last week you know. Where you are, and that if you ever want to join us in the library, you can.” Regulus nodded deep in thought.

“You know, James actually invited both of us over for the Spring Break.” You looked at Regulus to gauge his reaction to that. He looked slightly interested, though he tried to hide it.

“I suppose it’s still a month away, so we’ll see what we want then.”

You nodded and then got up off the chair. “I’m going to change into something else, before my fellow house students want to jinx me,” you said.

“You’re dating James Potter; people already want to jinx you.”

You winked at him. “Well, I’ll be damned, you’re absolutely right. Isn’t that funny? You know what, let them try,” you challenged them as you smoothened James’ sweater.

James woke up and sat up straight in bed, confused. How did he get here? He Looked at the end of his bed and saw it still neatly tucked in- hospital corners. His lips twitched up. You had left, he realised, but you’d tucked him in. He let himself fall back onto his pillow and turned his head to the side. Then he frowned, put on his glasses, and grabbed the parchment. In your lovely handwriting was a message.

Maybe not a Basilisk, but you protected me as you said. Thank you, James. (All things considered, I enjoyed last night.)

James’ eyes traced the words before he carefully placed the parchment under his pillow with a giddy feeling in his heart.

James found you in the library with Remus. His heart skipped a beat when he saw that you were still wearing his sweater. Red looked out of place on you and James absolutely loved it. Sirius shared a look with him and then the both of them decided to sneak up on the two of you, simultaneously stealing your books from under you.

You and Remus narrowed your eyes at the both of them. “I am this close to kicking you guys.” You held up your hand to show your thumb and finger pressed together. James shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “But they’re touching,” he hesitantly responded. Sirius elbowed him in the ribs and quickly handed Remus both your books back.

You sarcastically faked a gasp. “Oh, Merlin, you’re right, they appear to be.”

James cheekily grinned and pressed a kiss to your temple. “You wouldn’t hurt your knight in shining armour,” he bragged, but without any real arrogance laced in his tone. You flipped him off with a grin and pulled out a chair for him next to you. “You’re late,” you airily said.

Sirius suddenly straightened up, his attention fixed on someone behind you. You turned around and waved Regulus over. “Come join us, Reg.”

Three weeks flew by in a blur, but- even though you’ve said this so often now- your were really enjoying your time at Hogwarts again. People’s gossips and predictions about yours and James’ relationship had turned into quiet whispers and envy.

James stood up for you on multiple occasions- after letting you have a go at the imbeciles of course. You had finally gone to a Quidditch game to support James, though of course not when they were playing against Slytherin. You had spent more time in the infirmary and James had joined you a few times by hanging out on one of the empty beds, occasionally handing you an ingredient such as Wolfsbane.

After having established that you absolutely loved hugs, James was always less that a step behind you, ready to give you the affection that you were too proud for to admit you wanted. You had been a frequent visitor to the boys’ dorms as well, making yourself comfortable in James’ arms as you dozed off for a nap. On other nights, you have even managed to persuade Regulus to join a handful of times as well. You wondered what would happen when James would graduate before you, but tried not to think much of it.

“So, we are definitely going to Hogsmeade together this week, right?” James popped up behind you and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“How scandalous, are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah, why? You have a boyfriend or something?” James humoured you.

“Or something,” you joked. The innocent comment hit both you and James at the same time. A reminder that you two were in fact technically not really dating. You shook the thought away.

“I’ll see you at 11 o’clock,” you replied.

James grinned, “I’ll be there five minutes earlier.”

True to his words, he was waiting for you in the courtyard when you arrived on the dot. James offered you his arm and you linked yours through his.

“James?” James hummed in reply. “Does your offer about Spring Break still stand? I mean, I know it’s next week already, and it’s sort of short notice-”

James perked up. “Yes!” he said, a little too quickly and enthusiastic. He cleared his throat and lowered his volume. “Yes, you and Regulus can still come.”

You sighed and nodded in relief. “Right, because Reg and I have been talking and we might take you up on that offer.”

It was evening by the time you and James made your way back to Hogwarts. James had his arm wrapped around your shoulders, and you held his hand. James pressed a kiss to your temple every now and then. “What happened to the glass slippers?” He suddenly asked.

“They broke.”

“They broke?”

“Yep.”

“But didn’t you enchant them?”

“I did, but I was so angry at you that I smashed them to pieces against the wall like over two months ago.”

“Oh… But have you changed your mind since then?” James decided to finally ask you.

“About what?”.

“Me, and us.”

You looked at James and quietly admired him. James kept his eyes straight in front of him, too scared to look at you and see your reaction.

“Well, we are walking together, coming back from Hogsmeade. There’s not a student in sight and yet we are still holding hands,” You light-heartedly replied with a teasing smile. You squeezed his hand for good measure. It seemed enough to make James look at you.

“I’d say we’re pretty good friends-”

“I’m in love with you.”

You froze in your tracks and let go of James’ hand. Well, that took you by surprise. Fancying someone and claiming to be in love with someone- not loving but being in love- that was a next level. You smiled amusedly, successfully hiding your insecurities. “James, you’re not in love with me.”

James frowned at your response. He’d accept your rejection, but not you doubting his feelings.

“Yes, I am,” he stubbornly responded.

“No, you’re not,” you retorted, equally stubborn.

“Am too.”

“You’re not, James,” you exasperatedly said. “You’re not in love, you just fancy me because you’re comfortable.” You shrugged awkwardly. "And you only feel comfortable with me because I know so much about you. Because you poured your heart out to a stranger, and it so happened to be me.”

James bit his cheek, considering your words. Then he grinned and nodded. Your heart dropped, but not as much as it could have, because you had already prepared yourself for this. The joy behind setting yourself up for disappointment by never letting yourself get your hopes up.

“Yeah, I’m really comfortable with you.” He agreed. “Isn’t that great? Isn’t that love too? Being comfortable to the point you don’t feel the need to keep secrets anymore, where you feel the most accepted? The most at ease?”

You stared at James then cleared your throat. “So, when did you start being all knowledgeable and romantic?”

James snorted. You were adorable when you were awkward. “I’m the most comfortable with you,” he earnestly confessed to you. He carefully, as if to not scare you away, put a step forward and reached for your hand. He squeezed it softly. I mean it.

James felt you pull your hand back and bit his lip, forcing it to curl up into an accepting smile. “Right,” he cleared his throat as he tried to form a reply. But you weren’t done yet. You pulled back your hand and then threw both your arms around James’ neck as your brought him in a tight hug. You dipped your head down into the crook of his neck.

“And I’m the most vulnerable with you,” you mumbled against his skin. James sighed in relief, happiness, and love. He wrapped his arms around you protectively, as if to shield you in response.

You tilted your head sideways as you looked at James who was in front of you, down on one knee in your garden. James looked beautiful. His cheeks were slightly coloured from the cold and his hands held a small box with a ring.

“Love?” He asked, waving his hand in front of you, trying to get your attention. He didn’t sound nervous at all, in fact, he felt the most relaxed he’d ever been. This was definitely the future he’d imagined when he’d watched you laugh with his dad while bringing in the groceries. “My knee is getting numb from the cold, love. So, if you could just say yes or no,” he cheekily grinned.

You hummed in thought and then you replied, “Well, isn’t marriage a little too soon?” Your grin widened and spread across your face. “I mean, you’ve yet to officially ask me to be your real girlfriend.”

“Wait what-”

The end :)

Taglist:

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[acid-ixx]

gets fucking stabbed by damian and my last breath still be like "it's not his fault ! he is ten and was raised to be murderous since he was born ! kid entered a household where everyone ignores my existence, i don't blame him for assuming that to be the norm and acting evil to me so that he assimilates to his new environment ! bro literally went through the worst all his life so of course the way he expresses himself is harmful to others !"

and then i get stabbed again lol

— masterlist !

OH MY GOD PLEASE 😭 the gaslighting yourself is real, i'm telling you.

unfortunately, the reader's toxic mindset of justifying everything your family does is a common scenario for every time one of them fucks up; only in the past though. the present chapters will have you slowly realize just nothing really is ever your fault. that you've never once been in the blame for the actions of your youngest brother.

but right now, i want to focus on why you just seem to let damian go about his own crazy path of targeting you. and it's either it's because you have nothing, nobody else to fight back with you, or it's purely because you allow him to.

to destroy you, to make you suffer, to make you learn that you have no place, or standing in the family. and if you do have a place, it is at the rock bottom.

this is what damian is taught: the weak should be eliminated before they fester into some type of unnecessary cancer.

you're weak, when he first saw you, when you first approached him with your tail tucked behind your legs and an invitation to hang out together with the scent of cookies wafting in the air— he knows that it is you who will make him weak.

you give him temptations to be a child, he's raised to fight against it. he ignores the unwelcomed feeling of wamth that blooms in his chest, those are feelings that gets you killed.

so it's how the story goes: he brings his sword up to your neck, and sways his hands swift enough to make a small cut to ensure that the first thing you associate him with is fear. and for someone vulnerable like you, it doesn't take much before you quickly submit to the prospect of your place beneath a trained assassin like him.

he ignores the sudden pang of his heart and the aching, gnawing dread that chews at his mind at the memory of your widening eyes and the wobble in your steps.

it's already damaging enough to have the youngest be introduced and immediately accepted into the family, but it's worse when he's significantly younger than you, a boy nearly half your age; someone you've always wanted to have, to care for, to help raise and cherish... despises you from the start, before you two even formed a connection.

someone you once called your younger brother, now became an enemy in opposing lines in a place called home.

what would've been fine-tuned jealousy towards him because he was given everything in a silver platter turned into shame that you couldn't even face him, not right after he threatened to kill you, no... and especially not after you've convinced yourself that if you couldn't even prove your worth for a young boy like him, then you really have nothing good to offer.

you give him the autonomy to think it's alright, that due to his upbringing, alongside your naive brain always justifying that your other siblings are right, and you are in the wrong— he was given every opportunity to torment you when you even go as far as being in the same room as him.

and i have my receipts on why you're just like that; all in the grace of low self-worth and self-esteem. past you reasons out that it's because it's always your fault.

you couldn't even find a way to save your mother, you couldn't even establish your place in the manor, you couldn't comfort bruce when he was still not over jason, what more could you be when all you see damian as is a young, broken child like you? that behind that veil of threats and weapons ready to attack you, is someone you knew could've been different, if he was raised right...

if he'd given you a chance to help nurture the softer, more humane part of him.

you've always wanted a younger sibling, not only from back when you were just with your mother, but also when you were introduced to the manor. because not only did it mean that you'll know how your mother felt when she raised you, but because you thought you'd have somebody by your side throughout the silent torment you've went through.

and when you're graced with one, who doesn't even consider you his older sibling; you let it be.

you let him be himself.

damian wayne, demon's granson, the son of the bat.

so many titles he's called, but never one where he's your younger brother.

it doesn't help that you justify his past, because the man you idolize, dick, does so too whenever you try to complain. his excuses are never out of malicious intent to have you suffer further— it's just that he never once actually considered you as important enough to bat an eye on, like how the rest of them treat you.

because you know that even dick has his limit towards the youngest member of the family; he just never reaches it when it comes to you.

so if you have a person allow another to act terribly towards you, but have another, a friend or family, who teaches you that it's not right, who fights by your side; it wouldn't take long for you to also learn how to defend yourself then. you'll gain confidence that you're at least not alone, that your actions are completely valid.

... but if you have an entire family that couldn't even scold the boy for leaving a scar on your neck, who brushes his mean comments about you aside, who isolates you even further with malicious words that you know becomes crueler when targeted at you—

then you have no basis for what is right, and what is wrong.

and that makes your authority, your trust in yourself dwindle like your already crumbling relationship with all the others the further you try to fight back.

that's when you learn what it's like to give up, all over again. if you accept his vidictive insults, if you know your place to turn back if you see him in the same room, if you knew from the start that sometimes trying doesn't equate to succeeding; then it'll at least numb the pain that comes after.

for the entirety of your life from when damian was introduced, that was how you coped—

but your life after the manor, after damian matures and learns softness, about empathy (that he's buried long ago during his training from when he was all but a toddler) on your situation; reading your journal entries because he still felt entitled to due to some hidden, twisted trait of possessiveness... that's an entirely different story.

would you still be as understanding as you were back in the past towards him? would you still force yourself to love the demon you saw as just a little boy? or would damian finally understand that it's too late to turn back time, to correct all his mistakes?

either way, if you were capable enough to change (at least, in his eyes), becoming an independent person (you think, huh? your place is at the manor), then maybe you could give him a chance too, to fix your relationship and build a bridge to an even stronger one.

one where you could finally baby him, like what you've desired. one where he could feel vulnerable, when he learned that it's valid to feel weak— it cuts back to the previous points: you make him weak.

and when he's out to find you after going through every single diary, every entry, after deducing that there's still a small spark in your that'll forgive him if he tries; he refuses give up any sooner if it meant replicating the same warmth he felt when he stood by your presence.

so... you wouldn't want to leave your youngest brother waiting for you, don't you?

after all, it's just like what your entries told him, right? this is what you always wanted, right?

a/n: everyone is entitled to their own feelings about how i portray damian and mc's relationship!!! i love how all of you guys have different conflicting reactions to this. it's all so complex for me, how damian sees you as someone who's weak and makes him weak (he's just a stubborn little guy), and you, who sees yourself in damian, alongside the added desire to just have someone to care for (because you want to so badly honor your mother's memory), and that person also caring for you is ARGH!!?!

i apologize for my long rambles (if anyone wants me to cut back on posts like this, just tell me), i'm sure everyone is anticipating chapter 5 and possibly (soon) chapter 6 (since the drafts, not the final work is becoming too long). but right now, all i could provide are my depictions of the reader's relationship with every member of the family. i love to churn scenarios where it feels like you're actually part of the family so i'm actually manipulating all of you guys to become attached to the characters too, just to add an extra layer of angst, hehe...

[brokenmenswhore]

Hiiii!! I love your writing and I have a request for Best Friend x Reader where Reader has had a crush on James for years and thought he never noticed because he was way to focused on Lily. But in reality he had been in love with her from the second they met on the train but every time je was almost caught he’d look to the closest person by you, which was usually Lily. Maybe smut too if possible. Thank you!!!!

i love this request!! james is just so 🥺🫶🏻❤️‍🩹

the closest thing | james potter

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+)

────── ☾ ──────

“Hey, can I sit here?”

You were eleven. The boys in the train compartment all turned their heads toward you. One boy in particular, with brown curly hair and glasses, stood and approached the door.

“Hi, I’m James,” he said, sticking his hand out for you to shake and giving you a warm smile.

You told him your name and sat down across from him.

That’s when the crush started.

Through your first few years at Hogwarts, you and James grew extremely close, and became borderline inseparable. He was your best friend in the world, and you were his. Your infatuation grew with time, watching as he grew up and came into his own, his features morphing and sharpening with age.

When you were thirteen, you met Lily. She had been sorted into Gryffindor the same year as you and James, but you never spoke until your third year. She was charming, pretty, and loved a good laugh. You and her became fast friends, and you introduced her to James.

Whenever you sat in a group for breakfast, you would steal glances at James, who would be looking at Lily next to you. During classes, when you sat between them, you could feel James’s head turn toward you, but if you looked back at him, he was staring straight across you, fixated on Lily as she tucked a piece of fiery red hair behind her ear.

For years, you watched him gawk at her, and it caused you to hold your tongue about your developing feelings for him. Your friendship was so pure, it wasn’t worth ruining with a confession, especially if it would lead nowhere. Why tell him you liked him, just for him to tell you he liked Lily?

By the time you were sixteen, James was on top of the world as captain and seeker of Gryffindor Quidditch. He, along with Sirius and Remus, knew everyone and everything happening at Hogwarts. James in particular was the top of the class, and often had to help you with assignments. He still maintained your friendship, working to make time for you, but his popularity meant one thing you hated: attention from girls.

Girls often threw themselves at him, as they did Sirius, but he mostly turned them away. Waiting on Lily, you thought.

You and James had fun, and you made a habit of jumping on his back and making him carry you around. You weren’t much different in size, but he liked showing off how strong he was, and you liked wrapping your body around him.

Girls would often approach him, and when he entertained their attention, you would complain, “James, I’m getting loopy.”

James would bend over slightly, continuing to talk to the girl in front of him as you jumped on his back. He would hook his arms underneath your legs, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Gotta go,” James would say, dismissing himself as he stood tall, walking completely unobstructed with your weight on his back.

“You’re a child,” he laughed.

“Can’t help when I’m tired,” you would say, resting your head on his shoulder.

One afternoon, you were taking a walk on the grounds to find a quiet place in nature to study, and you saw James and Lily alone together. It would seem innocent to anyone else; they were side by side and just talking and laughing, but to you, it was so much more. James looked enamored, like he was the happiest he’d ever been, as they strolled along the path together. You desperately wanted to know what they were talking about, but you didn’t want to expose yourself for liking James, so you simply turned around and retreated back to the castle.

You were upset, but you knew you had no right to be. James wasn’t yours, and you had never told Lily of your feelings. If they liked each other, there was nothing you could do. Nothing, except, of course, pushing it down and asking Remus out.

“You’re kidding,” Remus said, shocked by your request.

“It’s just a trip to Hogsmeade, Remus, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m saying yes.”

“Well that’s pretty rude,” you scoffed.

“No! Not like that, I just mean-“ Remus’s voice trailed off as you listened intently, “you’re James’s best friend.”

“Technically so are you,” you responded.

“But he, like— whatever. Not a date?”

“Not a date, sure,” you clarified, honestly just happy to accept the company, “just two friends hanging out. That’s a thing girls and boys can do, right?”

Remus looked at you strangely. “Yeah?”

You smiled at him, telling him you’d see him later that night before walking away. Sirius slapped his arm. “James is gonna kill you, you know,” he said.

Remus just shrugged. Of course he knew that James liked you, and always had, but this wasn’t a date, so what did it matter? He was also allowed to be friends with you.

You and Remus enjoyed the evening walking through the streets of Hogsmeade and sharing a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, and you fought with every cell in your being to avoid bringing up James. Every time Remus tried to, you shut him down and changed the subject. You wanted to vent about him, but admitting your feelings to someone else made them all the more real, and you weren’t ready to face true rejection quite yet.

When you returned, you entered the common room together, and saw James and Sirius draped over the couch.

“Hey,” James said, sitting up as you both approached the couch, “where were you guys?”

“Just hanging out,” you shrugged nonchalantly, dropping down onto the couch next to him.

“I didn’t know you guys hung out, like, alone,” he said, forcing a small laugh on the last words to make them seem lighthearted.

“I didn’t know you and Lily hung out alone either,” you responded, catching his gaze for a full thirty seconds before you joked, “you just upset I finally have a friend that isn’t you or her?”

James forced a chuckle in response, but there was a slight bit of tension in the air between you both.

Things stayed the same as always as time passed. You hoped your time with Remus would spark some jealousy within James, but he didn’t seem to care. Every time you looked at him, his eyes were next to you and on Lily.

The one thing that did change, however, is James started throwing around a pet name for you.

You were excused from Potions one day to grieve the loss of your grandfather, who was an extremely important part of your life. You adored him, and you had a close relationship.

James found you alone in the west tower, crying at the bottom of the curved staircase.

“I figured something was up when you didn’t show,” he spoke, sitting down next to you, “what’s wrong?”

“My grandfather passed away this morning,” you explained, “I received word from my mother just before Potions. I just couldn’t bring myself to go.”

You wiped your nose with the back of your robe sleeve, taking a deep breath to calm your crying.

“Oh, angel, I’m so sorry.”

Your heart skipped a beat. James had never called you angel before. It felt so intimate, so endearing, and so personal. He threw around terms like “doll” and “baby” to other girls, but never angel.

You rested your head against his chest and calmed your breathing.

The next day, James missed you in the common room in the morning, first seeing you for the day in Defense Against the Dark Arts. “You doing okay, angel?” he asked.

You blushed at his words, and he caught it, but assumed it was because you were upset and fighting back tears. “I’m okay,” you smiled.

A few weeks later, James was shitfaced drunk at a Ravenclaw party, sat in a large group with you and your friends. You stood to get another bottle, and James called out to you, “Hey, angel, can you get me one too?”

That was the first time he ever used the term in front of Lily, or in front of anyone, and it slightly confused you, but also thrilled you. You handed him the bottle, and he watched you sink back down to the floor, sitting cross-legged next to Lily. When you met his gaze again, he diverted his attention to Lily, and you sighed.

He then started casually calling you angel.

It was nearing the end of your term, and therefore your time at Hogwarts, and your patience was gone. You had nothing to lose. If James was weird about it, or rejected you, you could just ice him out, and without Hogwarts, you could avoid ever seeing him again. That’s not what you wanted, but it was a possible worst case scenario.

After finals were over, you asked to speak to James alone.

You pulled him into a now-empty classroom, shutting the door behind you for privacy and taking a deep breath.

“Everything ok?” he asked, leaning back against one of the desks.

“I need to talk to you,” you replied.

“Yeah, I get that,” James giggled, “what’s up?”

Both of your hearts were pounding, and both of you assumed the feeling was solitary.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, your voice small and shaky.

“Okay, you’re kinda starting to scare me, angel.”

You took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as you tried to steady yourself. “You genuinely have no idea what I’m gonna say?”

James was slightly taken aback by your question. “I don’t remember doing anything bad.”

“No, James-“ you rubbed your hands over your eyes, desperate for him to understand you without you having to be clear or coherent at all. You didn’t want to say it out loud, you just wanted him to know already.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” he said.

You sighed. You closed your eyes and bowed your head, hoping you would be able to speak the words while simultaneously pretending he wasn’t there. “I like you.”

“Aweh, thanks, I like you too,” he said.

“No, oh my god-“ you spun around and paced for a moment, sighing loudly before stopping in front of him again. “No, like, I like you.”

“Oh.”

You looked up at him. That’s it? That’s all he had to say? Oh?

“Yeah.”

“I thought you liked Remus?” James spoke, confused by your confession.

“What would make you think I like Remus?”

“I don’t know, probably the dates you keep going on with him?” James threw his hands up, as if it was obvious.

“We’re just friends, I haven’t been-“ your voice trailed off for a moment. “James?”

He looked down at you expectantly. “Yeah?”

“I know we’ve been friends forever,” you started, “and I really don’t want you to hate me or this to be ruined, but term is ending, and you should probably know that I’ve had feelings for you since we first met.”

You exhaled, letting out a heavy breath that you weren’t aware you were holding in.

“I-“

You cut him off before he could respond, “and I know you like Lily, so I’m sorry I’m telling you this, I’m just kinda tired of holding it in.”

James furrowed his brows in confusion. “What?”

“I don’t want to fuck up whatever it is you two have going on,” you said, and it was genuine, “I know you really like her.”

James tilted his head to the side. “Based on what?”

You returned his confused gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Why would you think I’m into Lily?”

“Be-because you are?”

“No I’m not,” he defended.

“James, it’s okay, you don’t have to lie to me, every single time we’re with her I can see you staring at her.”

James instantly knew what you were talking about.

“No, no, that’s not it,” he stopped you, “she’s just always the closest thing to shift my attention to when you catch me.”

You paused for a moment. “Catch you what?” you asked.

“Staring at you.”

You were so taken aback that you physically stepped backwards. “What?”

“Mhm,” he said, confident.

“But- but I’ve seen you alone with her, walking the grounds-“

“Lily is the only person on this planet I talk to about you.”

“About me?”

James reached a hand out and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and sighed of relief. “Angel, I’ve been in love with you since you first asked to sit with me on the train.”

You opened your mouth to speak several times, but only small noises came out. You were speechless as James wrapped an arm your waist and pulled you flush against him.

“But-“

“Get out of your own head and listen to me,” James said.

“But I-“

“Shut up,” James sighed, pressing his lips onto yours to keep you from refusing to believe him any longer. Your muscles relaxed as you melted into his touch, your hand caressing the side of his face as you kissed him back. Your lips moved in sync with his. Molded with him, you were home.

James’s hand moved down from your waist to grab the flesh of your ass, pushing your hips harder against his, causing you to whine into the kiss. James moved his hands lower and lower until they were behind your thighs, prompting you to jump. He caught your legs as they wrapped around his waist, and he spun you around, seating you on the desk, his lips never breaking from yours.

Once you were seated, his hands held the sides of your face, desperate to deepen the kiss even more. You had both waited forever for this moment, and you both wanted to savor it as much as you possibly could.

You whimpered when he pulled your hips against his again, grinding his clothed cock against your clothed core.

He pulled away and smiled at you.

“What?” you blushed.

James nearly growled, “you sound even prettier than I dreamed you would.”

You looked deep into his eyes, and could tell he was being genuine. “You’ve been dreaming about me?”

“Feels like every night,” he said, his voice low as he slowly pulled your shirt above your head, and then ran a hand up and down your side, sending shivers down your body, “I’ve dreamed about simple little things, like holding your hand, kissing you, holding you…”

A hand moved to your skirt, pushing it up to your waist and beginning to move your underwear to the side as he continued, “and I’ve dreamed about fucking you, and watching you come around my cock.”

His words sent chills down your spine, his lips connecting to your neck as you sighed in pleasure.

He ran a finger between your folds, sucking the side of your neck as you shuddered. He collected your wetness before slowly inserting a finger into you.

You threw your head back, holding onto James’s shoulders to keep yourself upright.

“This all for me?” James asked.

“Mhm,” you moaned, unable to speak.

He slowly pulled out and pushed in his finger, watching your mouth fall open.

Your fingers ran through the curls on the back of his head, holding him against you.

“J-James,” you moaned, his palm applying pressure to your clit and doubling the stimulation.

James dipped his head for a moment and released a low, guttural moan from his throat.

“You okay?” you breathed out.

James giggled, his hand never stopping. “Did you just ask me if I’m okay?”

You nodded your head yes.

“I’m literally fingering you right now,” James said.

The reality of the situation dawned on you, and you realized what you asked, and you couldn’t help but laugh. James laughed with you, continuing to fuck you with his fingers as he swallowed your noises with a kiss. You were so, so happy.

The joy and laughter of the situation brought you close to the edge, your walls squeezing around James’s finger. He felt it, and immediately pulled his finger out of you.

You gasped at the loss of contact, the cool air hitting your wet core. You looked up at James, your eyes confused and desperate.

James smirked at you. “I wanna fuck you, angel, it’s no fun if you come already.”

“Yeah, but, but I-“

“There’s more where that came from,” James said, placing a kiss onto your forehead, assuring you this was not a solitary event. “For right now, though, please just let me fuck you.”

You nodded your head up and down rapidly, as eager as ever to feel James inside of you.

James pushed his pants down and freed himself, giving his cock a few strokes as he looked down at your body. He lined himself up with your entrance, looking to you for permission.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, James, please,” you spoke.

James immediately pushed his tip inside of you, and you inhaled a sharp breath. James slowly pushed the rest of his length into you, stopping once he was fully inside of you, allowing you to adjust to his size.

“Shit, you’re big,” you moaned.

James moaned back in response, your words making him harder as he slowly pulled partially out of you.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Please, James, move,” you answered.

James pushed back into you, your wetness lubricating his cock as you laid your back down onto the desk, no longer having the strength to hold yourself up anymore.

James took the opportunity to grab your breast, watching as your body moved up and down in sync with his thrusts. Your head was almost entirely off the desk, your neck tilting slightly backward, causing each moan to come out strangled.

Laying down meant James could see your entire body as he fucked you, and he was losing control at the sight of your breasts bouncing with each hit of his hips.

He picked up his pace, harshly grabbing both of your hips in order to push you into him with each thrust.

“Fuck,” you cried out, the entire classroom echoing as the legs of the desk shifted slightly across the floor.

“You feel so fucking good,” James praised.

You whined and whimpered and moaned beneath him, unbearably turned on by the feeling of his cock finally inside of you.

James moved one of his hands to your core, rubbing circles against your clit as he fucked you.

Your body jolted upward and you grabbed at James’s shoulders, pulling yourself up and hanging off of his neck. You were eager to come around him, and you kissed him hard.

“Please, James, make me come,” you begged, hoping your pleas would help him reach his climax as well. Though the sex wasn’t too long, you were so aroused by finally having him, and you knew you couldn’t last much longer.

James began to piston his hips into you even harder, determined to bring you to your climax. He wanted to savor the sex, but it would be so fucking hot to see you come in a matter of minutes. It stroked his ego, knowing that you were so hot for him that you were going to come from just a few minutes of stimulation.

“James, I-“

“Come for me, angel.”

The use of the pet name in your current position was enough to push you over the edge. You squeezed James’s cock, your legs shaking around James’s waist as you came.

“Shit, where can I come?” James asked through shaky breaths, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he chased his own high after feeling you squeeze him.

“In me.”

“You sure?”

“I’m- yes, I w-want your come in me, please, Jamie, please-“

The nickname and the pleading had James coming inside of you with a final few sharp thrusts of his hips. He groaned as he came, settling inside of you for a few moments while he caught his breath.

He slowly pulled out of you, watching his seed spill out of your hole when he was out. He couldn’t help but lean down and lick the juices up, savoring the taste. You shuddered when his tongue touched you, you were so overstimulated.

James helped you stand, your body aching from the uncomfortableness of the wood beneath you.

“You alright?” James checked in.

“I’m alright,” you confirmed, leaning upward to place a kiss on his lips.

“You able to walk back out there?”

Your legs were shaky. You tried to take a few steps, but you nearly collapsed, and James caught a hold of you.

He smiled at you, turning his back to you and bending down.

“You serious?” you asked.

“‘F course.”

“James, I’m still wet. Won’t it get-“

“You jumping up or not?” James asked.

You hopped onto his back, holding onto him for dear life as he stood tall and swung the classroom door open.

At that very moment, of course, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Lily walked past the room.

“Oh hey you two,” Sirius said, noticing how unkempt your hair was and how flushed James looked, “had some fun, did we?”

You reached a hand out to hit his arm as James stepped in front of him, joining the group with you wrapped around him.

“Child,” he whispered to you, referencing you being carried on his back.

“At least this time I have valid reasoning for not being able to walk.”

[thehollowwriter]

I'm ngl, I think the Spider Verse movies are the best depictions of Spider-man. They embody the very concept of Spider-man perfectly, and I believe this because of the explosive fandom reaction to them, especially the sequel.

So many people from so many backgrounds all over the world started making their own "spider sonas", their own ideas of a spider person. Sure you can just say it's a trend, but people are still doing it now. I've seen disabled Spideys, queer Spideys, Spideys from any country you can think of, Spideys with vastly different designs, aesthetics and personalities, Spideys who are deeply rooted in the creator's culture, yet who are all unquestionably Spidey.

Never before has the message of "anyone can wear the mask" been so true, and never before have so many people believed it.

People saw themselves represented on screen whether it be through the mc or side characters, they saw the limitless potential of so many different dimensions and universes, they saw Miles reject the "canon" and the idea of what Spider-man "has to" be (which is quite clearly at least partially inspired by egotistical and bigoted Spider-Man "fans" who believed there was only one Spider-man and only one way his character could be depicted and only one way his story should be told) and they understood that yes, they were included in the phrase "Anyone can wear the mask"

Spider-man was always such a successful character who everyone wanted to see for a reason. He isn't the same as many other heroes who were all adults and seemed to be in a place most viewers couldn't dream of seeing (rich, a god, a super soldier, etc).

Peter Parker starts out as just some guy, an everyday middle or lower class person who does everyday things like go to school or miss the bus or get fired. Peter was no smooth and classy ladies man, he wasn't a sports star or anything. He was an awkward and shy guy who liked "nerd" stuff.

He, in the words of MJ, "just happened to get bit." It was an accident, a spider bite. He wasn't in the military or creating a powerful suit or anything. He's some guy who got powers and decided to use them to protect people. Just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man.

Most importantly, he was the first superhero of his kind. Before Spidey, there was no "teenage superhero." There were only adult superheroes, and teenagers only appeared as sidekicks. When Stan Lee suggested a teenage superhero, he was told it was a terrible idea, and nobody would want to see that.

Well, I'm sure all of us in 2024 where the Spider-man IP is worth over $27 billion with ten movies starring Spidey as the mc, and several more where he makes an appearance as a side character, and where Spider-Man: Across the Spider Verse set several box office records and was the sixth highest grossing film of 2023, can see how wrong that was.

Since his conception, Spider-man was a character who defied how things "should be" and took that leap of faith, and it led to greatness. Just like Miles' entire story of becoming Spider-man being completely different from what we've seen so many times before. Just like Miles defying Miguel and carving his own path, even with the threat of "breaking the canon" (which I personally think can be interpreted as a representation of the idea some people have that if you make Spidey "too different", you'll destroy him as a character)

Together, the two Spider Verse movies managed to prove that yes, anyone can wear the mask. You don't need the "right" skin colour or gender or backstory or plot points. Those are not what makes Spider-man who he is, and those are not why people fell in love with his character and concept.

What made Spider-man who he was, was his actions, his compassion, his relatatability, and how he inspired people. He's a hero whose entire appearance is covered by his suit, and yet is not doubted as a hero by those who were saved (plots where the writers want to make him suffer more exluded/hj).

So yeah. I really love the Spider Verse movies. Not just for their animation, music, story, and voice acting, but also for how they managed to embody and challenge the idea of Spider-man and potrayed just why Spidey was so loved.

(I mainly focused on Miles in this lil rant because he's the mc, but if ya'll want to discuss other characters like Gwen please comment or reblog with your thoughts, I'd love to hear them!)

[anika-ann]

A Series of (Un)Fortunate Events - S.R.

Part 1 of 2

Type: two-shot, idiots-in-love, feel-good fic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 7,3k

Summary:  It's just a bunch of Avengers and SHIELD agents who often cooperate on missions - hanging out and getting to know each other better on a camping trip. What could possibly go wrong?

A few things. A few things could and they all seem to have you at the centre. Luckily, you have a hero in shining armour to help you in the time of need.

Warnings: allusions to NSFW, minor injuries, mention of misogyny, brief reference to PTSD, language, attempt at humour, FLUFF , Steve being a menace

A/N: written for the Essie’s Summer Lovin’ 300 Follower Celebration. Congrats @bigtreefest and thank you for hosting 💕 I have chosen multiple prompts - in this one, you shall find “why’s it…sticky?” and modified “here, you can share with me”. I hope to finish the second part in time 😁

A/N 2: DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; enjoy y'all 🥰 Several Agent of SHIELD characters are involved - I don't think you need any knowledge of the show to read this

The afternoon North Carolina sun warmed your skin pleasantly, even as you found yourself panting after the having climbed up the hill you. The backpack with an attached sleeping bag and a tent pack was growing heavier and heavier on your shoulders with every step, but the view and the company – most of it anyway – were certainly worth it.

Everyone seemed affected by the fresh air and exercise the Great Smokey Mountains provided, the atmosphere light and content as this was, for most, the first trip in a long time that had nothing to do with a mission.

Sure, one could argue there were some strings attached, as the ‘mission’ was to solidify relationships within the group – several Avengers and several SHIELD agents who were often outsourced for Avengers-level missions – but still: no one was shooting at you. And you wouldn’t have to write a report. That counted for something. For a lot, in fact.

Plus, the path was the goal. The destination, while set precisely according to Steve’s plan, might as well be just about anywhere.

You glanced at him as he walked by your side, smiling absently. The corners of his lips only twitched higher as he noticed you watching him, his gaze flickering to you as well.

He looked as if he was born to do this. A halo of dark blond hair around his head ruffled by the wind, sunlight painting them almost golden. The heaviest backpack of all sitting on his wide shoulders, straps around his broad chest and thin waist. Legs clad in light track pants that hugged his thighs and ass in the best way possible, a downright magnetic sight--- no.

Uh-huh, no.

No thoughts of that sort. You had forbidden yourself from that, at least for the duration of this trip, because you had known Steve would be a literal walking thirst-trap, the sheer happiness surrounding him making his glow ten times brighter. You had forbidden yourself from thinking like this, because this was not an appropriate observation to make about a colleague, a superior no less, even as everybody else probably thought along the same lines.

It didn’t matter that you wanted to throw hands at the mere idea of someone else making that observation as well. You didn’t exactly have the right to do that and it was a lost fight before it even started. Steve Rogers was simply too beautiful and essentially perfect in all his imperfections, and god knew that those imperfection had nothing to with his body. Ass included-

Gaze quickly snapping up back to his face, you found him smiling at you warmly, a soft dusting of freckles adorning his cheeks from the prolonged exposure to sun. The same phenomenon could be observed on his bare arms; a constellation of freckles, where angels had kissed their kindest, prettiest and most loyal creation; a constellation of places where you’d love to press your lips and linger, breathe in the scent of his skin and taste it.

God, he was breathtaking and all kinds of alluring. The nature around you was too, sure, the smell of pines and sandy rocks whispering of vacations and good times, but the way he-

“Whoa!” you yelped as you suddenly found yourself tumbling towards the ground, foot having slipped on a rock, you supposed.

Hands outstretched, you had no chance to break the fall, only to slow it, the burden on your back completely changing your momentum.

The second your palms as much as brushed the rocky floor, you were being held by your waist so firmly that none of your actual weight landed on the ground. You would recognize the arms holding you anywhere – just like the scent of sandal wood, musk, man and comfort, suddenly wrapping around you.

The safest place on Earth.

Steve’s arms.

Your stomach made a little flip-flop as his hands squeezed you gently and helped you up, only releasing you when his eyes found yours, silently asking if you were okay.

You responded with an embarrassed smile.

“Whoa, you okay?” Daisy rushed to your side, bless her, breaking the brief moment you had allowed yourself to bask in the sweet worry in Steve’s gaze and in the heat his body was radiating, despite the fact you could feel everyone staring at the newly nominated klutz of the group of superspies. You.

Heat of embarrassment flooded your skin under everyone’s scrutiny – and more so under the judgement in Agent Hopkinson’s glare, the jerk. Then again, you could hardly blame him for looking down on you right now.

Allegedly one of the deadliest agents known to the world; bested by a few rocks on a hiking trail and Steve Rogers’s smile.

You chuckled self-deprecatingly, quietly thanking Steve and turning to Daisy to assure her that besides your pride, nothing had been seriously wounded.

“I’m fine,” you said, scratching your forehead with a poor attempt to hide your embarrassment. “Must have missed a step, I don’t even know how…”

You did know how. You knew it precisely. You hadn’t been watching your step, too mesmerized by the beauty of your favourite Captain – and favourite person in the world. The man with the most honest, goodest, fiercest and most beautiful soul you had ever met, your closest friend.

“I do,” Agent Melinda May commented dryly, a pointed look aimed at your feet, revealing the culprit – and making you wish the Earth could swallow you, especiallysince it was her, the second in command at SHIELD – and one of the most admirable women in history of anything. And she had just seen you, an agent for both Avengers and SHIELD, a master of martial arts, to trip on nothing like a five-year-old. For the same reason too. “Your shoelaces are undone.”

“…thanks. And sorry. Go ahead. I think I can tie my shoelaces on my own,” you chuckled again, swallowing the shame even as you were among friends. Albeit some of them more reluctant than others.

“Clearly not,” Agent Hopkinson remarked, not missing the opportunity to belittle you, making you sigh as you crouched down, taking extreme care not to as much as wobble despite the heavy backpack.

Case on point, you supposed.

Having worked for SHIELD for years now, acting as the main liaison for situations where Avengers needed help, be it due to too many hostiles or the nature of the job leaning more towards spy-work that alien-invasion-work, your general experience was that tolerance and cooperation were the way. Some people were less pleasant than others, that much was true, but one should handle disagreements, various personality traits and different views on life. You certainly could; your approach to conflict, your supposedly calming presence and search for harmony in a team and the calm composure you maintained under pressure to quickly weigh your options, had even earned you your codename, Libra.

You genuinely believed tuning down an attitude for the sake of the mission was the custom, the golden rule.

And then you encountered Agent Martin Hopkinson. He was the exception. And a pain in your ass.

He got along alright with most people despite his arrogance; but you and him were a trainwreck happening in slow motion. He did not like you. Whether it was jealousy of your position, misogyny, or both, or something completely else, you wouldn’t know. But he was bitter and biting, always looking for a flaw, always making snidey comments.

You could handle that – an insult here, a mean comment there. After all, you could take a punch, a stab, a gunshot wound. You could take down men twice your size with your bare hands and just a little wit, if you tried hard enough. You had faced soldiers, rapists, murderers; Agent Hopkinson was but a small hindrance, annoyance on legs. But by god, your fists itched whenever he opened his mouth. And the feeling was mutual.

However, as a professional, you worked hard not to reciprocate his aggression, even as it only ever remained verbal; the same could not be said about him. And he didn’t care zilch about who heard him be ‘smart’ with you either, which, in turn, led to several reprimands; and on one delightful occasion, to Steve almost breaking his jaw when he heard him utter a comment about Coulson pimping out the pet agent again, clearly meaning you. The wrath Steve had showed was nothing hort of holy, and holy was the miracle that Hopkinson was still alive; the fact he barely toned down his attitude was just idiocy.

But had you mention Steve was an angel? A fiercely loyal protective friend, a gentleman, who might swear on occasion and be a little shit par excellence, but god should help anyone whose behaviour towards others offended him. He might be an angel, but was an avenging one.

A caring one too.

As soon as you stood up again, Steve was carefully cradling the backs of your hands, examining the teeny scrapes over your palms with about five droplets of blood in total, frowny gaze flickering to your knee which you hadn’t even realized you had grazed too.

“We should disinfect that.”

“Steve, I’m fine,” you laughed, even as you let him examine the barely-there bleeding, knowing there was no use trying to resist. “Thank you for caring, but it’s literally just a scratch… I’ve had worse.”

He shook his head, his expression darkening a bit. “That’s not comforting and you know it. And any wound, if infected, can be dangerous – I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

You knew instantly what instance he was referring too, a small shudder running up your spine. Yet, the rational part of you argued that there was no comparison, even if the cut on your arm over a month back had not been all that deeper and wider than this.

“That was literally a poisoned blade, Steve-“

“We were about to take one more break before reaching the destination anyway,” he interrupted you, unrelenting. “Let’s head up to that clearing and we’ll rest for a bit. I’ll take care of it, okay?”

“Steve-“

“I’ve got the first aid kit,” Bobbi uttered nonchalantly as she passed you, joining the others who had gone ahead already.

You sighed. Bobbi Morse – an agent with a clever sense of humour, sharp tongue and no-nonsense attitude, a good friend – and she was using all of her powers against you. Wicked.

“It’s just a-“

“Captain’s orders,” she almost sing-sang, earning a grin from Daisy who only shrugged, as if to confirm her words.

You sighed, rolling your eyes; acutely not aware that Steve was still holding your hands in his and your body was heating up from inside at the prolonged contact – particularly your chest and something deep within your belly.

You looked up at him, mildly annoyed and rather amused at his insistence and protectiveness. And even though you wouldn't admit that out loud, touched.

“You’re overbearing. You’re lucky I like you,” you scolded him in a whisper.

He only grinned, his worried gaze clearing and lightning up at your feigned outrage, and squeezed your hands before letting go.

“I love you too. Let’s go.”

You bit your cheek as you nodded, reminding yourself for at least the tenth time since you had set off hiking: friends. The keyword of this trip was ‘friends’.

It was just really hard to actually remember that when Steve looked at you like that, talked like that, and you could still feel the warm imprint of his hands on yours.

Steve Rogers was a man impossible not to fall for; from almost absurd handsomeness to even more absurd goodness he lived by, from his sharp wits to effective moves, from the crinkles in his eyes when he smiled to the tenderness in his touch. His sense of humour equalled to the one of duty, his drive and determination in leading interlacing with a soul of an artist and a simple man who appreciated the most ordinary things.

You had clicked instantly; your friendship bloomed almost effortlessly, working alongside him making for many opportunities to spend time together. Despite barely having met about three months ago, the times you owed him your life for were numerous; and the few times he owed you his, even as there was no such thing as keeping score, only strengthened your bond. Moments where you thought you wouldn’t make it out. Long nights at motels or in a stake-out cars, filled with mindless chatter, profound talks and comfortable silences. His goddamn smiles alone, always feeling a little warmer, fonder, when directed at you.

The fact he had quickly slipped into a habit of calling you Lee, a nickname derived from your codename with a wordless implication of you being his refuge, with that damn smile on his plush lips, was making something in your ribcage tremble with affection.

You had fallen hard. But who wouldn’t? You were only human.

And his proximity, his friendship, his affection, they were most precious to you; no matter which form they’d have, you’d take it.

Even if it meant inappropriate thoughts and your heart racing fast enough to collapse from exhaustion when he cleaned your scraped knee and palms with such care and focus one might believe they were fatal wounds.

Your heart would tremble less if he hadn’t kneeled in front of you as he did so, but you supposed Steve Rogers was just that kind of deadly. He cradled your hands in his huge ones as if they were as fragile as butterfly wings, smiling when he was done; and grinning when you said Thank you, nurse Rogers, the words carrying both humour and respect for his late mother.

His smile resembled the sun so much you almost missed how the actual sunrays grew less and less warm. It was only a few minutes later – every one of them making you aware of the either knowing or incredulous looks following yours or Steve’s every move, almost enough to make you self-conscious when snacking – when you realized you were getting cold.

The solution was easy; and despite how effective it would have been in chasing away the cold and lifting your spirits, it did not involve hugging Steve. Instead, you dived your hand down your backpack through the layer of snacks and other small necessities towards your clothes for the occasion.

And your hand reached something it most definitely shouldn’t have.

“What the-“ you murmured, still acutely aware of all the gazes on you, now joined by Steve’s. “Why is it… sticky?”

Puzzled and horrified – and suspicious, because Hopkinson might have never played a prank on you, but lines always had to be crossed for the first time someday – you threw out the things from the top, pulling out what was normally one of your favourite sweatshirts.

Fairly soaked in a rusty-red oily substance that now resided in your luggage.

Not that it hadn’t been there before – but before, it was safely stored in a Tupperware container along with the thin marinated steaks you had been tasked to carry for the team’s first dinner above fire, Hunter carrying the grate.  

“What is it?” Bobbi asked, frowning at the poor article of clothing you had intended to wear.

You didn’t have to sniff it to answer; mostly because the scent of spices was strong enough to answer for you.

“It’s the… marinade from our dinner,” you informed her with a grimace, a small whine escaping you as you went to inspect the rest of your clothes with dread and irritation rising. Because you already knew that the sweatshirt would not be the only thing having been hit. There had been enough to marinade to drown Steve and Bucky in – that was why you had triple-checked it was secured when you had pulled the straw for carrying it in your backpack. “How is that even possible?! I swear I checked it at least five times! I used rubber bands and a plastic bag and- ugh.”

“It probably gave out with all the moving around,” Natasha said, compassion evident in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you sighed.

And it was. You were only just beginning to feel the mountains part of your destination. You weren’t even shivering – and god knew you had been exposed to much worse conditions with fewer clothing. It wasn’t even raining. You had been through much worse – this was but an inconvenience.

Kinda like Hopkinson himself.

Your gaze flickered to him as he himself put on a thin hoodie, your gaze narrowing in subtle suspicion; but there was no way. He almost looked as if he was pitying you. Genuinely. Though not enough to share his clothes; not that you’d accept if he had offered. But that was beside the point. The point was he probably wasn’t to be blamed for your current misery. Not where marinating your clothes was concerned anyway.

It was probably all on you. It seemed your Tupperware skills still needed some work. Goddamnit.

“It is fine,” you spoke to yourself more than anyone else. “I’ll walk the cold off and then stay close to the fire-“

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a presence by your side, a large navy-blue hoodie entering your sight; it was as if talking about your potential inconvenience summoned him.

An angel by your shoulder.

With a soft frown and a welcoming smile, he set the hoodie next to you as your hands still held onto your tainted clothes.

“Hey… here, you can have mine.”

You opened your mouth to protest, the words dying in your throat when you met Steve’s gaze. The golden hour had arrived, highlighting the freckles and the god-like warm glow of his smile. Your fingers reflexively twitched in the fabric of the t-shirt in your hands as the urge to run them through Steve’s hair instead hit you like a sledgehammer.

Friends, you reminded yourself again. FRIENDS.

He was offering a friendly gesture. It was no different than borrowing boxing wraps from Hunter for training if yours had torn, borrowing a dress from Natasha because none of yours fit the theme of a party, or borrowing heels from Daisy because they matched better than anything you owned. There was nothing special about this and no one would think twice.

Yet, it was a gesture you had to turn down, no matter how gentlemanly it was – no matter how at home you knew you’d feel in that hoodie. The idea alone was tickling along the most sensitive parts of your body and for that alone you should refuse.

“Thank you, Steve… but that wouldn’t be fair,” you said. “You shouldn’t be cold because of me.”

Plus, I know this one is your favourite, you wanted to say, but bit your tongue, aware that the scene was already out-of-chart intimate as it was. It certainly felt like it.

“I won’t. You know I run pretty hot…”

You are hot, you wanted to say – but a little choked noise from Hopkinson and Bucky had you quickly set your mind straight.

Until Steve pulled out the big guns – rather literally. Long fingers wrapped around your bare forearm, goosebumps erupting on your skin despite the nearly burning sensation, breath catching. It did not help the situation that something you didn’t dare to identify for the sake of your sanity flashed in Steve’s eyes when he touched you.

Friends. Friends, friends, FRIENDS-

“See. All warm. And it will stay that way even without a hoodie. Take it. Please,” he added. And soon, a content smile appeared on his face, because he recognized the signs of you yielding.

A girl had to pick her battles. Arguing with Steve was not one of those which you had no chance at winning – it would be like trying to move a ton-worth block of concrete with bare hands. You had enough experience with that – fighting with Steve on the matter of your comfort, not moving concrete – and there was no winning. He respected your choices, yes, but he’d fastened straps of a parachute on you himself if it came to it, even if it meant he wouldn’t have one himself; he was a sweet hypocrite like that.

“Fine,” you sighed, smiling just a bit. “If you insist… thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

You would swear you heard at least three people mutter under their breath: I bet.

Thoroughly warm and comfortable despite the numerous miles in your feet and tens of pounds on your back, you trailed behind Hunter and Bobbi, who were fighting animatedly – and most lovingly – about which European brand beer was the finest. For a couple who had been married and divorced, once talking about each other in not so nice terms including Bobbi being called ‘a demonic hell-beast’, they sure appeared very much in love – but every bit professional when it counted. They were lucky to find each other again, that was for sure. It made one long for a love like that; explosive as they were, you wouldn’t shy away from calling them soulmates. They belonged with each other; they were lucky to have find one another.

As you tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing, long to easily hide your palms, you wondered if you were being lucky or cursed on this trip so far. Tripping. Spilling sauce onto your clothes. Withstanding Hopkinson’s moody glares of which exactly one resembled a shred of compassion and only lasted until you put on the hoodie of the Captain America himself. And yet, surrounded by colleagues, friends and Steve, on a trip with a sun that had slowly begun its descent at your back, you had to count your blessings.

Lucky. You were luckier than most.

Daisy had joined you for a bit, walking side by side with you when the path allowed it, meaningless chatter altering with meaningful; a natural course of conversation between close friends who were together for a few hours with nothing else to do but take it step by step, literally, admire the nature and talk.

Steve had promised it would only take less than an hour and you’d make it to where you were supposed to set camp. He had fallen behind, walking with Natasha and Bucky, who, judging by his tone and Steve’s groans, roasted the team captain about something with Natasha’s occasional but effective help.

Now, about what you assumed was twenty to thirty minutes later, the last challenge of today’s journey awaited you; fording a river.

A rather cold river.

The weather was nice, sure, and you were having a good time; but the idea of warding through water reaching your thighs was not all that alluring.

But of course, Steve Rogers was the man with a plan.

Walking down the river and finding a relatively shallow section of the river with several large rocks, all you had to do was to step from one slightly slippery stone to another without face-planting or letting your heavy backpacks break your balance. Easy – or it should be for a group of athletic agents.

Yet, Bucky and Steve were discarding their shoes in a blink, rolling up their pant legs, ready to dip in and get wet so other wouldn’t.

Your heart skipped a startled beat, a lump growing in your throat, as you watched Steve regard his friend, already knee-deep in water, with the tinniest bit of hesitance.    

Cold water. Cold water.

In the early June, the water couldn’t be colder than fifty, fifty-five degrees; but if the supersoldiers planned to stand there until all of you crossed the not-so-unsignificant distance while they’d assist, they would certainly feel it. And while history taught you both Steve and Bucky could clearly take the cold better than anyone, the idea of being the person knee-deep in the water was anything but pleasant.

Especially to someone who had already laid his life by diving a plane into icy waters of the North Atlantic.

Without a second thought, you left the line forming at the best crossing point, walking down the bank to crouch at Steve’s side.

He noticed your presence in an instant, snapping his head to you, an all-easy smile forming on his lips. As if you couldn’t see the brief flash of anxiety before he hid it. As if you couldn’t see his carotid pulsing wildly. As if he, the supposedly fearless man to all, could hide the one flicker of apprehension he allowed himself to feel from you.

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” you asked, voice as low as possible as not to attract attention.

As you met his gaze, understanding flashed in his eye. A silent conversation; he knew why you came to him, where your concern came from.

And in a very Steve Rogers fashion, he ignored it. He just gulped and squared his shoulders and rose to his feet, suddenly towering over you again.

“Of course I am.” Of course he was. “It will be much easier than all of us fording through.”

You sighed, looking at him pointedly as you swallowed your irritation – and worry. That was not what you were questioning and he knew it. And you weren’t questioning his dedication or his ability to help either; just the decision to put himself through discomfort anyone else could have taken upon themselves, when it meant more hardship for him than others.

“I know. It just… it can be literally anyone else-- hell, I can do it.”

You could. You’d warm up after soon enough, judging by the terrain awaiting you. It was a better option that him going in there to freeze his toes off at and bring him back to--

To prove your point, you reached for the backpack buckles on your belly to take it off.

Steve’s hand was on your forearm stopping you before you could undo a single one, squeezing.

As your head snapped back to his face, there was a little crack through the mask he had put on, showing just the slightest hint of anxiety now. But there was a fresh wave of warmth in his expression too; gratitude lit up the blue of his irises the way the sun lit up the summer skies, dreamy and sweet.

His thumb pressed into your forearm gently, stroking, reassuring. You felt the tension melt from your shoulders faster than a butter on the stove, something stirring deep inside your bones as you took a shaky inhale.

“Thank you, Lee, but I’ll be fine,” he said, one of his eyebrows arching, a little quirk to his lips. “And we don’t want to undo the work the hoodie has done on you.”

Right. The hoodie. His hoodie.  Yes, you were very much aware you were still wearing it, while he remained in a t-shirt that was at least one size too small for him and did all things delightful for his already insanely impressive physique.

Not the point.

You opened you mouth to argue, only to be interrupted by a shout from behind you.

“Oi, punk! You gonna help or just stand there enjoying the view?”

As you both turned to Bucky, you could see him helping Agent May cross the river, already halfway through.

Steve let go of your forearm, smiling at you once more.

“At least take the hoodie,” you insisted. He shook his head, your mouth opening on empty, deeming your effort fruitless.

“I have a jacket if I want… don’t need the hoodie,” he assured you, his grin earning a glint of danger that made your stomach flip-flop funnily, the heat in your abdomen burning hotter. “Plus, it looks much better on you.”

With that, he set off, jogging towards the water, and leaving you stand there with cheeks exploding with heat.

Damn you, Steven Grant.

Shaking your head, you returned to the line, anxiously watching Steve climb down into water, a shudder running down his spine.

“Come on. I saved you a spot,” Daisy said, gesturing for you to stand in front of her, earning an eyeroll from Hopkinson who stood behind her. “Everything okay with you and Steve?”

The phrasing had your head snap up with a startle, heart speeding up.

“What?”

What did she mean by that?! You and Steve?

No. There was you. There was Steve. Two separate entities. Friends.

Checking up on each other. Wearing each other’s clothes. Typical friends.

You relaxed when all you found in Daisy’s gaze was genuine care and curiosity, no trace of implying anything. Right.

You smiled back. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

Hunter and Bobbi followed after May; then it was your turn. The sight of the river, while beautiful, got a little less pleasant as you stepped on the first stone, testing just how slippery the surface was. It wasn’t awful – you could handle that, even as you felt the extra load on your back disturbing your balance.

But hey – the worst that could happen was you taking a cold bath. Just another inconvenience, right?

Yet, you didn’t have to worry. You didn’t even make it to the second large stone when a familiar pair of warm hands wrapped around yours, offering a gentle but firm support.

You met Steve’s reassuring gaze, a message without words: I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.

You send one back, squeezing his hands: I know. You makeme feel safe. You okay?

A tiny nod on his part and then you were on your way, careful taking step after step, always testing the surface first, making sure your every move was secure before shifting your weight. From one to another, you made it halfway to the deepest part of the crossing without any issue, actually enjoying the little adventure – which had obviously nothing to do with Steve’s touch, because you were not at all disappointed to see Bucky heading back from the other side of the river where he had left Bobbi to take you off of Steve’s hands. Not at all.

You were just stepping on the next stone when you felt a sudden drop in weight on your shoulders and back, an embarrassing yelp erupting from your throat as you scrambled for balance.

A fleeing thought of this trip being cursed for you indeed flashed through your mind as you braced yourself for the impact into cold water despite still trying not to have it come to that.

And it didn’t.

A splash sounded next to you, a few drops cooling your ankle, but that was it; you stood tall and firm on the irregularly-shaped stone, a hot vice of a grip on your hips, your hands having found purchase on just as hot and solid surface nearby.

Steve’s hands securely holding your hips.

Your hands on his shoulders.

Attentive blue eyes looking up at yours to assure both you and himself that you were okay.

Your face heated up, but the rest of your body was set on fire; indecent images of a wholly different situation with Steve’s hands having a steel-like grip on your hips and his eyes boring into yours flooded your mind, a wildfire of visceral need spreading through every single cell of your body and lightning it up. Steve was all about touch. Steve was all about eye-contact. You knew with absolute certainty that he’d never once let his gaze wander from your face when he’d sheathed himself inside you, feasting his eyes, because he lived for capturing images of beauty and he was a giver, the pleasure of people he loved being his own--- and you wouldn’t dare to look away. Your eyes might flutter shut at the sensation of utter-

Forcing yourself to snap back into present – into reality –, looking everywhere but at Steve as your whole body burned, a floating object caught your eye behind Steve’s back. A dark prolonged object, neatly packed, carried away by the stream.

Your tent. The thing that had fallen into water and nearly knocked you off balance was your tent, slowly sinking lower and lower as it slowed down its path down the river.

Great. Really great.

You were fucked.

How did it even-

“I got it!” Bucky hollered, changing course, heading to retrieve what was supposed to be the roof over your head for the next three days.

He’d get it; you weren’t worried. It was fine.

And the tent would be fine too. It was in the waterproof case. It would--- it would be absolutely soaked, because it was sinking. The entirety of the tent had gone under water, including the protective layer that was meant to save you from rain should it come to it.

There was no cloud on the sky but you had a feeling there’d be water dripping on you all night anyway.

How could it have fallen off? You had secured it with the buckled straps to the bottom of your fairly new backpack, checking repeatedly – every time before you put the backpack on again – that it held.

Then again, maybe you hadn’t done that after the fiasco – and the lovely result of it – with your marinated clothes. So you might be cursed, but by your own fault, really-

A squeeze to your hips brought your attention back to Steve, making you realize you were still standing in the middle of the river, stalling.

“I’m sorry, moving on, moving on,” you babbled, only to have him still your movements, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“You okay?”

Funny you should ask.

“Are you?”

You reciprocated the scrutiny; eyes roaming his handsome features, you searched for any signs of discomfort – not from having to hold you, but from still soaking his legs in the cold water. All you found was a reassuring smile; and yet, you couldn’t but brush your thumb inconspicuously over Steve’s shoulder in an attempt at comfort, incidentally along the hem of his t-shirt. An emotion flashed in his irises, eyes darkening a fraction, the grip on your flesh turning almost bruising before he began to release it, taking one of your hands again and then the other. You licked your lips – and you’d swear Steve’s gaze flickered to your mouth at that – standing up straighter.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky dropping your tent on the bank of the river.

“Thank you, Bucky!”

“No problem, dollface. Get moving though, my old knees aren’t built for this cold anymore,” he said, causing you to glare at Steve accusingly.

He had lied.

Of course he had fucking lied.

And he had the audacity to grin when you looked at him with accusatory and genuinely worried eyes.

“Let’s get you to the other side, shall we?”

“I packed your favourite snack, but I just decided I’m gonna eat it alone,” you threatened your vengeance for him for not being honest.

Steve feigned hurt so well you might as well believe it; but the hold on your hands remained gentle and secure as he helped you continue the path. “That’s cold, Lee.”

The corners of your lips quirked up.

“I know it’s cold. Now was it so hard to admit it?” you questioned as you beckoned to the water – causing Bucky to chuckle and Steve to deadpan when he instantly realized your trickery.

“You should be around more often, dollface,” Bucky said, approaching you and taking up on Steve’s task.

Steve just grunted and made his way to help Daisy. You felt your face heat up further at Bucky’s remark, grateful no one else could hear the exchange.

…were you though?

“I’ll take your words for it… and Steve?” He glanced at you over his shoulder, clearly not really offended. “Thank you for catching me.”

His smile, no matter how small, said it all and felt like the softest blanket to wrap around you on a cold winter morning; I’ll always catch you.

Always.

Just as you had expected, once you all made it through the river, you reached the camp spot in no time; and just as you had expected, your tent was a lost cause. You could build it, hoping it would dry out overnight at least bit, but actually sleeping in it was out of question unless you wanted to wake up soaked up and sneezing.

In a brief moment of self-pity you granted yourself, you planted your butt on the ground, laying the drenched parts of your tent next to you, taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it as you stared at the traitorous pieces of equipment, including the buckles that had been meant to hold the package to the backpack but had given out.  

While everyone busied themselves with unpacking their temporary shelters as well – Natasha with Bucky, Bobbi with Hunter, May, Daisy and Hopkinson each on their own in the lightest and therefore smallest tents possible, Bobbi took note of your state, smiling compassionately.

“Are you okay? The water really did a number on that thing, huh?”

You reciprocated her smile wryly, no less grateful for her care.

“Yeah… But you know what? I win. Sleeping outside? I can stargaze. I’ll be fine,” you said, shrugging and rising to your feet to get to work. You could build the tent to have it dry out at least and wash your clothes in the lake you had settled at. “I’m just… gonna sleep by the fire under the open skies, in… borrowed, non-marinated clothes and with no sleeping bag, because with my luck, it’s probably full of bugs or itching powder or something. It’s fine. God knows I slept in conditions a lot worse than that.”

And wasn’t that the truth. You had slept in much better conditions too, but that was beside the point. You tried to summon the memories of horrible nights spent in damp clothes, freezing, teeth clattering so hard the sound made it impossible to fall asleep; unbearable heat, loud noises, even just annoying persistent chatter. Sleeping under the open skies was practically a blessing in comparison. A dream.

And you did not want to remember nights that had been very different, because that would only make you miserable at your predicament.

“Yeah, not on my watch,” Steve called out lowly, placing another hook in the ground, using his foot to step on it and dig it deeper. “Not when the solution is obvious.”

Your heart skipping a beat at the obvious solution, you barely had time to breathe in to respond when someone else did – in an extremely irritated manner.

“Seriously?! What, you gonna lend her your tent too?” Hopkinson spat, rising from where he had been crouching by his tent. “Maybe even keep her warm through the-“

Steve lunged his direction so fast you didn’t even have time to be offended by the implication.

But Bucky, the supersoldier he was, was much faster; his metal arm stopped Steve in his tracks, palm pressing against Steve’s chest before he could make the almost-breaking-Hopkinson’s-arm a pleasant memory for the man.

Still, Hopkinson had enough wit to shut up and step back hastily, raising his hands defensively. His face turned white as a sheet of paper; good. He had some brain left then, it seemed. How he had survived for so long you had no idea.

Gulping – and shamelessly satisfied at the fear in Hopkinson’s eyes, because Jesus he did not just say that, even as you had thought about exactly the same – you turned your gaze back to Steve and Bucky.

And something in your core exploded hot, a tug so violent and visceral it was almost painful.

If Steve had looked at Hopkinson like he could break his arm all those weeks back when he had made his stupid comment, now he looked like he could break every single bone in his body, snap the guy in half and enjoy it. And he’d enjoy doing it for you. To defend you.

Steve’s smile was always a beautiful sight and so was the softness he could look at you with at times; but the rage in his face now, the fire in his eyes, on your behalf, were nothing short of breathtaking.

Avenging angel indeed.

He might not be carrying a flaming sword, nor had his shield on his arm, but that made him no less menacing, no less divine; and no less beautiful.

“Do we have a problem, Agent Hopkinson?” Bucky asked calmly, despite the clear effort with which he was holding Steve back still, even as Steve visibly didn’t move a muscle.

You were barely moving at all too; your chest was heaving, the rest of your body strung tight with effort not to let show just how affected you were by Steve’s near literal white-knighting.  

“No, sir,” Hopkinson saluted, nodding stiffly, before he scrambled to finish building his tent.

“Good.”

Few seconds of deafening silence was only interrupted by the scrape of shoes against ground as the camp slowly came back to life again. Bucky shot Steve a look before he let his metal arm down, watching Steve avert his still flaming gaze from Hopkinson with shoulders remaining squared; and so alluringly wide you just wanted to run your hands over them, just as breathless at the sensation as you were now-

“I mean, makes sense you’d share,” Daisy broke the silence, everyone visibly relaxing. “It looks like your tent is pretty big, eh?”

Your eyes went wide.

Loud cough erupted from Hunter’s direction as he spitted the water he had been drinking; Bobbi patted his shoulders, amusement clear on her face. Bucky’s face twisted in a questionable grimace; Natasha pursed her lips, seemingly one second from making a comment. May bit back a smirk; Hopkinson was only showing his back, but he clearly froze in his movements.

Steve just looked shocked – shocked enough to snap from the anger that had overtook him on your behalf.

You would think it would take Daisy a few seconds to realize how she had worded her statement, accidentally referring to a figurative ‘tent’ men grew in certain situations – but judging by her seemingly innocent smile and the sparkle in her eye, she knew exactly what she had implied. And she had done so on purpose and with delight.

She was right, however. Steve’s temporary dwelling was probably the biggest one at your site and it even included a vestibule, where all the equipment which was meant for everyone was to be stored. His tent had the most space for the reason he could put his backpack to the vestibule alone.

Steve cleared his throat, taking a few steps to you, a relaxed smile having found way back to his face.

“…are you comfortable with sharing a tent with me?”

You reciprocated his smile, shrugging, even as you had to work hard to swallow your amusement at Daisy’s comment. One that was very much on point.

Yes. You were very comfortable sharing a tent with him indeed. More than, actually, but not everyone needed to know that; and you could feel several knowing gazes on you as you answered as levelled as possibly.

“I mean… we have shared a room before for a mission. I’m fine… are you? Comfortable with that, that is?” you asked, perfectly polite, considerate and friendly, even as your heart was racing in your ribcage.

There was no reason for the racing heart though. Because this was okay for friends to do. Absolutely. If you having shared the room sometimes included sharing a bed, which had naturally resulted in cuddling, body heat searching body heat, no one needed to know – especially not Agent Asshole Hopkinson. What happened in a motel room stayed in a motel room. Always.

A cute crinkle appeared in Steve’s eye as he gave the answer you already knew.

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t. Of course, it’s fine.”

More than, whispered his gaze, so you averted it and busied yourself with gathering the wet parts of your tent, clearing your throat.

“Good… that’s good. Thanks. I really appreciate it, Steve.”

“Any time, Lee.”

You could feel his gaze on you, the warmth of his smile like a soft blanket on your back. It was going to be a long, long night.

Part 2

Complete masterlist

Steve Rogers masterlist

I hope you enjoyed reading 🤭 if you did, please consider leaving feedback and reblogging💕

I hope July has been kind to you!

[jensthwa]

woo's prelude: a clown's remedy to heal a broken heart (JWY x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

A drunk and kind of akward conversation inside of a closet is the start of Wooyoung's journey into healing his broken heart. Only he doesn't really know the name of the Scarlet Witch that helped mend a heart that wasn't supposed to break anymore, even if she starts plaguing his thoughts and dreams after that.

PAIRING: wooyoung x fem!reader.

GENRE: halloween hookup to [redacted] (we'll get to that when we need to).

WORD COUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, drinking and drunk behavior, mature language, insults, woo getting his heart broken by his ex girfriend even though they're friends and they haven't been romantically involved in YEARS my god he's a dummy, reader getting her heart broken too, some self worth issues, frat bros being stupid and getting drinks throw at them for stepping over the line, howl!wooyoung (not for people with weak hearts and strong imaginations), making out, biting, description of female anatomy, sweet dirty talk and praising , fingering, semi-public (they're at a party, does that count?) and protected sex (wrap it up please), switching them positions for him, masturbation, hook up talk and the start of something new that we won't see for now but soon!

NOTES: hi everyone! decided to do a halloween drop on halloween day because spooky season is not over until i get this story out of my system it seems! this story is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH / SHOW & TELL UNIVERSE but can be read as a stand alone finally yay! THIS A PRELUDE TO WOO'S STORY, a little taste of what's to come for him and his boo (see what i did there?). this took place BEFORE we can't be friends (san's story) and will be placed accordingly on the masterlist to clear any future confusion. there's mentions of the characters that show up in wcbf so if u want to better understand the dynamics, you can read that but it's def not needed!

this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: october 31st 2024 at midnight!

masterlist

There's a particular way one too many tequilas can make a room spin that Wooyoung absolutely adores. 

When it happens, he lets himself catch the world swirling around him before closing his eyes and praying for a little bit of lucidity to come to him so he can get his drunk ass home safely. 

As he opens his eyes, his face scrunches at what he sees: San, dressed as Gomez Addams, waving a hand in front of him. It takes him a little to remember where he is. 

It's a bit extra confusing with all the costumes and strangers and the music blasting through the speakers but when it finally clicks, he's grateful that he's not completely gone yet. 

“Are you good?” He can faintly hear San ask over the music, San’s girlfriend by his side dressed as Morticia, eyeing him with a quirked brow. 

Why is San with her? He will never, ever get it. 

Kyungmi is not really right for him. It's been a few months already since they made it official and Wooyoung can just tell. He always tells. He's not as oblivious as everyone paints him to be. 

There's one girl who's right for San but, in all honesty, Wooyoung is too tired to fight him on it. 

San always shoots back with a comment about him and Gyuri, his ex girlfriend (now best friend) and it always brings his mood down for some stupid reason. 

He's oblivious to why that happens. By choice, of course, but oblivious nonetheless. 

He prefers it that way. 

Wooyoung would nod, but he knows it's dangerous to do so “Just peachy.” 

“Why don't you—” San starts but he interrupts. 

“Some air and water,” he smiles, taking the water bottle from his friend’s hand “Waaaay ahead of you, babe.” 

Kyungmi rolls her eyes “Quit calling my boyfriend babe, dude.” 

San laughs, Kyungmi does not. 

“Don’t be jealous because he loves me more than you,” sticking his tongue out, he stumbles his way around them both “I'll be back.” 

He focuses on putting one foot in front of the other until he reaches a very big window. It's larger than usual. 

Oh. 

It has a door. A door that slides! 

It's a balcony. Amazing, just what he needs: To be a safety hazard and a possible traumatic experience for everyone at the party. 

He should probably turn back around before he's accidentally leaping over the edge but then he sees it. 

He sees her.

Corpse bride. Her blue makeup being wiped off by somebody's tongue in a secluded corner of the backyard of this stupid frat house the friend group ended up for the night. 

Gyuri is kissing someone. 

His chest tightens, his mouth drops slightly and his heart thumps hard enough for him to feel it on his throat. 

Why is she doing that? 

She's wearing matching costumes with him. She carefully picked them out, she ordered everything a month and a half ago and now she's kissing some… Some… Attempt at a Superman costume. 

Which is pretty fucking hilarious because how do you fuck up a Superman costume? 

But Wooyoung is not laughing. He's hurting, he's fucking pissed and, at the same time, he can't pull his eyes away from her. From them. 

Is feeling this pathetic something that would fit Víctor?

Vector? 

Whatever his name is? 

He's never seen the Corpse Bride, so he doesn't remember the name of the dude he's dressed up as. He just knows he wants to wipe the pale complexion Gyuri painted on him off. 

Off. Off. Off. Out. He needs to leave. 

But he ends up going back inside and downing another shot before he can really think about it, giggling to San and pretending nothing happened because who the fuck is he to Gyuri to get upset over it? 

Her ex, sure. But that happened a long time ago, so it doesn't count anymore. 

So it doesn't really matter. Nothing really matters when he finds Yeosang (dressed as the Phantom of the Opera) and drags him to the dance floor for what it feels like forever.

And then, one thing leads to the other and he's sitting on the floor, in a circle of people he doesn't even know, playing spin the bottle. 

Or is it seven minutes in heaven? A vampire and a fairy kissed in front of him half a second ago, but Zuko and the creepy doll from that one netflix show got up and into a closet like… six minutes ago. 

He didn't really pay attention to the rules. 

Oh, well, he's about to find out anyway! 

Fingers grasping the soju bottle in the middle of the circle, he carefully inspects the faces of everyone sitting there, expectantly looking at him. 

His vision is a little blurry but he wants to pick whoever strokes his fancy the most to try and get rid of the funny feeling he gets when he sees Gyuri walk right in front of him and head for the drink table. 

He decides quickly that, as long as it makes him forget the image of that dude's tongue down the mouth of the love of his life, he's good. 

So he spins the bottle. It spins and it spins and it spins and everyone leans forward in anticipation until it stops in front of someone. 

There's someone on his left that audibly gasps and Wooyoung looks at them before his eyes focus on the person he has to… Kiss? Get in a closet with? 

What does he need to do? 

“You can skip her if you like,” some dude with red paint dripping down his forehead and cargo shorts tells him. He's not even sitting down in the circle but lying on the couch closest to it “She's in a bad mood.” 

That’s when the Scarlet Witch that the bottle landed on rolls her eyes and gets up. 

Wooyoung thinks he's about to lose his turn and wait for the next round or until the bottle lands on him when she offers him her gloved up hand. 

He gets up. He's a little bit more sober now, alert as he plants his feet on the carpet again just to not make a fool of himself, throwing a glance at Gyuri just to find out she's not actually looking at him at all.

The pang on his chest comes back. 

“Don't throw a drink on him just for trying to kiss you too, sweetheart, that's what the game is all about,” the same dude from before tells her as they both pass by the couch and head for the space Zuko and the doll who, he assumes, just got done with their seven minutes was occupying “Don’t say I didn't warn ya, Wooyoung!” 

Who is this obnoxious motherfucker and why does he know his name? 

It takes two and a half hazy steps until the darkness of the small space engulfs him and Scarlet Witch. 

It's one of those long closets with narrow walls that leave absolutely no space to move around when you actually need to put something away, but it's a perfect nook to make out. 

He would know, he's been in this situation many times. 

He lets go of the stranger's hand, only because she turns away from him and then she huffs once the door closes. Wooyoung hears a thump against the wood of it, so he assumes she hit it with her fist or her boot. 

“Fucking asshole.” She mutters under her breath but he hears it. 

It dawns on him that the reason he sat down to potentially kiss strangers that night was to be seen. 

Wooyoung wanted people to see him so they knew he was completely fine and, as soon as Gyuri walked into the room, his motivation was for her to see him doing completely fine. 

Cool. He's cool. He's one of the actual cool guys at the university, he's been told so before. 

He also wanted her to feel a little bit jealous but now, eyes closed for a few seconds to try and regain composure after whatever just happened, he realizes that she probably wouldn't even care.

So this whole thing is useless anyway. Only now he gets to meet (kiss?) someone dressed as one of his favorite characters of the decade. 

There, as his eyes adjust to the minimum light that's filtering under the door, he realizes his mistake: he said nothing to defend her. 

In his defense, his drunk brain processes the information a little too late. And, in her defense, Scarlet Witch seemed like she didn't really care what the asshole said in the first place. 

Now he notices that's not true. 

It's hard to make out her figure but he hears another soft thump and when he turns his head to the right angle, he's able to make out that she just leaned against the door. 

He opens his mouth to apologize, he thinks, but she beats him to it. 

“We don't have to kiss or… fuck or whatever people do with their seven minutes.”

“Wow,” he laughs, his back finding a wall and almost knocking something placed on a tiny shelf next to his arm “I promise I wasn't expecting you to—” 

“Yeah, yeah, save it,” she lets out a breath. “If you want to tell them that we kissed, that's fine by me. I know how your frat bros behave when you don't do what you're supposed to.”

“They're not my frat bros. In fact, they are not even my bros,” he frowns, and slides against the wall because his legs are threatening to give in. He's suddenly very, very exhausted “I don't know them.” 

“Isn’t your name Wooyoung?” 

“Y-yes?” 

“Then you know them,” she shoots back, matter-of-factly “And I'm not interested in kissing any of your kind tonight.” 

“My kind?” 

“Men,” she clarifies and Wooyoung can feel her smile in her next words “Although frat bros are a different kind of species altogether.” 

“I'm not a frat bro!” 

It takes a second and his honest frustration but she laughs “Sure.” 

In the dark, with his ego bruised and his heart crushed, Wooyoung thinks it's a pretty laugh. 

He thinks it's even prettier when he hears a little ruffling and then her body heat invades his space, kind of. She just sat beside him, thigh against his and perfume reaching his nostrils. It's a mix of something sweet and something citrusy. 

It's really nice.

He gulps before asking “W-what was that about?” and then points to the door like she can see him. 

“He's in one of my classes. He thought he could kiss me and when I said no, because fucking look at the state of him, he tried to kiss me anyway,” she says all chirpy but Wooyoung picks up on the sarcastic tone and let's out a soft ew at the story “I preventively threw my drink on him because I got a little freaked out and now I'm sober and pissed off. I think he's a little upset about me thinking he was about to take advantage of me.” 

He grimaces “You can't never be too sure, though.” 

She hums and then sighs a: “I know.” 

“I don't even know his name but he does sound like a fucking asshole.” 

“Why does he know you?” 

Wooyoung shrugs and he's a little glad it's dark. He's not exactly smiling, his playful nature not coming out at the moment. “I'm a pretty popular guy.” 

“I don't know you.” 

“Well, I don't know you either, so we're even,” he shrugs again and it's kind of hypocritical because, to be fair, he didn't get a good look at her face at all “I just know you s-smell nice.” He murmurs, tripping on his words like a babbling drunk idiot. 

Maybe because that's what he is right now.

“Thanks… I guess.” She sounds weirded out by that but he's not sober enough to care. 

“You're so welcome.” 

There's silence in which Wooyoung does nothing but try to find her in the dark. He eventually does, given the fact that the light from under the door casts a little on her face now that she's sitting down.

He doesn't recognize her, which is odd. Wooyoung knows almost everyone. At least her voice would ring a bell but there's absolutely no frivolous memories with this girl and he kind of likes it that way. 

If she doesn't know him, she doesn't know about Gyuri. That's a plus because there's no reason for her to be walking on eggshells around him like every other student at the university who finds him attractive. 

There's another beat of silence between them both, music blasting outside and making the floor slightly thrum underneath him. 

He's not usually this quiet. When he doesn't feel like crying, he's usually very annoyingly outspoken. Mind glowing in red alert, he practically stumbles his words out to fix that. 

“I like your costume.” 

“You do? People didn't get it.” 

“That's because they care more about Captain America than Wanda Maximoff,” he scoffs. “It’s the Multiverse of Madness one, hm?” 

“Wandavision post-credit scene,” she whispers back and Wooyoung nods, encouraging her to go on even if she can't see him. He thinks she's about to maybe rant about the show or the character or the party or anything that can help him forget, but she does the opposite “I, uhm… Also like your costume.” 

There's a tint of shyness in her voice, like she's not used to being nice. 

“Victor, right?”

“I've never seen the movie.” He makes sure to clarify before she asks him about it. 

“You don't really have to see the movie to know the character, Wooyoung,” he feels when her head hits the wall slightly, on purpose maybe “I don't like him anyway.” 

“Then why did you say you liked my costume?” 

“I lied. It's called trying to keep the conversation going,” her explanation makes no sense to him in that state of inebriation, but he lets it go “I don't exactly know what to talk about when I drag someone into a closet.” 

Wooyoung pauses and then laughs to himself “We were not exactly supposed to talk in the first place. Have you never done this before?” 

“No. I don't usually go to frat parties,” she says after a second where Wooyoung was met with silence, a moment where he wondered if his question was out of line “Coming here tonight was a mistake.” 

He finds himself asking without thinking, again “Then why did you?”  

“I'm so bored.” 

That takes him by surprise. 

“Bored?” 

“Yes, I'm bored. My dorm room mattress has a hole in it because I never go out and… Well, there's a boy I liked that came here tonight, so, I came as well.” 

Liked? 

Wooyoung doesn't really ask her about it. 

Eyebrows practically touching his scalp, Wooyoung thinks for a split second she's talking about him but that's not really possible because they've never met until now, she said it herself. 

“Well did you find him?” 

She takes in a shaky breath and then lets it out. Sadness suddenly fills the constricted space and Wooyoung isn't sure if it's just him or if Scarlet Witch is going through a heartbreak as well. 

“Yeah, I did” she whispers back and doesn't elaborate, so he doesn't ask “There's a bride going around the party. I saw her, she looks really cool, maybe you could—” 

“She's my best friend,” he interrupts because the mention of Gyuri, so directly at that, has his heart racing with anxiety. So long for her not knowing about his ex girlfriend “We, uh… We dated in highschool and we stayed friends, so it's not really happening again.” 

“Oh… Do you want it to happen again?” 

“W-what?” 

“I mean,” she laughs a little awkwardly, like she's nervous “You sounded very sad when you said it, a little angry too.” 

“Did I?” 

He definitely didn't mean to sound like that at all. 

Scarlet Witch hums in agreement and he really thinks about what to answer. The short answer is a simple yes but, if he's being honest, he already knows that they're not good for each other. Not like that, anyway. 

“I don't really know what to tell you.” 

“You don't have to tell me anything,” she says right away and it calms his nerves a bit. “Just know that there's no real helping when you like someone, it doesn't matter if you thought you didn't like them anymore. It just happens. It sucks but it just happens.” 

The unsolicited advice doesn't really help him, if he's being honest. It stirs something inside him that he wants to keep hidden, concealed, so he turns the topic of conversation away from him. 

Away from Gyuri. 

“Speaking from experience?” He asks, half jokingly.

“Yeah, so I can confidently say that it fucking sucks.” 

She turns to him with a smile (he's hyper focused on her, there's no way he could've missed that) before laughing and a tiny force lifts up the corners of his lips. That's one pretty laugh.

Maybe, in an universe where was a little bit more sober, he could've actually spent these seven minutes kissing her. 

Kissing her. 

He wants to kiss her. That's going to take his mind off Gyuri, sure. 

His heart beats quicker this time, for a completely different reason. 

He leans in. 

He's going to kiss her. 

She clears her throat “Are you going to the party next saturday?” 

Huh? 

Oh. 

“Yes, I think so,” he's a little breathless and probably blushing because of what he was about to do “Why?” 

After the night he had, he thought he was going to struggle to even bring out this sort of excitement out of himself. When Scarlet Witch raises her gloved hand and brings it to the nape of his neck, he wonders if she actually has magical powers. 

It effectively distracts him, it sobers him up and makes him feel drunker at the same time. Short nails caress the skin where her fingers lay and then she grasps the strands of hair sticking out, not gelled down for the sake of his costume. 

“Is this real?” 

What does she mean? This feeling taking over his body? The heat that spreads all around? He's not sure if it is, if that's what she's asking. 

Hia mouth feels like cotton when he asks “Is what real?” 

She laughs softly again “The hair, the length.” 

Oh. 

“Yes, it is.” 

Maybe he should've taken his time in answering because, as soon as he does, her touch leaves him. 

“You should go as Howl,” she murmurs and he melts a little “It'll suit you better than a Tim Burton character, I think.” 

He laughs, it's short lived and through the cloud he feels he's on right now “You think?” 

“Yeah,” he can't see her, but he knows she's nodding “Even if you claim that you're not a frat bro. You know, the whole seducing ladies and stuff.” 

Wooyoung laughs “Howl did not seduce any ladies, it was all a rumor!” 

“He did, in the book.” 

“Oh, I don't read.” 

“See?” she clicks her tongue and then her shoulder touches his, teasingly “Total frat bro.” 

Wooyoung thinks about it again. 

Kissing her. Now out of pure want instead of selfish motivations. 

She said she didn't want to, earlier, if he recalls correctly and that's okay. 

He still wants to though, so… 

The question is on the tip of his tongue, he even thinks he makes out the start of it before it's cut off by the sound of the door opening. 

Closing his eyes at the sudden intrusion of light, it takes a few seconds for them to adjust to it and, when they do, he finally sees her face. 

He should've kissed her. 

The costume she's wearing it's cool, sure, and she's even wearing a wig that looks very expensive so he confirms the fact that she likes to dress up sometimes but that's not really what amazes him. 

Maybe it's because he sort of already formed a judgment of her character but she's beautiful and he really, really, really, should've kissed her. 

“Time's up, you're hogging the closet. Oh, and someone is looking for you,” the girl dressed up as Zuko points in his direction and then, because neither of them makes an effort to stand up, she nods and steps aside “I'll give y'all a minute.” 

Scarlet Witch laughs and Wooyoung wishes he could share the sentiment. At this point, he thought he would be done with a makeout session and in desperate need for another drink to keep the night going. 

Now, he wants nothing but take her hand in his and find a quiet spot where he can keep getting to know her. Maybe get her number. 

And he swears he's going to ask, but the universe is not in his favor. When she turns to him, he loses all ability to speak and when she leans in to peck his cheek his breath hitches and he feels like a teenager getting a crush for the first time. 

“In case you need to tell anyone I kissed you,” she whispers in secrecy, leaning back a bit “So you don't have to lie. I hate liars.” 

He gulps “Noted.” 

She doesn't even give him the opportunity to escort her out of tiny space: she gets up, bolts for the door and when Wooyoung's brain catches on to the gigantic problem of his own creation, as he gets out of the closet and looks around for her, she's already out of his sight. 

“Are you good?” 

It's the second time tonight San has asked that. It's not annoying by any means but when it comes with the concerned faces of Yeosang, Kyungmi and Gyuri he has to think his response through.

But the Scarlet Witch's words echo in his mind. 

I don't like liars. 

“No, I'm not,” he says, a little out of breath “I didn't get her name.” 

This time, the entire crew joins him, Gyuri, Kyungmi and Yeosang to go to the party. 

He wishes his other best friend came along as well, but she's really not that fond of parties in general. 

Which sucks because she would look good in a costume and maybe that would prompt San to act on his feelings and break up with Kyungmi in the process. 

She was a pain in his ass tonight. Didn't really help his nerves at all. 

Yes, he's nervous about possibly seeing Scarlet Witch again. 

Yes, he thought about her all week and tried his best to find her on social media but couldn't. 

Yes, he's aware tonight's theme for the party is a mix of a masquerade and a normal costume party or whatever the sorority organizing it said in their invite. 

And yes, he's dressed up as Howl Pendragon, wearing a black and white mask that he borrowed from one of the girls in the group. They decorated it with little gold and pink stars and it looks cute on him but that's not the point! 

Masks complicate his quest for the night. 

He hopes that she's here tonight. He also hopes that the costume alone is enough for her to recognize him: There's a lot of people here tonight. 

Even waiting in line to pay the cover fee for the party felt stuffy. 

He turns to Gyuri and she's laughing at something her date for the night is telling her. That's right, for the first time in many, many years, Wooyoung is not her date. 

Superman is. He's dressed in the same costume he saw him in last weekend, he thinks he even sees as smudge of Gyuri’s corpse bride body paint on it. 

She's Wonder Woman for the night. So original. 

Wooyoung feels bad as soon as the bitter thoughts go through his head. He didn't even know they exchanged numbers, let alone kept chatting to coordinate their costumes for tonight's party. 

He found out when she told her that the Raven and Beast Boy costumes would have to wait until next year. 

And he, actually, was relieved that he didn't have to paint his face green for God knows how many hours just to keep losing his date in the crowd and finding her kissing someone else. 

Ugh. 

Bitter. He's as bitter and jealous as someone who has to see the love of his life not give a damn about them or their feelings can be.

But that's okay, he has other plans for the night anyway. 

As soon as they all get through security (there's security at a house party, what the hell), they all scatter to do what they do best at parties. 

Hongjoong and Seonghwa head for the drink table, Yeosang and Jongho head for a corner of the main room, San, Kyungmi, Gyuri and Superman go straight to the backyard and Mingi, his girlfriend and Yunho walk with him to the dancefloor. 

He dances with his friends, he pretends he's paying attention to their banter as his eyes scan the crowd looking for someone familiar behind a mask. 

He thinks he remembers her face very well, it stayed on his mind for a whole week but, even after dreaming about their conversation, Wooyoung is having a hard time in finding her. 

She didn't even tell him what she was going to dress up as or if she was even going to show up. 

Or did she? 

His memories are all blended together. He's going to make sure to be sober tonight, just for the sake of remembering every little detail if he does end up finding her. 

But the hours go by and he still can't find her. 

He's losing hope, he's beginning to believe she didn't even show up to the event which, hey, sucks but that means that he can finally get her out of her head. 

Sort of. 

There's a Scarlet Witch staring at him. But there's this alluring nature to his Scarlet Witch that can't be replicated, or so he thinks. 

He's about to convince himself he drunk dreamed the entire thing but then he sees him. 

The obnoxious motherfucker. Her classmate, mister can't-take-no-for-an-answer. 

In all honesty, the first thought that crosses his mind is to punch him in the face. He's still dressed up all frat bro-ish and his mask is a paper mask, completely diy-ed and with a dick drawn on the right side. 

And then he abandons the thought because, although an asshole, he can lead go finding his Scarlet Witch. 

Only issue is: Mister asshole is walking away with a girl on his arm and heading straight to a… room? bathroom? 

Stopping his movements, mid a Troye Sivan song and cutting Yunho off in whatever he's telling him, he let's out a loud “Fuck!” 

Yunho stops, Mingi and his girlfriend turn slowly to them with wide eyes and concerned expressions 

“What did you do to him?” Mingi asks Yunho and his best friend laughs nervously. 

“I didn't do anything! Did I do something?” he turns to Wooyoung “I didn't, did I?” 

“No, no. Sorry, I… I gotta go.” 

“Go where, Serena Van der Woodsen?” 

Wooyoung doesn't get the reference Mingi’s girlfriend makes but he laughs like he does “I'll be right back!” 

He's never been so determined before, moving through the crowd like his life depends on it and crashing into Batman and his Joker on the way to stop the guy who's potentially changing the course of his night. 

“Hey!” He yells behind him but the music is somehow louder on this side of the house and five people turn their heads, but not the guy pushing a Silent Hill nurse into the bathroom door to kiss her before opening it. 

Damn it. 

He runs faster and faster and he thinks he's going to miss his chance when the tip of his boot catches the door before it fully closes on his face. 

Breathing hard, his lips turn up in smirk when he catches the way the guy's face scrunches in confusion before opening the door again and looking at him.

Wooyoung takes it a step further and gets into the bathroom with them, closing the door behind him and lifting up his mask.

“What the fuck, Wooyoung?” 

“Hey, so sorry for interrupting your fifth makeout sesh for the night but I need to ask you something. Hi.” He says to the nurse and she smiles a little before turning to the Frat Bro and raising her eyebrow inquisitively. 

“And it couldn't wait?!” 

“No,” he says right away, smiling sardonically and getting straight to the point afterwards. “So, remember the Scarlet Witch that I ended up going to the closet with last week?” 

“Who?” 

Wooyoung is going to kill him.

“The girl who threw a drink on you last week for trying to kiss her even if she said no the first time you tried,” he reminds him, “Is she here?” 

“Y/N?” the name comes out in a whisper and Wooyoung sucks in a sharp breath. 

Y/N. 

It fits her. 

“Your classmate, yes.”

“Uhm, yeah, I think she's here,” he looks a little embarrassed at the recalling of the events of last week and Wooyoung wants to smile because of it, but he just looks at him with an insistent look so he can catch that he needs more than that to find her. To find you “Look, bro, I don't know where she is right now. I think she's dressed as a… Clown? A jester? Some weird, indie costume, uhm… She has a pointy black birthday hat? I don't know.” 

He's slurring his words but that's not enough for Wooyoung to feel bad for him. He, however, does not want to speak with him anymore. 

“Alright, thank you for that, I'll… Leave you to it,” he opens the door again and frat idiot scoffs, so he turns and looks directly at the Silent Hill Nurse “Please make him wear a condom.” And he can tell she's a little turned off with the whole conversation. 

So, as he closes the bathroom door and scans the crowd one more hopeful time, he counts that as a second victory. A little revenge on your name, even. 

He wanders the house, the hallways and rooms and little hideaway spots but he finds no sign of you in them so he heads for the backyard and looks up to the second floor. 

The first room is presumably empty, lights turned off and no activity in it the few seconds he observes it. 

The second room has an ambiance light turned on and he sees what looks like a Mad Hatter run across the window and then he hears something crashing, so he hopes that's not where you are. 

The third room has a balcony. It's dark, there's not one light lit in the entire room but there's neon lights in the backyard and streetlights and the moon casting perfectly on it, so he's able to see it perfectly from where he stands. 

And there, draped in some sort of vintage looking clown costume, wearing striped tights and a black and white pointy hat, mask in your hand and your forearms supporting your weight, you stare past him. 

You look sad, but it could also be the illusion the makeup you put on gives. 

He doesn't know you enough to know what your sad expression looks like and it bothers him a little. 

You also don't notice him at all, which is odd, because you're staring directly over his shoulder. You only blink fast and focus on his face once someone calls out: 

“Woo!” That's Gyuri's voice. Raising your head, you wave to him and smile a little. He smiles back. 

He has to literally force himself to peel his eyes from you and look behind him, at his best friend “Are you okay? Come hang out with us!” 

She looks so happy. A little drunk, but happy. San is also right beside her and he shoots him a knowing smirk that he ignores because he has to leave and speak to you. 

“I'm a little busy, Yuri. I'll be down in just a sec,” that's a lie but she nods happily and so he turns to you, your smile a little bigger now “Don't move.” He warns cheekily in a whisper and you seem to get it, because you smile wide, raise your arms defensively and open your, once again, gloved hands in defeat. 

He practically sprints to the second floor after that. 

You hope Wooyoung didn't notice. 

Staring daggers at the girl he told you last time is his best friend? Yeah, that could turn into a fight really fast if he reproaches it. 

You don't remember her name but you do remember her kissing the guy you've liked since forever. She's been doing that all night tonight, too. 

It pisses you off for all the wrong reasons. Sure, she's not exactly at fault, but the human mind is horrid when it comes to mental self flagellation and you, unfortunately, are an expert at that. 

All kinds of things went through your head. The main one, a question: Why do you feel so possessive over something that clearly isn't yours? 

His heart. 

His heart it's not yours, it never was, it never will be.

It's time you come to the realization that that's okay even if it hurts you. The obsession you have over it, over what happened with the two of you it's starting to get pathetic and it makes you feel lonelier than usual.

You really hope Wooyoung didn't notice. 

As you walk to the door and unlock the room you claimed for the night (because you want to leave, but the cover was expensive and there's no way you're letting it go to waste) you let yourself detach from the emotions you've been feeling all night. 

Wooyoung doesn't need to know what's going on in your head. You have a good memory of him, you even filtered a little last weekend and you want to keep that going. 

He doesn't need to know, he doesn't need to stay in your life for too long either.

It makes you giggle when he opens the door and scans the moonlit room of this sorority house like he doesn't really believe you were there in the first place. He smiles wide when his eyes land on you, back against the wall closest to the door. 

“Hey.” You say, biting down a smile.

His chest is heaving, like he ran all the way up here and it does nothing but send nervous tingles down your spine.

He smiles beautifully, entering the room and closing the door behind him “Hi.” 

Peeling your back from the wall, you start walking around the room because that keeps your body busy and unable to embarrass you. 

“Thought I missed you completely tonight, Y/N.” 

Frowning, you give him a glance over your shoulder “You know my name.” You say, rather than ask. 

“You didn't want me to?” 

Shaking your head, there's a tiny smile that curves your lips when you turn to him. He's walking around as well, slowly, carefully, like you're about to disappear if he moves too fast. 

“I don't really enjoy mysteries that much.” 

He smiles as well “You didn't tell me your name last time.” 

“You didn't ask me,” shrugging, you take a few steps his way and scan his costume without any discretion “You see?” 

“Hm?” 

“How good you look as Howl?” tilting your head slightly, you don't miss the way his cheeks darken slightly and that makes the remains of your shyness disappear from your body. You tell yourself that you, in this room, there must be no space for it. You point at his cape “Was it hard to get this?” 

“Overnight shipping,” he whispers, taking a step in your direction “You look very cute.” 

“You think?” 

“Yeah, I really like the, uhm…” he gestures to your costume “Vintage vibe.” 

You don't have to be a genius to notice he doesn't really know what you are. “I'm a pierrot clown.” 

He scoffs “I knew that.” 

“Sure you did, buddy.” 

There's a pause and then you both laugh but it dies down quickly and there's this tension between you both you don't really know why it's there.

You two didn't exactly connect that much last time. At least, you don't think you did. He was kind of drunk and you weren't really thinking straight either. 

“Y/N…” Your name sounds good out of his lips. 

“Yes?” 

“Why did you disappear last time?” 

That makes you laugh again. You didn't exactly plan on it, you were going to wait for him outside the closet but then you saw them kissing goodbye and your heart couldn't really stand it, so you bolted. 

You walk towards one of the two beds, sitting down on it carefully, to not disturb it too much. He follows you with his eyes, his head turning slightly in order to do so.

“You mean when I left the party? I didn't disappear on you,” that's not really a lie, you convince yourself. You kind of bid your goodbye to him that night “Didn’t think you wanted me to stay, either. Did they give you too much shit?” 

“For what?” 

“I clearly didn't kiss you that night. I think it was obvious, so… Your frat bros didn't give you shit for it?” 

Closing his eyes, the smile he gives you in return for the inside joke you two have going on makes your heart flutter “Stop insisting on that, will you?” 

“You can't really fight the truth, Wooyoung.” 

“Hm,” he walks over to you again, sitting on the bed next with his thigh touching yours. Innecesarlly so, because there's plenty of space, but you enjoy the warmth it spreads around your body so you don't say anything “You did tell me you didn't like liars.” 

“Oh, you remember that?” 

“I remember everything,” he nods, “I wasn't that drunk.” 

You give him a look “Weren't you?” 

He laughs again and you follow, pushing him slightly with your shoulder like you did back in the closet as well.

You don't really know what to say anymore, so you clear your throat slightly. 

“Are you enjoying the party?” 

“Are you?”  

“What do you mean?” 

“You seemed kind of sad when I saw you, there,” he points at the balcony and that makes you sigh. He noticed, kind of. That's disappointing and impressive at the same time. “I thought it was the makeup but it doesn't really seem like it.” 

“I’m not sad,” you admit, “I'm hurt.” 

“Isn't that the same thing?” 

“Not really, no,” shaking your head, you stare out of the big panel windows into the night sky. He doesn't need to know entirely, but you can tell him something about it “Remember the guy I told you about last time?” 

“The guy you went to the party for?” 

You nod “Well, he's here tonight too. With a date this time.” 

“Oh,” when you turn, catch him licking his lips before continuing and your eyes are fixed on the motion for a second too long “And that hurts you, duh, obviously.” 

You think it's adorable he's also a little nervous but you only smile and don't give him shit for it like you would do to anyone else “When you're obsessed with the idea of someone specifically seeing you a certain way, yes, it hurts,” you shrug “I'll get over it though.” 

“I feel that,” he says and you can imagine. You sensed it in his feelings last time, you can't actually believe the coincidence and irony of it all “Did you and this guy…?” 

“We went to highschool together. He was the only person who I thought saw me for who I was, whoever that is,” there's a bitterness in the laugh you let out you don't enjoy “We kissed a few times, he told me pretty things and I feel. Totally forgot about me when he had a summer glow up before we started our first semester, though.”

“Well, he's an asshole.” 

“He's not, not really,” and you desperately need to change the topic to him, so you bump your shoulder against him one more time “Did you come with your Sophie?” you ask, pretending to not know about Wonder Woman and the fact that she's here with somebody else. 

He catches who you're talking about, though and shakes his head, giving you. tight smile. 

“No, no, uhm… She has a date.” 

You hum “Are you hurt too?” 

“I'm bitter,” he whispers back, right away “Don't know if that's the same as being hurt, but I'm bitter.”

Silence falls comfortably around the understanding in between you both. You stare at each other, lips slowly curving upwards until you end up laughing yet again at the absurdity of the situations you're both in. 

“Guess we're just… A pair of losers tonight, huh?” 

“And what a pair we make.” 

You agree. There's this electricity running through you, you even dare to say it's running through him too and it makes you slightly regret not kissing him last week. 

If you did, the desire to do so right now would be easier to come to terms with. 

Thankfully, the same thing seems to be going through his mind “I know I was drunk, but I wanted to kiss you so bad.” 

“Are you drunk now?” You ask back in a whisper. He shakes his head. 

“Don't want to ruin your pretty makeup. Besides, you said last time—” 

You lean into his space a bit. 

“That was then,” you interrupt with a tiny smile “And now is now.” 

“That's how time usually works, yes,” he laughs and you join, rolling your eyes at the bad joke. You can see the second he makes the decision, his hand hesitantly finding your cheek and, when you don't recoil at the possible contact, he leaves it there “But are you sure it's okay?” 

You know why he's asking. He doesn't want to take advantage of a vulnerable moment, neither do you.

But you want to kiss him. 

“It’s matte,” you say instead and you hope he understands the real meaning behind your answer “The lipstick, it's matte. And the base It's set with really good powder, too, because I thought…” 

You thought that somebody else was going to kiss you tonight. 

He gets it. He understands why you did it and he scoffs with mild annoyance at it, which makes you smile. 

“Y/N,” he closes the distance between you even more and your breath hitches with anticipation before he whispers: “I'm going to kiss you so good, you'll forget about his lips forever.” 

That's the best thing someone has ever said to you, ever. You shudder at the thought and just stare, eyes dropping when he leans in further and his nose bumps into yours. 

“Do you want that?” 

Sleeping with Wooyoung won’t fix your problems. It sure won’t, not yours, not his but it doesn’t need to. You don’t know what the remedy for a wounded heart is but a distraction from the hurt can’t be all that bad. 

It's still a little bit pathetic how you whimper in response to his question. 

But it gains you the prize of tasting him for the first time, his minty flavor mixing with the remnants of whatever soda you had earlier and you sigh into the encounter. He’s not as delicate as you thought he would be. 

Wooyoung kisses you hard, with want, with need, with something you recognize in yourself and give back: the need for a distraction, for a feeling other than that hurt and bitterness you two mentioned not even three minutes ago. 

You don't know what to do with your hands, where to put them, but he fixes that. He grabs them, puts them on his shoulder, scoots a bit more into you and so your chest touches his and he sighs in contentment at that. 

You feel a little bit nervous, but that’s okay. 

It’s not like you’ve never been touched, like you’ve never done this sort of thing but it is the first time you want it. You want him. 

You’re not numb this time around, the hairs on the back of your neck stand up when his other hand joins and keeps you in place, pulling back a second to take in some air before going back in for another toe curling kiss. 

Mind disconnecting from the outside world, you curse the layers of clothing (and there’s a lot) in between you when his hands travel down to your waist, against your body, caressing it and then grasping it in a way you’ve never felt before. 

It’s not rushed and it doesn’t really feel like something that you both want to get out of your system even though it is. You don’t really expect Wooyoung to ask you on a date after hooking up at a sorority party, after all. 

Oh. 

The party, that’s right. Did you lock the door? No, no. He walked in and didn't, you think. 

You can’t really think straight when he’s biting your bottom lip and then licking it as an apology for his misbehaving. It draws a breathy moan out of you and he drinks it, tongue meeting yours for the first time ever as you stand up from the bed, kiss never breaking, his body following yours. 

You’re wearing a lace ruffle white collar that goes with your costume. It’s cute, surprisingly not itchy at all and right now it seems to be getting in his way. His fingers look for the velcro clasp and then, when he loosens it enough, he janks it off. 

Somehow, you enjoy the theatrics and you giggle as his mouth abandons yours.

“Woo…” You manage to say when his lips start to make acquaintance with your neck, over your pulse. Craning your head to the side, he moves to the skin that unveils because of it and it’s hard to think of anything but the way you start to tremble under his touch. 

Grounding yourself by sinking your fingers in his hair, you attempt to speak again but he keeps distracting you. 

“Fuck, say that again.” 

Humming, you return “Woo,” you say again, “the door…”  

He moves to the other side of your neck “What about it?” 

“It’s— Oh,” teeth sink into your skin and you moan out loud, you can practically feel his smirk on your skin after that and your face burns as a consequence. “W-we need to lock it.” 

“Afraid someone will walk in on us?” he finally pulls away enough for you to see his face. His lips are swollen and there’s a flush across his cheeks that sits beautifully there when he smiles, forehead resting against yours a second later “You don’t like that thought?” 

There’s a part of you that doesn’t think it’s proper. It’s bad enough you’re hooking up with a somewhat stranger in a room that isn’t yours, but people finding out? That should terrify you. 

But it doesn’t. He seems to read it on your delayed response and the way your eyes widen with need when he pulls away again to watch your reaction to what he said. 

“You do, don’t you?” and then you’re moving, backwards, backwards, backwards until your back hits the door and there’s this passion glistening in his eye that excites you and sends spikes down your spine and into your core “You want people to know I’m kissing you dumb, hm? You want them to see what I’m doing to you?” 

He pauses and you feel like it’s on purpose, you feel like he takes in you heaving chest and the way your eyes follow the veins down his arms when he presses his hand behind you, pushing into your space a bit more and you should feel overwhelmed like you normally do with everyone else, but you don’t. 

You want him to get even closer.

“You want them to see what you do to me?” 

His whisper shakes you, awakens something in you that you desperately want to explore. It makes you feel shy and brave at the same time and the contradiction makes you bite down a smile. 

There’s no need for you to see what you’re doing to him, you can feel it when the hand that wanders to his waist pulls him closer, forward, until his hips meet yours and his leg finds a home between yours. Grunting, he raises a brow and gives you a knowing grin, but you enjoy surprising people. 

Your black gloves contrast against his skin and the white of his shirt when you caress the arm planted next to you and he follows the motion, letting out a breath “What if I don’t?” you ask, low, like it’s a secret you don’t want anyone else to find out even if you’re alone in this room “What if I want to keep you all to myself?” Watching his expression carefully, you try to measure if you’re crossing the invisible hookup line with your words but he closes his eyes and there’s no way for you to tell, so you correct your possible mistake in a whisper “For the night. You don’t want me to be only yours tonight?” 

Something twitches against your leg and the brief tension melts from your shoulder. Damn, you’re not that mouthy during these sort of scenarios so you almost, almost fucked up, huh? 

It doesn’t really matter when his free hand brushes his knuckles against your stomach, over your clothes and the ridiculously big buttons of your costume and then leaves you to twist the lock on the door “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, by the way.” 

“I want you.” The words get out before you think it through and you don’t mind it. You value honesty, you love when your body acts before your mind has the time to make you feel ashamed of your own feelings and wants. 

It pays off because his expression morphs in pure want and his tone is a whimper when he begs you, forehead meeting yours again “Again.” 

“I want you, Woo…” You whisper against his lips and then his mouth is on yours hungrier than ever before. The wood hurts against your back but Wooyoung’s hands pull you against him to move you away from it. 

This time, your hands know exactly what to do, because you know exactly what you want. They tug at his cape, trying to find the clasp of it with desperate trembles because your heart is beating faster and faster and you’re impatient, body too impertinent and rebelling against your wishes of taking this slow and savoring every little touch.

Cape on the floor, you feel his hand trying to figure out your costume. It makes you laugh and you’re glad he returns it, looking down at it and frowning at all the fabric he finds. With your hands against his chest, you push him into the mattress and he lands gracefully on it, supporting himself with his arms “I’ll do it.”

“Baby, this is a great costume and you look so fucking cute on it but why is there so much layering?” 

The nickname is new and he doesn’t seem to catch that it slipped out of his mouth so you don’t comment on it but it sure deepens the color on your cheeks and you laugh shyly, tilting your head to side in a playful manner. 

“I told you I like dressing up.” 

“And it shows! Mine’s a little simple,” without the cape, he just looks like a dude with a loose white shirt and black trousers. A handsome dude, but just a dude nevertheless “But I wanted you to find me, so…” 

“What was the first option?” 

“Beast Boy.” 

There’s something that crosses his expression that goes away the second he sees you slowly working the buttons and the skin underneath reveal after each one. His eyes fix on it and you’re sure you look ridiculous in the makeup and the get up and all but he’s looking at you with so much need you feel sexy wearing it. 

The shirt comes off. You’re wearing a cropped top and a bra underneath and you hook your thumbs under it to make him believe you’re taking it off, but you don’t. 

“You’re killing me.” He groans out and you laugh at him, making a show of bringing your hands down your torso and into your hips. You move to take off the striped bloomers that are matching with the tights you plan on taking off next. 

Your underwear doesn’t exactly match but you weren’t really planning on any of this with anyone. You weren’t planning on going this far but you don’t really care when it’s all, eventually, it’s just going to be off, so it doesn’t really matter. 

“Want to take these off yourself or you’re going to make me do all the work?” 

Smiling, he sits straight on the bed, taking your hand in his and bringing it to his mouth he nips the satin fabric of your glove, it loosening around your index when he pulls. He must see the way it affects you immediately, the way you breath catches, because the corner of his lips lifts up before he does the same to the thumb, the middle finger, the ring and the pinky and then he pulls the glove completely off. 

You feel like you short circuit for a second, even more so when he keeps the hand close to him and starts kissing the pad of your fingers so softly it doesn’t match the hunger in his eyes at all. 

And you’re killing him? 

It happens in a flash but the other glove is off and then your tights, your top and his shirt are off and on the floor and you’re sitting on his lap, tongue parting his lips and mouth bruising against his and you feel like you’re in a small pocket in time no one can really disturb. No one can burst this bubble, this cloud you land on when he turns you around and the expensive material of the sheets touches your bare back. 

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” 

When did he take off your bra? It doesn’t matter, his lips are making their way down your throat and exploring your chest, gaining puffs of air and moans from you when he flicks your nipples with his tongue, expert and careful, measuring your reaction and doing it again when your back arches off the bed instead of verbally asking for more. 

He kisses down, down until his teeth are catching your underwear. Looking up to you, he searches for an answer in your eyes and you both come to an unspoken agreement. Even if you’re both taking your time in exploring each other, there’s no actual time for him to eat you out, for you to get on your knees and taste him as well. 

You immediately wonder if there’s going to be another opportunity to do all of that. Either way, there’s not enough time to wonder. You help him get out of his trousers, his boxer briefs and you stare at him with an eyebrow up and an open and watering mouth. 

He laughs at your reaction, like he was expecting it. 

He stops laughing when you reach for him. Breathing hard when your thumb teases his tip, gathering precum, he shakes his head and you immediately stop “Baby, we… Not tonight.” 

Then when? You want to ask. 

You just nod before bringing the thumb to your mouth, tasting him and humming in content. Wooyoung leans in and puts his tongue on yours a second later.

He smiles, teeth sinking on your bottom lip before diving in for another kiss “Dirty girl.” He teases you and you shrug. 

“You look so good,” You say against him, pecking his lips, “Couldn’t help myself,” fingers grasping the hairs at the nape of his neck, like you did the night you met, you stop him from kissing you again just to whisper “You taste so good too.”   

His eyes almost roll at that, hips stuttering against you and almost brushing where they need to. “Fuck, don’t say shit like that to me, Y/N.” 

“Sorry.” You say but it’s clear in your smile that you’re not sorry at all and maybe you shouldn’t have because when it comes to taking your last piece of clothing off, he takes his time. 

Fingernails raise goosebumps as they softly go through your skin and he lets out a ragged breath “So fucking beautiful.” 

You feel beautiful. That’s good, because earlier tonight, before you catched him staring up at you on the balcony, you felt undesirable. You felt little, small, incomparable in the worst way possible because… Why not you? 

His words reassure you. Even if you know that’s something you need to do yourself (built enough confidence to not let the choices of a man who doesn’t give a damn about you define your self worth), it helps you tend that wound that reopened. 

He touches you and you feel worth it again. You believe it when your panties fall to the ground and your legs part for him and he looks at you in delight, thumb finding your clit and circling it right away “So fucking wet, fuck.” 

Your hips go up when he finds the right pacing, the right pressure to it and you really shouldn't moan this loud but you don’t care when he lets out a moan of his own at the way your face scrunches in pleasure “I want you.” You let out, breathy and pliant under his touch. 

“You got me,” he’s sweating but you don’t really care, you love the way his pretty nose touches yours when he leans in, index searching and then entering you. “Fuck, I could slip right in, hm? Is that what you want?” 

A moan slips out when he finds your sweet spot and strokes it carefully, he takes it as a reply and, honestly, it is all you can let out at the moment. You squeeze the second finger as it enters you, so it gives away how much you like the thought of that. 

“You do,” he says, teasingly and smiles against your lips as he pecks it “Dirty girl,” He repeats and you shake your head again, hips bucking up when the heel of his hand press against your clit and it sends a new wave of heat across your entire body “Impatient girl. I wish you were in my room now, fuck.” 

You wish that too.

“Woo…” 

“I had to—” 

“I know but there’s people—” Passing the door, you can sense it. In this midst of anything, you can sense it. 

“Who cares about them—”

There’s a phone vibrating somewhere in the room and it’s definitely not yours. He ignores it, fingers picking up their pace. 

“I need you,” you whisper, propping yourself up to kiss his mouth “Please, please fuck me.”

“I want you to come first.” He communicates his crude intention so cutely you might actually miss him when this is all over. 

“And I want to come with you.” 

That stops him and you can literally feel him get harder where he rests against your inner thigh.

“Condom?” You ask in a whisper. 

“Condom, right, fuck—” Both moving to reach his pants on the floor, you giggle and his lips find your cheek for a second as your torsos hang from the bed and you can safely say you never had more fun during sex before this. 

It’s lighthearted even if you’re both practically strangers and then it grows hot, sexy, passionate again when he finds the condom, breaks the package open and then rolls it on with practiced moves. He kisses you, laying back down against the pillows and aligning himself with your entrance. 

“Wait, let me just…” 

“What?” 

You turn around, laying flat on your chest and arching your back just a little so that you can open up your legs for him to enter. You look at him over your shoulder and his surprised expression makes you giggle “You never tried this one?” you ask and at his silence, you nod “Look how easy it is for me to—” Reaching down your stomach and reaching your clit with your fingers for him to see, you circle it a few times and close your eyes at the sensation. 

He kisses the small of your back “Holy fuck, Y//N.” 

“I told you that I’m coming with you, I’m helping.” 

He leans into you, his tip pressing against your clit deliciously “You’re so fucking hot, I almost came.” 

“That’s the point, Woo.” You say through pants, his hands kneading your ass and spreading you open for him to see. It’s a little nasty and you wonder what you both could do with a little more time and less people waiting for you outside. For him, at least. 

When he enters you, the moan that leaves you echoes his and you probably needed just a little bit more prep for the size of him but since you’re so turned on it barely matters when he’s completely seated inside of you and this position just makes it feel ten times better “You feel so good, baby, fuck.” 

“Yeah?” His chest is touching your back now and his lips are leaving open mouth kisses on your shoulder. He moves his hips experimentally and you moan into the sheets, sweat running down your neck and your chest into them but you don’t have time to feel bad for the owner of the bed at all “Was that okay?”

“You can go harder.” 

“Yeah? Fuck.” 

He complies right away and it feels so good you let yourself close your eyes and fully enjoy it, consequences be damned. 

People outside the room hearing you moan? Who cares when your fingers the weight of Wooyoung against you feels so right? 

When his thrusts help you grind your clit on your fingers just right, especially when he increases the speed of them and the wave of pleasure that hits you squeezes him around you so good his moan bounces off the walls and outside of the balcony where someone downstairs giggles and whistles. 

“Oh, God,” he says, a little ashamed but never slowing down and you turn your head, searching for his lips “We should’ve closed that door too.” 

You decide to tease him to wipe that emotion from him and just focus on you “Thought you wanted to give people a show.” 

Opening your eyes, you are able to watch when his eyes harden slightly at the thought, pace faltering as he lets out a tiny whimper. 

“And I thought you wanted me for yourself tonight,” he resumes his relentless pace, thrusting in and out of you with ease now and your cheek meets the sheets again so the bed can muffle your sounds “Maybe next time.” 

Next time. 

You don't really have time to dwell on what that means because you’re so worked up it won’t take much for you to come. You let Wooyoung know and he nods, his forehead against your shoulder again “Kiss me.” He whispers and you crane your neck to do so, to swallow his moans down and keep them with you forever. 

You swallow all of them down when his hips stutter and he comes and you know he keeps yours when you let yourself come right alone with him. He fucks you through both of your orgasms and slows down gradually until he grows sensitive and hisses at any tiny movement and your arms go kind of numb underneath you. 

There’s a sense of urgency your mind picks up immediately after but you ignore it. You have nowhere to go and they charged you twenty dollars to get into this stupid party so they can wait for you two to return to it. 

But there’s a phone vibrating somewhere. And even if you both hear it, Wooyoung turns you around and leans in to give you a kiss so sweet you almost want to keep it with you as well. 

When he pulls away, you wipe the sweat on his forehead with your hands and brush the hair out his face so delicately he closes his eyes and seems to enjoy your touch. 

Now what the hell should you say at a moment like this? Where he doesn’t seem in any rush to leave you and you don’t really want him to leave either. 

Do you tell him he did good? Do you tell him you enjoyed it, that he made you feel safe? That’s the first time in ages you enjoy a quick fuck this much? 

That—

“Please give me your number.” 

Oh, he’s actually adorable. He takes your stunned expression and silence the wrong way, though, and he sits on his knees, pulling out of you and working on getting his condom off while he speaks. 

“I can give you at least ten reasons you should give me your number. Number one, I enjoyed this a lot and I can do better if you give me time, number two—”

“Woo, you literally just fucked me with clown makeup on. I think we’re past you giving me reasons to sleep with you,” you sit up as well, taking his face in your hands again and leaning in to kiss his cheek soundly “Give me your phone.” 

He gets off the bed and looks around the room for the trash can. It’s a tiny one, sitting on top of a desk and you really, really start to feel bad for the girls who are going to have to sleep off their drunken night in this room. You’re surprised that no one knocked on the door but, on party eastern time, it’s still kind of early. 

Two thirty am reads the clock on Wooyoung’s phone when he hands it to you, unblocked. There’s messages flowing in and you try your best to not read them as you enter your number and name into his contacts but you do notice they’re from a group chat. 

You wonder if his friend group is big, if he’s close to all of them, what kind of friend he is. You’re impatient, you want to get to know him all of the sudden and you know it’s dangerous for expectations to grow after a hookup but, as you hand him his phone back, you can’t help but let out a “Woo, do you just want to fuck me or do you want to be my friend too? Something more?” 

He’s reading the messages on the group chat with a frown when your questions register in his brain and he looks up, a curious expression and a tiny smile “You’re very direct, aren’t you?” 

“I hate wondering and mysteries,” you shrug, “I don’t want to expect the wrong thing.”

“Fair,” he nods. “I’m more of a… Just wait and see what happens kind of guy, but if you want an honest answer I just don’t really know. I want to see you again, though.” 

“I want to see you again, too,” You murmur back and he smiles, leaning in a fraction to try and kiss you again but then there’s a thud against the door and a soft ouch coming from behind it that interrupts you “We should really get out of here.” 

It takes a millisecond for him to misinterpret what you meant, smirk growing on his lips when you shake your head disapprovingly and blushing while you pick your panties from the ground and get up to slip them on. 

“Not what I meant!” 

“I mean,” he starts to dress himself as well, “I wouldn’t mind.” 

“No,” you say but you don’t sound so sure of it yourself and it makes him smile even wider, so you roll your eyes. “Where are my…”

“Here.” He hands you the tights and you thank him, almost falling while trying to put them on fast the next second. He laughs at you “Just sit down, babe.” 

“Don’t laugh!” 

“I’m literally not!” 

You tease each other as you get in costume again. This time the fabric bothers you a little but only because you’re sticky and sweaty even if it’s the last day of october. 

Fully clothed, you walk to the door and you suddenly feel very shy and nervous at what can await you behind it. Wooyoung seems to see it on your face, so he steps in your space and kisses your lips sweetly, holding your waist respectfully like he didn’t just make you come less than ten minutes ago. 

“I’m so glad I met you,” he whispers against you and you melt even if you don’t want to. He doesn’t specify why and you don’t ask, but he does smile when you peck his lips one last time before stepping away “Do you want to step out together or do you want to go first, should I go first? We can meet downstairs,” he clarifies before you can think the worst and you giggle “We can leave together too, if you want.” 

You know he means the party. 

But his phone vibrates again, insistently shaking in his pocket and you rest your head against the door softly ���I feel like you have people that need you right now.” 

He takes the phone out of his pocket. The screen reads “yuri”, with a series of heart emojis and a middle finger emoji at the end and his expressions turn worrisome immediately. 

“Shit, no, you’re right, um…” 

Stepping away from the door, you grab the knob and open it for him “Do your thing, Woo.” 

You think you know exactly who's calling him. 

Like you already knew, sleeping with Wooyoung didn't fix yours problems at all: 

It hurts that she's been chosen over you again, but you keep the soft smile on your lips either way. 

“I'll text you. I'll call you, I—” he leans into you again, stealing a hard, parting kiss that you probably are going to think about until he keeps his promise “Hey, everything alright?” You faintly hear when he picks up the call. 

When he leaves the room and closes the door behind him, you sag against the wood of it and let yourself meet the cold floor to try and plan out how you're getting out of there and how long it would take you to walk to your dorm room at this time. 

But then your phone digs in your hand, screen lighting up the dark room and your face. 

+82-8-918-2910: my friend got sick bc she drank too much. wish i could take you to your dorm. text me when you get there, yeah? x 

It makes you smile. Despite it all, it makes you smile really hard. 

+82-8-918-2910: it's wooyoung btw ;)  +82-8-918-2910: send me pic of how you save meeeee  +82-8-918-2910: okay my friend is puking in the pool and her date it's fucking useless i have to go text me back pls!! xx 

When you catch yourself re-reading the texts on your home screen and grinning, this time like a complete fucking idiot, you know you'll have to start thinking of another recipe to mend yet another broken heart. 

That's fine. At least you're not thinking about Superman anymore. 

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, don't be afraid to go to my inbox and leave your thoughts there, i love reading them!

© jensthwa, 2024.

[phossiii]

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter eight

synopsis: as you five break into the castle grounds, more banter ensues between you and phosphorus. and mahalat has a little change of heart.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, mahalat is better

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS HAS TAKEN SO LONG. i've gone through a lot with my family this past month but your patience was very much appreciated

"Oh, Jesus," Nina winced, expression twisting into one of disgust as she stepped over the mangled remains of the security guard. "What did he ever do to you?"

With a sly grin, Phosphorus nudged you, nodding to the poor bastard on the floor.

"You gettin' the munchies?"

"Fuck you."

"C'mon! Not even a little nibble?" he chuckled, gaze flicking down to your mouth, watching your lips purse with your familiar scowl. "No sense in lettin' those nice razors go to waste."

"I'm about to waste 'em on your neck in a minute," you scoffed, brows furrowing from your spot leaning against the wall.

"Don't threaten me with a good time."

With a sigh, you rolled your eyes, opting to ignoring him and his antics.

"You saw the hat, right?" the Bride pressed forward, approaching the security cameras.

"Why are we doing this again?" Nina groaned, tightly hugging herself.

"You know why."

"But what if we're wrong? What if we're killing all of these people... what if we kill the princess... for no reason?"

"Then... c'est la vie?" Phosphorus shrugged, picking up a half-way decent cigar from an ashtray and using his power to set it alight. "There are billions of humans in the world. Who will notice a few less? Right, Weas?"

Everyone turned to the Weasel, who simply sat there with a dead-eyed stare.

"See? He doesn't care."

"He doesn't even know what you're saying!"

"Nina, Waller believes the princess is gonna bring about the end of the world as we know it. She believes her source is credible," the Bride chimed, brows furrowed as she turned her gaze from the monitors. "Isn't any risk worth stopping that?"

"I don't know... I guess. What are you doing?"

"Trying to find a path into the castle that isn't swimming with guards."

"These are the feeds from the past few days," Phosphorus chimed, practiced hands typing away on the keyboard. "Maybe they'll show us another way in... What the hell is that?"

Pulling yourself off the wall, you joined the others as they peered over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a familiar monster walking next to the princess.

'Clayface...'

The woman-hating, sex-obsessed mud man, who was one of Batman's more tenured foes.

You didn't know him personally; but you weren't a true Gothamite if you didn't make a point to study and memorize the calling cards of all the big-name villains.

You saw a bunch of question marks on the walls when you entered your apartment? Run away.

You saw a bunch of plants growing in the middle of the city? Run away.

You saw anything even remotely resembling a clown and/or uncontrollable laughter? Run away.

It all became routine—like covering your car with a tarp or triple-dead-bolting your door.

"Seems like we're not the princess' only monstrous visitors..." Nina noted.

"My love!" a random, huge man exclaimed from the window, his face stitched-up and greenish just like the Bride's. "The princess—!"

Without hesitation, she shot him four times in the chest, sending him falling down the tower with a painful yell.

"Paramour of yours?" Phosphorus chimed, poorly.

"Oh, can it, Ghost Rider."

"We gotta go before guards start swarmin' this place," you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. "I'd be surprised if someone didn't hear all that."

"Let's head to the wall at the back of the garden. That seems to be the least protected."

Rushing out the window, the Bride, Nina, and Weasel leapt, leaving you and Phosphorus behind in the tower.

"Ladies first," he insisted, mockingly, motioning for you to move past.

But, instead, you took a harsh step forward, shoving him out the window with a grin.

He let out a loud yelp, landing on the grass below with a harsh thunk.

"Fucking shit!" he cursed, harshly. "That was my goddamn rib!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, princess," you teased, an amused smirk stretching across your lips as you sat on the ledge.

"Fuck off!"

The Bride whipped around, turning to you both with an annoyed expression as Phosphorus pulled himself off the ground, you landing right next to him.

"So help me God, I will put a bullet through both your skulls if you don't shut the fuck up."

Weasel whimpered as the five you sat in the bushes, the princess having just emerged from her castle, now standing on a diving ledge in nothing but her bathing suit.

"No!" Nina whisper-yelled as he leaped forward, quickly tackling him down to the ground before he could call the attention of the guards.

"What's he doing?" the Bride asked, confused.

"He's excited to see her. Remember, she played fetch with him for, like, hours," Nina reminded.

"Fuck me," you groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Should we put him down?" Phosphorus asked, plainly.

"No!" all three of you denied in unison.

"Geez! Calm down. Just brainstorming," he threw his hands up, defensively.

"Yeah, you need a brain for that," you scoffed, rolling your eyes.

"The hell's got your panties in a twist today?"

"I'm not exactly gung-ho for killing a defenseless young woman. Y'know? Like a normal fucking person?"

"I wouldn't exactly call all of this defenseless..."

"Between the five of us, we could easily take out every one of these guards and you know it."

"Since when do you have a bleeding heart? You were all for taking a bite out of the witch."

"Since now, asshole. And that was against my will."

"The skeleton is right, (y/n)," Mahalat chimed from within your mind. "I grow hungry."

"Don't you start your shit," you spat, sharply.

"Shh. Be good, Weasel," Nina attempted to sooth, cooing to and petting the poor thing as he whimpered and whined for Ilana. "Be good."

Worried, her gaze flicked up to the Bride.

"How the heck are we going to get to the princess with all these guards?"

Suddenly, it all clicked, the three of you turning to the girl with a knowing look.

"What?"

"It needs to be you, Nina," the Bride stated.

"Me?!"

"Yes, you... you need to kill the princess."

"I need to kill the princess?!"

"The only way to get to her is under the water," the Bride pointed, Nina turned to watch Ilana front crawl across the lake.

"No fucking way. Uh-uh."

Weasel began to whimper louder, the sound starting to annoy Phosphorus.

"Fruit fruit, Sit! Shut up!" he harshly whispered, holding up his hand as a threat before joining in on the conversation. "The Bride is right. Wait until she dips under. Then do it."

"Do what?"

"Stab her," the Bride asnwered.

"Stab her?!"

"Yep. Then come straight back, and we'll go out the way we came."

"No, no. I don't know how to kill someone."

Smoothly, the Bride pulled a large dagger from her holster, demonstrating.

"You shove the blade into her belly and twist," she stated, handing it off. "The water is yours. Home field advantage. She won't even see you coming."

"Bride, I don't—"

"You heard Waller! Killing her is the only way to save the world," Phosphorus stated.

"At the end of the day, Nina, that's just another human out there in the pond," the Bride continued. "But you're a monster like us."

"You said I wasn't a monster."

"I was lying 'cause I'm a bitch," she shrugged, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder with a grin. "You're the biggest freak of us all."

"Not bigger than you," you whispered to Phosphorus, whose mouth stretched in an indiscernible grin.

"I love it when you talk dirty, sugar tits," he quietly cooed, resting his hand on your inner thigh, dangerously close to your core.

"Pervert," you spat, slapping it away.

He let out a quiet chuckle, before focusing on the matter at hand, turning to Nina.

"I know you can do it, kid."

Nodding, Nina's expression hardened, his vote of confidence pushing her to leave the bushes, discreetly sliding into the water.

Everyone paused for a moment, watching her go, before Phosphorus pipped up with yet another comment.

"Did I sound like I gave a shit?"

You pinched his arm, sending him a sharp glare.

"Asshole..."

"(y/n)."

In an instant, you were pulled into the recesses of your mind, your consciousness leaving the world behind as you were suddenly presented in front of an iron throne.

This had never happened before...

'Oh, shit.'

Before you sat Mahalat, in her true, physical form, her cheek smushing against her fist as her elbow propped up on the armrest.

No longer was she just a menacing voice.

No longer was she a figure in your nightmares.

No longer was she the spirit with your face and body.

But now... her own person.

She looked relatively young, about in her early-thirties to forties, though you knew she was far, far older.

Her skin was red, just like yours, with horns and a tail all the same, but even her features were somewhat similar to yours in a way.

If you were being honest, she looked like she could've been your older sister.

"Y'know what?" you scoffed, annoyed. "It's about time you and I have a little chat... I've had enough of this possession bit."

Amused, her brow cocked, silently telling you to continue.

"I've come to terms with the cards I've been dealt with. I was born a demon, and I was born possessed. There's nothing I can do about that," you started, firmly, keeping strong eye-contact with the demon. "And if I'm being honest... I have no problem with you living in my body."

You stopped quickly, gaze turning sharp.

"But if this is for the real long run, then we've gotta have some ground rules... For instance, you cannot just go around eating anybody that you want."

"I cannot?" her brow raised further, an annoyed expression sliding onto her face.

"No, you cannot," you sighed, incredulously, pinching the bridge of your nose. "Alright, we need to back it up a bit. There are good people in this world, alright? Like Batman... and then there are bad people. And I know you've been around here long enough to tell the difference."

She huffed out her nose, turning away.

The accusation was true... but she never thought you knew that.

"The deal is you will only ever be allowed to touch, harm, hurt, or possibly eat very, very bad people. But never, ever good people. Alright?"

"...Fine."

"Oh, come on, you—! Wait... fine?" you realized halfway through your rebuttal.

"Yes," she grumbled, reluctantly. "With this Task Force M, they allow us freedom. They do not pump us full of poisons to keep us docile. Here, I am free... enough, I suppose."

You raised a brow, suspicious, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Why the sudden change of heart? Yesterday, you were perfectly fine with cremating an entire battalion of men—"

"That was before I gave our predicament some thought," she cut you off, sharply.

You clammed up, taken aback by her sudden sharpness.

"Because of me, the healers of Arkham have labeled you as psychotic, yes? If they continue to do so we will not be allowed back out again."

Standing from her throne, she flew down to you, holding out her hand to shake.

"These rules guarantee that my hunger will be sated, and your freedom granted. So until we are able to break free from the shackles of this... Amanda Waller, I will abide by them."

Pausing a moment, you glanced at her hand.

While you were naturally suspicious of her compliance, you knew it was better not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

If she insisted, who were you to deny?

"Then it's a deal."

The moment you touched her hand, you were yanked back to reality.

But when you awoke... you were met with utter chaos.

[ohmystaxk]

For there is beauty | Chapter One: What is science, if not risks?

[MASTERLIST] | [NEXT]

Tags/Warnings: Time Travel, Jayce is a Sweetheart, Jayce and Reader are childhood friends, Idiots in Love, Reader has a backstory, Undercity!Reader, Cait is Jayce and Reader's little sister, Protective Jayce, Jayce's Love Language is Physical Touch, Mutual Pining, Viktor-centric, Sassy Viktor, Viktor Needs a Hug, Viktor has a crush on Reader, Accidental Fake Dating, Miscommunication, Slow Burn Jayce/Reader/Viktor, Eventual Jayce/Viktor, Reader is greedy, Smut, Slow Romance, Romance, Canon Related, Possible AU timelines, Fluff, Angst, Reader has parents, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Not Beta Read

Summary: Life was simple. You woke up each morning, and walked the streets of Piltover with Jayce by your side, joking and laughing while Cait could only roll her eyes at the two of you. You worked hard on your research and studied double as much at the Academy to prove your worth. Each day was the same, but that was until you crossed paths with Professor Heimerdinger's assistant at the library one day. His name escaped you, but that never stopped your curiosity for the man. Viktor, he said his name was. And you left the library with that, not expecting to cross paths with him again.

It was then the nightmares began, dreadful glimpses of a world you wish to never exist. A world empty of life, happiness, and freedom. But they were only that, nightmares, nothing more. So why did they feel so vivid? So real, and tangible?

N/A: hello everyone! just like everyone else, I folded and started writing for arcane. I have only watched the show, so my knowledge is ONLY from it! english is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes you might encounter along the way.

I currently have 3 chapters written for the fic and I cannot wait to show them to all of you!

I have created playlists that I encourage you to listen to while reading (spotify, yt music and apple music) this fic!

spotify yt music apple music

I will also be uploading this to my ao3: @ohmystaxk

Track List: 1.Breakfast with Lou 2.Bewitched 3.Cinnamon Girl

The warmth was the first thing you noticed, something almost comforting. You let out a breath you were not aware you were holding in the first place. The blood in your body rose to your head as something touched your forehead; that same warmth now replaced your blood, running down every vein, clinging to each cell. It was becoming one with you.

“We were always one .” A voice, distorted and unfamiliar, spoke.

Your heart is empty of blood, only pumping warmth. Your chest is heavy, your lungs chasing for that last bit of air.

“Do not be afraid.” The touch on your forehead shifted to your cheek. “I am right here with you.”

You wanted to open your eyes, look around, and find where that voice originated. You tried to turn your head around, but the touch on your cheek moved to your chin, holding your face in place. Even when the touch was demanding, you did not feel threatened.

“Soon, you will see. ” The voice was different, almost that of a woman. “Truly see what has been hiding underneath. It is time for you to go back. ”

Your body suddenly regained its bearings, jolting you awake as you gasped. The morning light blinded you, forcing your eyes to close once again. Your heart beating worryingly fast, your head felt heavy, and your body tingled. The sound of faraway voices made your head snap towards it, your brows furrowed as footsteps crept closer your way. Then a knock came from the door of your bedroom.

“Are you awake? Did you stay up too late again?”

When you recognized the voice, you pushed the comforter away and stood up from your bed. Your head spun, and your vision went blurry. Suddenly, your knees hit the floor.

Your door flew open.

“Hey, what's wrong?” A pair of hands touched you, one on your back and the other on your forearm. “What happened?”

You grabbed your head with one hand, frowning from the buzzing feeling.

“I don’t think I’m feeling too good right now, Jayce.” Looking up to meet his eyes, you only saw worry in them.

“Yeah, no kidding.” He scoffed awkwardly.

He moved his hand on your arm towards your elbow while the other took your waist.

With some effort, he helped you stand up, walking you back to your bed.

“How did you get in?” You asked once you sat back down at the edge of the mattress.

“I remembered where you keep the spare key.” Jayce stood in front of you, his eyes looking around your room.

“Is everything alright?” You heard a voice coming from somewhere in your apartment.

“Did you bring Cait here with you?” You asked the man with a whisper, eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Yeah, she wanted to come over to the workshop again.” Jayce crouched, amber eyes taking in your features. “Cait!” He called out to the girl.

“Yes?” She answered quickly, a bit of a tremble in her voice.

“Could you bring me a glass of water, please?”

“Oh...Yes!” You then hear the girl walk to what you knew to be your kitchen.

“Hey.” You looked back at Jayce, not realizing you had started to space out. “What are you feeling? Do you need us to take you to a clinic?”

“No-. Just…I’m just a bit dizzy, that’s all.”

Caitlyn entered the room, glass of water in hand as she eyed you. It was a similar look to the one Jayce was giving you.

“Thanks, Cait.” Jayce looked over his shoulder, and the girl walked over and handed him the glass.

“Are you alright?” She hugged herself, head tilted to the side.

“I will be, just a minute.” You sighed, bringing your hand to your temple.

“Here.” Jayce gently handed you the glass, keeping his hand on yours. “I still think we should take you to a clinic.”

“You look pale.” Cait pointed out, leaning against the small dresser in your room.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you finally took the glass and drank from it.

“Did you feel like this last night?” Jayce held the glass for you once you finished the water.

“No. I felt fine. I think…” Your mind wonders about your strange dream, and how it made you feel.

“What is it?” Jayce leaned closer, tilting his head to catch your gaze.

“I had a strange dream. It startled me. I felt just like I did now; I was dreading something.”

“What was it?” Cait asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

“I don’t know, my eyes were closed the entire time. I just heard a voice.”

Jayce frowned. He placed a gentle hand on your knee before he stood up.

“I think I will take Cait back to her house. I’ll come back with something for you to eat-.”

“No, I’m already feeling better, Jayce.” You stood up, your legs giving you the support you needed.

“You don’t have to exert yourself.”

“I’m not.” You looked at the man with a smile. “Besides, Cait and I know you will barely get things done if I’m not there to help.”

You gave his arm a quick squeeze. Then you walked towards your closet, opened it, and heard Jayce take a few steps.

“We can work on it once you feel better.”

“I feel better, Jayce.” You looked over your shoulder. The man sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to change and then we can head out.”

“Just-...Yell if you need anything.” He stepped back, then turned around, heading to the door. “Come on, Cait.”

The two of them walked out of the room, closing the door behind them.

You let out a heavy sigh, your hands going to your face. It was true that you were not feeling great, but you were feeling better than before. You stayed up late the night before, reviewing notes from Jayce's project, while also studying for your research paper. You had also forgotten to eat anything, perhaps that had affected you now.

Walking through the streets of Piltover alongside Jayce and Cait had become a bit of a routine for the three of you. Since Counsellor Kiramman had acquired the lab for Jayce, Caitlyn had started tagging along. Especially after she heard about your and Jayce’s projects. Cait was curious, always wanting to help the two of you with whatever was necessary. 

She seemed to enjoy watching you correct Jayce’s work, or talk to her about engineering and the theories for your research paper. It was funny really; two people in their twenties hanging out with a teenager, who they saw like a little sister. The truth was, Caitlyn, reminded you a lot of Jayce all those years ago. 

You opened the front door of your home, sunset had started to set by the time you arrived. You took off your bag and let it fall by the entrance, voices came from the kitchen, and you looked up to find your mother seated on the dining table, a woman across from her as the two laughed. Your mother’s gaze fell on you, a bright smile on her face as she widened her eyes.

“There you are! How was school, baby?” She stood up and gently placed the mug she had in hand on the table. “Come here, I want you to meet someone.”

You slowly approached the table, the other woman turned on her chair, and she smiled once she saw you. Her hair was a dark brown, almost black. Her eyes were light brown and she had a pretty mole next to her right eye.

“Oh, isn’t she adorable?” The woman said. Your mother met you halfway, placing a hand on your shoulder and the other between your shoulder blades, nudging you towards her.

“Say hi, baby.” Your mother brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hello,” Your voice was small, just above a whisper. You played with your hands.

“Hello, your mother was just telling me about you. I’m Ximena, a friend.” She extended her hand to you, and with a trembling hand, you took it. “Oh, you are a bit shy. Please don’t be.”

“Ximena is a friend of your dad and me. She has a son your age, and we wanted the two of you to get to know each other.” Your mother explained with a smile. “Now, take a sit while I serve you dinner, you must be hungry by now.”

Your mother gently directed you towards the table, you took a seat and watched Ximena as she adjusted herself on her chair.

“Oh yes, my boy should be here any minute now. I believe the two of you go to the same school, but he is a year older than you, sweetheart.” At that you frowned, wondering who her son was out of all the boys in your school.

“Okay.” That was the only thing you could reply with. Under the table you kept playing with your hands, your nails picking at the skin.

“You didn’t tell me how school was? Did the professor grade the painting yet?” Your mother asked, your nails dug deeper into the flesh.

“I-it was okay. She liked it.”

“I’m glad she did! I told Ximena how hard you have been working on the art project.” You bit your lip, your vision blurring as you picked even more at the skin.

A knock came from the front door. Ximena stood up from her chair, fixing her skirt as she walked to the door.

“Must be my boy.” She said, you did not look up, your eyes focused on the markings on the table.

The door opened, and you tuned out the voices, your lips quivering as your vision became blurry. Your heart was heavy on your chest, and the next thing you knew, you heard your mother call your name.

In front of you was a boy, and his honey eyes were so bright and shiny. He smiled at you, a tooth gap on his front teeth. But his smile failed him, his brows furrowing as he looked at you.

“Sweetheart,” It was Ximena who spoke. “Are you alright?” You could hear the worry in her voice as you quickly stood up and ran to your room.

You shut the door behind you, falling face-first on the mattress as you started sobbing into the pillow. The door opened and you felt the weight shift the mattress someone sat down next to you.“What’s wrong?” Your mother brushed your hair away from your face. “Did something happen?”

You shook your head, sobbing even more. Your mother ran her fingers through your hair, traveling down to soothe your back.

“You know you can tell me anything, baby.”

“T-they they ri-pped the paint-ing.” You struggled in between sobs. Your mother immediately pulled you closer to her, hugging you tightly.

“Who did?” Your mother spoke at the top of your head.

“T-hey said I w-was an Under-city r-rat.” You cried even harder into the crook of your mother’s neck.

After your mother calmed you down and assured you the kids were wrong, she left you in your room to get you food. You lay in your bed, curled up as you traced the patterns on the wall.

“Did you paint those?” You quickly sat up on your bed, your head snapping to the door, standing there was Ximena’s son. His gaze was on one of the paintings on one of the walls of your room.

“M-my mom and me.” You replied, and your voice came out hoarse and small.

“And this one?” He pointed at another one, you now were by the edge of the bed, your legs barely touching the floor.

“Me.” When you said that, he turned to face you. Your face was puffed up, your eyes red from crying.

“I like it.” He said, and the boy walked up to you, he sat down on the bed next to you. “My name is Jayce.” You told him your name, and he smiled at you. “You have a pretty name.”

It was later you two shared your curiosity for science and inventions. You two finally found things in common; Magic, science, art, and literature. It was those moments that had led to your friendship of twelve years .

“Like I said, I was reviewing my notes.” You rolled your eyes. Jayce walked right beside you, your shoulders brushing.

“And are you sure to went straight to bed?” He leaned down a bit, wanting to see your face as you held the strap of your bag tightly. “Did you eat anything?”

“Well-.”

“I knew it!” He snapped his fingers, pointing forward as you tilted your head away with a sigh, closing your eyes. “I told you we could stop by and get some dinner.”

“I wasn’t hungry…” You looked at him.

Jayce’s hair was neatly styled. You could smell his aftershave as he leaned over, his arm reaching your right shoulder, pulling you closer to him.

“Aren’t you the one always reminding me to eat? Especially when I don’t want to.”

“You do always remind him.” Cait shimmed in. When you look to your right to narrow your eyes at her, she simply shrugs.

“Thanks, Cait.” Jayce now wrapped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you even closer. “Which is why we are grabbing a bite before we head to the studio.” You threw your head back.

“I need to stop by the library first.” You glanced up at Jayce, his amber eyes narrowing. “Just remembered that I need to get some books.”

“Right now?” He asked with a pointed look.

“Might as well, the library is right across.” You pointed with your eyes at the massive building across the street.

Jayce slowed down his steps, making you slow down as well.

“Your research paper?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You gave his chest a quick pat and pulled back a bit, his arm sliding over your back before he too pulled away. “I still need to finish the draft before I can start working on the actual paper.”

You adjusted the weight of your bag.

“Think you feel better to head on your own?” Jayce scratched his head, eying you as you laughed.

“Don’t worry, if I need a big strong man to help me, I’m sure I can find one there.” You slapped his arm with the back of your hand. Jayce rolled his eyes, scoffing at the comment. “I won’t stay long, how about you start heading over and grab me something to eat? I’ll see you two in a few.”

“You want the same thing from yesterday?” He asked as you were already starting to walk away.

“Sure, sounds good. Cait, keep an eye on this one, don’t let him wander off with strange women.” You smiled at the girl, and Cait simply laughed with a nod.

“I-. I don’t wander off!” He called out once you started crossing the street.

“Didn’t hear you deny the last part though!” You laughed as you ran, holding your bag tightly.

The Piltover library was massive, with three floors and an impressive collection, even containing two extra lower levels for more restricted books and archives. You immediately went to the second floor, walking past tall bookshelves. The sunlight was casting different colors due to the stained glass from the windows. Then you took a turn, finding the section you were looking for. You stopped when you saw that someone was standing at the other end. He had brown hair and a strong nose, his focus deep in a book. The man leaned on a cane, the light filtering from the stained glass casting a yellow glow on him.

With a thud, he closed the book he was reading. He placed the book back on the shelf, his eyes looking at the spines. You recognized him as Professor Heimerdinger's apprentice; his name escaped you. 

You fixed your bag, and you focused on the book titles closest to you, trying to see if you could find what you were looking for. But with every two books you looked at, your eyes could not help but glance towards him.

You had always seen him around the academy, always on his own. Whenever you saw him, he would be reading a book or writing something down in his notebook. You had asked about him out of curiosity a good number of times to other students, they also seemed to barely know anything about him. Then there were a couple that mentioned how his mysteriousness was rather, attractive. But the only thing that everyone seemed to agree on was that he was… gifted . He had to be if he had caught the attention of the Dean.

Without knowing, you were already standing shoulder to shoulder next to him. You accidentally bumped into him.

“I’m sorry!” You immediately uttered, your eyebrows shooting up and your face burning hot. “I was distracted.”

He already had another book in hand. He looked your way, seemingly also surprised. His eyes scanned you, falling on your eyes before he spoke.

“No need to worry.” He said with an accent you didn’t quite recognize, it sounded nice. “I didn’t see you.” It suits him.

The man took a step to the side to create some distance between the two of you.

“Sorry.” You said more quietly, your eyes glancing back and forth between him and the shelves.

As you tried your best to compose yourself, your eyes caught sight of a book you were looking for. You looked at him, making sure you were not in his way, and reached for it.

“Excuse me, going to grab this.” You called out. 

You needed to finish the research paper, three months had gone by so fast that trying to meet the deadline felt almost impossible.

Once you picked it up, you noticed a few more and quickly grabbed them. You stepped back with your stack of books and turned around, heading back to the main hall. 

That was until you heard his cane and feet shift.

“Those are about Astrophysics.” The man suddenly spoke again. Your eyes widened as you stood in place. “Is it curiosity or for research?”

 You looked over your shoulder, your eyes meeting with his bright amber eyes; they were similar to Jayce’s, but perhaps they were a bit lighter.

“B-both.” You were caught off guard. After many years and countless times of seeing him around the Academy; this was the first time you had interacted with him.

“Um.” He gave a quick nod. His eyes shifted towards your books before meeting your gaze once more.

“It’s research. For my final.” You fixed your posture, your body turning to face his.

“I have…seen you before, in the academy.” He stated, shifting his weight on the cane more comfortably.

“Yes, I’m part of the Engineering department.” You put the weight of the books on your hip. “Or I was. I was part of Professor Heimendinger’s lecture last summer.”

“Oh.” He’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “I remember now. You sat close to the middle row.”

You remembered when you and Jayce had arrived at the lecture for the first time. How excited he was, talking your ear off as the two of you sat down. You remembered how dark the auditorium always was, except for the chalkboard and the podium the Professor stood. It became a habit to always sit in the same spot, not out of preference, but it just did. Sometimes whenever someone decided to take those two spots, you and Jayce would jokingly say things like ‘ The audacity. ’ or ‘ We should start carving our names on the desk at this point. ’

It was then you remember seeing the assistant in the corner of the room many times, almost like he was hiding in the shadows. You would meet his eyes on occasion, even in the dark you were always impressed by how bright his eyes seemed to shine.

“Yes.” You let out a chuckle. Your eyebrows furrowing. How did he remember that? “And you are the Professor’s assistant.”

His eyes fell on your hips, taking note of your posture. “I am, yes.”

“How did you get the offer?” You fixed the hold on the books. “That’s a very big opportunity.”

“My charms I believe.” He shrugged. You smiled as you let out a laugh.

“Oh yes, those are very important.” You took a step forward. “Every inventor needs them.”

“Not everyone has those.” He grinned as he placed back the book he was holding on the shelf.

“Do I?” You played along.

He stopped his hand, his fingertips brushing the spine of the book. He raised an eyebrow, amber eyes staring at yours with curiosity.

“Um.” He eyed you. “What is it that intrigues you the most? Astrophysics or Engineering?”

You scoffed and rolled your eyes. What a charmer , you thought.

“Why not both?” You tilted your head to the side with a grin.

He nodded with a smile. You noticed the moles adorning his cheek and upper lip.

“Well, what is it about Astrophysics that made you want to pursue it?”

“The many unanswered questions space holds from us; about gravity, the sun, and the moon. But I didn’t get into Astrophysics for that only. I am searching for something more, something out there in the universe.”

“Which is?” He took a step forward.

“Magic.” You answered breathlessly. “Time, space, the possibility of actions and consequences. What other possibilities those could have led to.”

“Time travel.” He answered, his eyes widen a fraction.

“Multiple timelines possibly coexisting within the same plane. I believe the Arcane is capable of that.”

He looked at you, his eyes shifting between yours and the books still resting on your hip.

“The Arcane is wild magic…not something science could master.”

“You’re right, but I believe science could help us understand magic.” You started talking with your hand. “I’m not thinking of bending the Arcane to science’s will. But I wish to find an understanding.”

The two of you stood there in silence. The noise of people speaking and walking around soothing your nerves. It had been your dream that had connected you with Jayce, the mutual understanding of what magic could do and the wonders it held.

“Those types of ideas could get you expelled from the Academy.” If he had spoken those words with a serious tone, it would have scared you. Instead, he still held curiosity in his eyes. “But what is science, if not risks?”

You let out a breath you did not know you were holding in. You frowned.

“Are you going to tell the Professor?” You watched him soften his eyes.

“I’m his assistant, not his whisperer.” He grinned and you could not help but let out a nervous laugh.

“I have to go…” You held his gaze. “It was nice to finally talk to you.”

“Likewise.” He smiled at you. You felt your cheeks suddenly heat up. “You have a great mind.”

“Thank you…” You were going to say his name when you realized you could not remember it. 

“Vik tor .” You felt a sudden touch in the back of your head. Your eyes narrowed for a second, you could’ve sworn you heard his voice change. “You can call me Viktor.”

“T-Thank you, Viktor.” You gave him your name, taking a step back as you slowly started retreating. “I will go now.”

You turned around and started heading to the hall. Your heart started beating fast once more. Perhaps, you were still having side effects. Or the Academy was making you begin to lose your mind.

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[talesofesther]

what once was mine | ch 1

Loki x Reader

Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.

A/N: A long overdue mini-series for one of my favorite characters of all time. I had this idea when season one of Loki first came out, but never got to writing it, and now with season two coming, I decided to finally do it. There are two important things that need to be said before we head into it though; firstly and most importantly, I will not be following the show's plot at all, this story will only be focusing on the relationship between Loki and the reader, after all that's what it is about and I don't want it to be unnecessarily huge; secondly, this story will be mostly told in moments, which means that not every single scene happening between the characters will be written down in length. Lastly, I do hope you can all enjoy it. <3

Masterlist

Things felt worthless. Everything suddenly seemed unimportant. His whole life, everything he knew, felt small and frail. Because here, infinity stones were mere paperweights.

Loki scoffed as he pushed himself up from the floor, one hand coming up to tug at the collar still wrapped around his neck. This place made him feel as if his brain was melting, it was all too much, too sudden—sacred timeline, variants. A sense of utter helplessness started to weigh heavily in the pit of his stomach.

Yet he couldn't hold himself back from sitting at the single table in the middle of the dim-lit room. The checkered image of the Avengers right in front of him seemed to be taunting him.

This was still the same day, right?

Or maybe not, Loki wasn't certain anymore; it sure didn't feel like the same day.

For a split second, as he looked down at the red, round device resting on top of the table, he thought about how everything here looked so old-fashioned. It was almost ironic, for a place out of time.

Loki couldn't help himself. His curiosity got the best of him eventually. But if anyone had their whole life just a click away, they'd probably do the same.

So he watched, through glimpses passing on a screen, a life that was supposed to be his. He watched his mother die, and then his father; he watched as Thor called him a brother with a smile on his face again, and as they made earth a new home for Asgard. Loki's eyes were already a pool of tears as soon as his mother's lifeless body had appeared in front of him, they cascaded down his cheeks freely, leaving behind a damp path of a lifetime worth of mourning, now seen in less than a minute. The loss somehow felt greater, because now he wouldn't even have those moments to begin with.

But suddenly, amidst the moments of suffering and mistakes, an unfamiliar face appeared. She had a smile on her face most of the time, and even through the static of the image in front of him, Loki could clearly see the glint in her pupils, the crinkle beside her eyes. She was quite captivating, maybe that's why it took him a second to realize she was smiling at him.

A frown etched itself in Loki's eyebrows, he leaned forward on his chair as he pressed play again. Curiosity and... apprehension twirled wildly inside his stomach.

The moments with her were endless. Walks on the beach, shared ice creams, quiet nights watching a movie, dancing together in a dark kitchen, the golden rays of a sunset shining against her hair in a memory tucked away like a treasure; and even a moment of her talking with Tony Stark and the others, while her hand held tightly onto Loki's, the other Loki, that is. All of them looked futile, a simple existence Loki would never have considered fit for him; so why did these moments feel important?

Inside TVA's lonely room, Loki held his breath until his lungs ached. His heart was threatening to jump out of his chest and his eyes were stinging for a whole new reason. He could feel the shaking of his own hands. That look in her eyes, it was one of love, anyone who saw would know it. But the cause of the sudden lump in Loki's throat was the fact that this look was always directed at him. That love in her eyes, that smile on her lips; was for him.

Several minutes went by with him silently looking at the paused image of her on the checkered screen. A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wasn't sure why yet. If it was for the shock of learning that someone could love him this much; or because of the envy, the longing for something that wasn't even his, not really, he never got there after all.

There was a hole in his chest, a missing piece of something he never had. Loki didn't even know her name, yet a part of him was screaming it anyway.

He eventually moved on, and almost threw up when he watched Thanos take his life from him. Loki watched his brother cry over his lifeless body, yet he wasn't seeing her.

And despite the boatload of information thrown at him, the questions clouding his mind were only; who is she? Where is she?

Lost. Loki felt more lost than he probably ever did in his entire life. He had just watched what was supposed to be the rest of his life, yet... it wouldn't be. So what now?

He sat down on the small stairs of the room, burying his head in his hands.

And then there was this girl; smiling and laughing and holding his hand as if he had been the best thing to ever happen to her. This feeling, warm and heavy, squeezing Loki's heart, was a foreign one—he couldn't quite place why that look of pure adoration in her eyes was directed at him.

He needed to know who she was. He needed to find her and ask her why. He needed to know what she was, or- would be to him.

The sudden sound of the door opening startled Loki, he watched as Mobius walked into the room, his steps overly cautious. "Loki? Nowhere left to run."

Gulping back a sob clawing its way through his throat, Loki took a deep breath. He slowly glanced up, voice calm and defeated as he asked a question he already knew the answer to; "I can't go back, can I?"

Mobius simply looked at him, his eyes holding some kind of sympathy as he spared Loki from hearing the truth out loud.

Loki pursed his lips, his gaze slowly trailed back to the screen on his left that again adorned a paused image of the mysterious girl. Her lips were turned up just slightly, dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she held a slowly melting ice cream in one of her hands. "Who is she?" he asked quietly.

Placing his weapon on the table, Mobius let out a long sigh, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask about her."

The words made Loki snap his head towards him, a frown coming to his eyebrows immediately.

"She..." Mobius hesitated, "she is someone almost as annoying as you."

"That doesn't answer my question." Loki nearly sounded offended. He got up then, taking slow steps towards Mobius. "She seemed... important, yet I don't know who she is."

"I'm afraid you haven't met her yet."

"Then tell me who she is."

Mobius grimaced; "I don't think it's my place to say it."

"That's absurd," Loki scoffed, "it's my life we're talking about here."

"How about we help each other then, hm?" Mobius offered, and when Loki only frowned at him, he continued; "a fugitive Variant has been killing our Minutemen."

Loki narrowed his eyes. "And you need the God of Mischief to help you stop him?"

A small smirk came to Mobius' lips; "That's right. You help us stop him. I get you an opportunity to meet her and you can ask her whatever questions you want to know."

A meeting with someone didn't feel like much for his end of the bargain, but that same voice inside Loki was still screaming a name he didn't know how to spell. He had to know.

"Deal."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Read ch 2 here

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

Loki’s taglist:@milkiane @v1ci0us

[dazai-wastelandbaby]

How does life with Dazai looks like?

The first time you meet he would ask you to have double Suicide with him, and when you ask him if he's okay? questions why he needs to die, distracting his mind to other topics. He'd be struck by how kind you can be to a stranger.

He'd follow you ofcourse, learn everything about your life, and you. The more he learns about you, the more he gets curious about you. How is that you are so kind and strong? Where does this resilience because he has learned all about your life and he will admit it, you've had it rough.

Next, he'd meet you accidentally again. You'll see him and ofcourse you ask him how he is? and he tells you the truth, you listen to him and he is suprised by your ability to not judge, can he trust you?

You become friends easily, you exchange numbers and talk to eachother almost everyday now. When you get off your work, you call him and on the weekends he'll *accidentally* stumble in your path, you slowly start to realize that he does it intentionally and you start slipping where you will be going on weekends to him.

You ask him about his birthday and gets him a bouquet of flowers with a card and cake for him, he keeps that card on his fridge. On your birthday, he gets you the book you always wanted to buy but could never find it anywhere, you hug him out of excitement and he squeeze your waist a little too longer.

When he proposed, You both were sitting in Lupin bar, and yes he has told you about odasaku because you have ways of getting things out of him without even trying. He planned everything out, he knew you'd say yes but why was he still nervous? You laugh when he proposes you and pull out a Polaroid picture of you two together, *will you be my boyfriend, osamu?* Written on the back of it. He teases you for being so desperate but you could see how happy he was. The picture stays in his wallet all the time now.

He introduces you to Atsushi after a while and slowly every single one of thr agency member *accidentally* stumbles into you (they couldn't help but wonder who made the suicide maniac wants to live). You realised after a third man stumbles in a week, claiming to be Dazai's co-worker. How do they know you? Ofcourse, because dazai kept flaunting around the picture of you two, you smile and entertain them. Dazai and you gossip about their behaviour afterwards. "Why does life seems like it's worth living?", Dazai thinks to himself.

When you guys move in together, everything falls into place. He'd pick you from your work, hold your hands and talk about nonsense as you silently listen to him, and ask him follow up questions. You'd both get home, and he cooks, somehow the man knows how to cook, you'd sit on the kitchen slab, and talk about things and he entertains your idea. He keeps a box of walnuts, right next to where you sit because he knows you like to munch on food while you talk, and he rather have you something delicious.

You guys don't fight, if he has a problem, he'd bottle it up but you are starting to learn his ticks and he is starting to learn communication. So instead of throwing stuffs at eachother, you guys cuddle on your sofa, you run your hands through his fingers while he talks about things. You make your point of your point of view and he does of his, in the end, it resolves itself.

except, when it comes to jealousy. You have learned to be careful about it, you know his isolation habits but you can't help it the way you gravitate people towards you. So if he is fucking you two roughly, or being mean to people, it means he's jealous. But not like you're good when it comes to jealousy, dazai is handsome and he has the look of sadness that every women wants to explore, so obviously when a women gets too close to him, you snap. You'd tell her to fuck in the most diplomatic kind way, can't say dazai doesn't love it but he keeps away from women, he hates how you snap at him afterwards.

How does he propose for marriage? Well, funny story, you tell him about how in ancient greek a guy used to propose with an apple and if the girl catches it, it means she accepts it. Guess what happened the next week, you are on a picnic date and he throws an apple towards you and ofcourse you catch it out of reflex. "You're mine now" he smirks at you, and the realisation hits you, but before you could say anything, he slips in a ring in your finger, it's gold band with a blue sapphire diamond. He knows you like blue sapphire, ofcourse he does. Do you cry? Yes. Does he cries? No but he visits oda and place and picture of you and him together on his grave, and when he says, "she stepped in my loneliness, thank you for showing me good side", the tears the slipped out then must have been because of dust.

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: A year has passed since Hannah and Beth's disappearance after the prank and Josh has invited everyone back to the lodge to relive old memories. But when you and Mike take a detour to the cabin, the night spirals into a nightmare beyond anything you imagined. Now, you're thrust into a desperate fight for survival as a vengeful Wendigo prowls the mountain, hungry for flesh and revenge.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Takes place during the events of the game. Mike and Emily/Jess are not together in this. No use of Y/N. Mike and the reader are now together. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex. More plot than porn. Lots of characters deaths, some more explicit but nothing too graphic. Happy ending?

Part 2 of 𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔦𝔡𝔥 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥. The chapters that i focused on are chapter 1-3-4-7-8-10 to anyone interested <3. When you see long spaces it means that we are moving to the next chapter. I hope nothing is too confusing, i tried my best.

Words count: 12000

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

𝔉𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔱𝔢𝔫 𝔱𝔯𝔲𝔱𝔥

𝔅𝔯𝔬𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔰𝔲𝔭𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔱

𝔗𝔴𝔬 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔬𝔤𝔢𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯

𝔍𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔲𝔰𝔶 𝔞𝔱 𝔅𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔴𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔐𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲

The sky is tinged with fading sunlight, casting a warm glow over the snow-covered mountains.

The place is quieter than usual. With just you, Mike and Ashley here so far, it feels almost peaceful.

Josh is nowhere to be seen, likely off searching for a way to enter the lodge, and Mike is beside you, his arm wrapped lazily around your waist as he takes a look at the place.

You're leaning on one of the woody rail nearby, hand playing with the snow there.

"You’re excited to see Chris again?" You asked Ashley quietly, leaning against Mike and feeling a warmth settle in your chest at the sight of her expression.

She looks up from her phone and a slight blush spreads across her cheeks "Well... he's always excited to be here, right? I mean, we're all friends."

"That's why you've checked your phone about a hundred times in the last ten minutes?"

She bites her lip, a flustered laugh escaping her as she glances away. "I was just... you know, checking the time, that's all."

"Of course," you reply, letting your voice carry the full weight of your teasing. "You two would be great together, though. You know that?"

"Thanks," she murmurs, glancing up at you with a look of gratitude before looking down at her phone.

You feel Mike shift beside you, and his hand finds yours, his fingers intertwined with yours in a gentle, familiar way that sends a pleasant warmth up your arm.

He leans in close to your ear and whispers something just for you to hear. "What do you say, handsome?" he murmurs. "Think we could sneak off for a bit? Just you, me, and a cozy little spot out back?" His hand drifts lower behind your back to playfully squeeze your butt. "I know a lot of ways to warm you up. Want to experience them yourself?"

You snort, rolling your eyes as a flush creeps up your cheeks. "I'm not doing that out here in the cold. You'll have to wait."

"You're worth waiting for," he grumbles, flashing that grin again to you.

"I'm going to check if Sam and Chris are here yet," you say, glancing up at him and kissing his lips quickly . "Be back soon."

Mike raises a hand in a lazy wave as he watched you walking away. "I'll be here, waiting patiently... or impatiently, whatever comes first."

You've started to run down the path for fun, the snow crunching beneath your boots. Memories of your year with Mike drift through your mind, one after another. The excitement and nervousness of your first date, that late-night drive to a quiet lookout. The countless messages he'd send daily, even when he was busy, letting you know he was thinking about you or the way he looks at you like you're the only person who matters. The cold seems to fade, replaced by a warmth that fills you from head to toe.

The anniversary of those memories is just around the corner, and the thought of spending it with him brings a grin to your face.

Soon enough, you see two familiar faces behind a closed door. You rushed there in time and pressed the button to open it.

Sam's face lights up as she pulls you into a tight hug. "It's been ages! How's it been?” she says, her voice full of genuine happiness.

You chuckle, patting her shoulder as you step back. "Good! Life's good. And you? How's everything been?"

She shrugs, a wry smile on her face. "Nothing that exciting to know. I hope everything will go well this weekend" her face shifted for a second as she glanced back at the lodge far ahead.

Chris steps forward, his smile wide as he gives you a friendly clap on the shoulder. "Hey, man. Glad you could make it. I saw all the stories and posts Mike put on his socials. Someone gave you a little push in the right direction, eh?"

You nod, feeling a smile spread across your face. "Yeah, we are. He's... well, he's pretty amazing. Guess he hasn’t figured out how weird I am yet. Finger crossed for another year of him tolerating me"

Chris laughed loudly together with you. "Damn, look at that! I knew my matchmaking skills were top-notch." He gestures to himself with a mock bow. Sam stifles a laugh, giving you a knowing smile.

"Oh yeah, because you totally did all the work," she teases, nudging him with her elbow.

You can't help the fondness that fills you as you open your arms and pull both of them into a spontaneous group hug. "Missed my besties," you say, squeezing them both.

Chris groans playfully, though he leans in, and Sam laughs, wrapping her arms around you, warmth flooding through the three of you.

Sam pulls back a little, looking up at you with a thoughtful smile. "So, wanna do some hiking trip this weekend? Or are you too busy with... boyfriend things?"

You laugh, nodding eagerly. "Of course, I'll make time for it. Want to add some climbing as well?" You glance over at Chris, adding with a grin, "I think Ashley's been looking forward to seeing you, too”

Chris freezes, his face paling slightly as he stares at you with wide eyes. "Wait, what did you tell her?"

You raise an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "What do you mean? I just mentioned a few things. Gave her a heads-up that you were excited to see her."

Sam bites back a laugh, watching Chris squirm with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. "Relax, Chris. It's not like she doesn't already know. You're kind of obvious, you know?"

Chris groans, rubbing a hand over his face. "This is going to be a nightmare," he mutters, but there's a small, almost shy smile on his face, like he's secretly looking forward to it.

The three of you head back up toward the lodge, chatting and catching up as you walk, the snow crunching underfoot as the familiar outline of the building comes into view.

You see Mike leaning against the wall. His eyes light up when he sees you and he pushes off the wall, making his way over.

“You made me wait way too long” he teases, slipping an arm around your waist as he pulls you close.

You roll your eyes, though you can't help but smile as he presses a quick kiss to your temple. "Please. You'd have followed me down if I took any longer."

"Damn right I would have," he replies, giving your waist a gentle squeeze. "Can't let my favorite guy get too far out of sight."

All four of you catch up on everything you missed out on each others in this days.

Josh, fighting with the frozen handle, calls Chris over for some help. Chris nods toward him and you went to follow to help and get the chance to talk with Josh after all this time

The decision you made a year ago, involving Hannah, still haunted you. It only grew worse with each passing day after her and Beth’s disappearance. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak with him without the crushing weight of guilt for what had happened to his sisters.

He doesn't look up right away, his shoulders tense, jaw set. For a moment, he's just staring at the door, like he's somewhere far away. Finally, he turns, his face relaxing into a grin.

Chris, concern evident in his voice, asks, "You doing okay?"

Josh nods, though there's a hesitation there, something unspoken. "Yeah. Just past it now, you know? Ready for a weekend with my friends. Let's make it memorable."

Josh then turns to look at you with an unexpected question, almost casually asking, "Let’s say you’re in a life-or-death situation. Who do you save? The person you’ve got a crush on or Chris, your best friend?"

The question catches you off guard. Chris blinks, staring at Josh in confusion while you feel your own stomach twist in discomfort. You laugh it off at first but Josh doesn't drop it, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Answer honestly. It would mean reaffirming the loyalty and depth of your friendship, showing that friendship holds a unique importance to you, separate from romantic affection.

Deflect with humor. Joking about the choice would ease the tension. Chris might laugh it off and Josh's curiosity would go unsatisfied. However it would hint that maybe you're avoiding vulnerability.

Answer honestly

You rest a hand on Chris's shoulder, meeting Josh's gaze with a steady look. "I'd save Chris," you say, your voice calm but sincere. "A crush isn't enough to put a friend's life at risk or, you know, my own life. In that case you would cover me up, right?" You winked at Chris at the last part, hoping to ease the tension that Josh brought. Chris's expression shifts, softening, his eyes reflecting a gratitude that goes unspoken. A flicker of recognition passes through his gaze, something understood as he analyzed your words carefully.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"So that means you'd pick me over Mike?" he teases, his voice light and a grin present on his face.

You laugh, nudging him lightly. "That’s a different story! Especially now that I've been together with him for almost a year. If a psycho for some reason forces me to make a choice between you two, I'll probably just throw myself off a cliff or something"

The snow crunched beneath your feet as you followed Mike, your breaths visible in the chill mountain air. Ahead, the small cabin came into view, a hidden little nook away from the lodge where Mike said he wanted to take you to.

On the way there, you came across a small and old looking building where Mike strode over, walking inside through the missing door. You waited, your curiosity piqued as you heard the sounds of him rummaging around.

A moment later, he reappeared, holding a mask, rusty and all black. He slipped it on, the mask completely covering his face.

"C'mere, gimme a kiss" he teased, his voice muffled behind the mask. He leaned forward, the masked face inching closer, but you recoiled, scrunching your nose in mock disgust.

“Mike, that thing probably had more mouths on it than a barstool"

He pauses, considering your words, then yanks it off, wincing in disgust. "Fair point."

He tosses the mask aside and wrapped his arm around you as you continue walking.

An horrible sound echoed from a distance, followed by a scream of pain from an deer. You soon enough spotted one lying off the path breathing heavily, its body twisted at an unnatural angle. A large gash along its neck. You glance at Mike, who steps forward and tries to think of what to do.

Put an End to Its Suffering. The deer's labored breaths shudder through the cold air. He could end it now, spare the creature further pain, the mercy quick and final.

Comfort the Deer. The creature lies there, its body trembling from pain and fear. He could try to soothe it, offer it a few last moments of peace, a kindness amidst the cruelty of the wilderness.

He takes a slow breath, crouching down, his hand reaching out and he makes his choice.

Put an end to it’s suffering

There's a serious look in his eyes as he kneels beside it, placing a steady hand on the deer to calm it. "You, uh... might want to look away."

But you don't. You watch as he tries to do the humane thing and took a step forward to try and help him out but he moves his hands, trying to get a solid grip and with an unexpected crunch, the wound worsens and the deer's head comes off in his hands.

Mike recoils, eyes wide, dropping the head immediately. "Oh, holy-!" he takes a shaky step back, brushing his hands on his jeans with a horrified expression.

You're just as stunned, your own eyes wide as you take in the surreal sight but something rustles nearby and snatch the deer's body, dragging it off into the woods with surprising speed

“Run!" Mike grabs your hand, the fear and adrenaline sending you both flying back toward the chalet. Snow kicks up in clouds beneath your boots as you sprint, your heart pounding with the thrill and terror of whatever that creature was. The wind cuts cold against your face but you barely feel it as you focus on Mike's hand holding yours pulling you forward.

"Don't let go!" he calls, glancing back every few steps to make sure you're right there beside him.

The cabin looms ahead and as soon as you reach the door, he shoves it open, practically pulling you inside before slamming it shut behind you. Both of you stand there, breathing hard, adrenaline buzzing through your veins as you process what just happened.

“Maybe it was a bear?” Mike tried to make sense of the situation you experienced.

“I didn’t see or hear a bear, though” there is a drop of sweat already present on your forehead.

“Don’t think about it. Whatever animal it was, it can’t come here inside”

You sank into the couch, the air inside the cabin was carrying a faint scent of cedar and something earthy. You glanced over at Mike who plopped down right next to you, his body pressing close.

He leaned back, casually draping an arm over the back of the couch. His hand found its way to your thigh, his fingers settling there naturally, like it was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"You know," he said, his voice low and filled with a familiar warmth, I may have asked Josh if we could stay here tonight. Just us, in this cozy little love shack." He turned to look at you, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint that made your heart skip a beat.

"Didn't expect to be sweating out here with you for saving my life," you replied, a playful tone in your voice.

He let out a soft laugh, his fingers giving a light squeeze on your thigh.“If you think this heat is something, wait until we really turn it up.” he teased back, his voice dropping to a whisper as he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Something catches his attention and he gets up from the couch. Mike's eyes narrow playfully as he raises his chin in a mock proud stance, grabbing a old rifle from its spot by the wall and lifting it.

"Look. I'd make an amazing hunter, don’t you think?" he boasts, posing with the rifle as if he were an expert marksman. "Picture it: me coming back every day with something new for you. Deer, elk, maybe even a bear if I'm feeling ambitious."

You snicker, crossing your arms as you lean back. "Right. And we’ll celebrate the collection by starting with the head of that deer with something written on it like: 'Local Hero Mike Munroe terrorized by Bambi’"

"Oh, you're hilarious," he mutters, setting the rifle aside as he strides over to you. "Keep that up and see what it gets you." He tossed his jacket aside as he felt the heat from the run catching up to him, remaining in a simple white tank top despite the weather outside.

"Oh, really?" you challenge, raising an eyebrow as you edge off the couch to toss your jacket on the table.

“If you're gonna make fun of me, you'd better be ready to back it up."

Before you knew it, he was lunging toward you, and you darted off, laughing as you escaped successfully around the other side of the couch, watching as he straightened up.

He raises an eyebrow, moving a few steps closer, his gaze playful but intense. He tilts his head, letting his gaze drift over you in a way that makes you feel hot inside. "Are you ready to lose?"

He lunges forward, his movements quick, almost catching you by surprise again, but you dart around him in time, laughing as you stay just out of reach.

Mike lets out a mock growl, his eyes narrowing as he starts to close the distance between you. "you're only making it worse for yourself." he says, his voice a soft, teasing murmur as he edges closer, arms wide open to catch any possible attempts you could make to slip away.

"How's that?" you challenge, keeping your distance as you hide behind the other side of the couch.

"Because when I catch you, it's going to be twice as sweet." and he lets out a playful growl, quickening his pace as he closes the distance between you and with a sudden burst of speed, he leapt over the couch, landing just in front of you. His hands wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

He leaned forward, one of his arm slipped underneath your knees and you were playfully hitting him on the shoulder to break free.

With a grunt, he managed to lift you up bridal style and dropped you on the couch.

Soon he pulled himself on top of you, hovering over your body completely, his weight keeping you trapped underneath him.

"Caught you," he murmured, his breath warm against your cheek as he looked down at you, his expression both triumphant and adoring.

"Alright, alright, you won," you whispered, feeling the heat rise in your face. But he didn't let go. Instead, he tightened his hold, tilting his head as his gaze softened, his fingers tracing slow, gentle patterns at your waist.

"Couldn't have asked for a better catch," he asked, his voice a low, teasing drawl. He leaned in, his lips brushing just barely against yours. Words got caught in your throat as he closed the distance, his mouth pressing firmly against yours, deep and insistent.

His hand moves to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepens the kiss, a kind of hunger in the way he holds you close, like he's savoring every second.

You respond, your hands slipping around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

Mike's hands slipped under your shirt, his touch firm as he dragged it over your head and tossed it aside.

He wasted no time, his lips returning to yours with fervor, his tongue pressed against yours, demanding and eager to get a taste.

His hands moved lower, undoing the button of your pants with practiced ease, and before you knew it, you were standing half-naked in front of him, your breath coming in shallow gasps.

His hands roaming over your skin, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest. His body pressing against yours as he continued his relentless assault on your senses.

His fingers worked at your waistband, pulling your pants down in one swift motion before he settled between your legs.

"You're so damn perfect," Mike growled against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. His light beard scraped tantalizingly against your flesh with every heated kiss. His lips moved with a possessive urgency, exploring your neck, trailing down with his hands.

You could feel the heat pooling in your stomach. Mike's hunger only fueled at the sight of you like this and when he finally reached between your legs, your body arched off the bed, desperate for more

Mike's own breath was unsteady, mingling with yours in a symphony of shared pleasure. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against you.

He wraps his hand around you firmly now, stroking you slowly as he kisses you deep. The vibration of your moans against his mouth made everything ten times better for him.

He kept stroking you and you curl into him.

Mike positioned himself in between your thighs, cock of his own throbbing through his jeans, rubbing his hardening self against your own with no remorse or embarrassment.

His hips buck up just slightly, seeking friction. You buckle his belt to pull him out of his jeans and boxers and he reaches down to help you. His mouth found yours again as his hands wrap around the both of you, rutting his leaking cock against yours, fucking into his palm.

You follow suit, hips rolling forward as you chase your high. He smirks against your lips before pulling away to look at you. "Ready?" he rasped, his voice thick with need.

"Fuck! Yes pleas-" You struggle to find the words, too lost in the pleasure of his dick against yours.

His hands moved to your waist, gripping you tightly as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours with a possessive hunger that made your knees weak.

The taste of him was intoxicating, and you found yourself drowning in a desperate attempt to get closer, to feel more of him.

He slid his hand between your thighs, his fingers brushing against your entrance. You could feel the anticipation building as he teased you, his touch deliberate and calculated.

Mike's fingers slid inside you slowly, stretching you open as he worked you with a steady rhythm that had you trembling beneath him.

His free hand gripped your hip, holding you firmly in place as he picked up the pace, his fingers moving in and out of you with expert precision, curling at the right spot that made you arche your back. You could feel the heat building in your core, the tension coiling tighter with each thrust of his hand.

"So perfect," Mike murmured, his voice thick with desire.

You could barely think, your mind clouded with pleasure as he continued his relentless pace.

Just as you were on the verge to fall apart, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you aching and desperate for more.

The head of his length is now nudging at your entrance. His hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he pushes forward, sinking into you inch by inch. The sensation is overwhelming, your body stretching to accommodate him as he fills you completely.

Mike groans softly, his forehead resting against the back of your neck as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the feeling of him as he stretched you open.

Mike groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself to the hilt, his body trembling with restraint.

"Fuck" his voice a low growl as he began to move, setting a slow, agonizing pace that had you panting for breath.

His hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place as he thrust into you, his movements steady and deliberate. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you, your body tightening around him as he pushed you closer to the edge.

The small room was filled with the sounds of your ragged breathing, the wet slap of skin against skin as Mike drove into you, his pace relentless. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you, the pleasure building until it was almost unbearable.

"Mike," you gasped, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm close."

He groaned in response, his pace quickening as he chased his own release, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tensing with the effort. His grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust into you harder, faster.

You could feel the heat pooling in your stomach, your body trembling with the need to let go. And then, with one final thrust, you shattered, pleasure washing over you in waves as you came apart beneath him.

Mike followed soon after, his body tensing as he buried himself inside you one last time, his release spilling into you as he grunted against your lips.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, the only sound in the room the ragged gasps of your breath. Mike's body was warm and solid against yours, his hands still gripping your hips as he slowly came down from his high.

Finally, he pulled and collapsed on top of you. His arm wrapped around your waist as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

Minutes passed and were spent with him relaxing against you. Each quick, playful kiss he placed on your neck ignited a flutter of joy in your heart. With every stroke of your fingers through his hair, he let out a contented sigh, leaning into your touch.

The quiet piece is shattered suddenly by the loud sound of glass breaking. Both you and Mike freeze, your smiles fading as the unexpected noise jolts you back to reality.

"What the hell was that?" Mike mutters, already standing up and moving toward the sound with a look of concern etched on his face.

You pulled your shirt back on and stood up, heart pounding as you followed him a few steps. "Stay here," he says, glancing back at you.

You hesitate, a twinge of anxiety creeping in but nod as he heads toward the other room where the sound came from. You slipped back on your jeans while moving over to the window, pulling aside the curtains to peer out into the night, searching for anything unusual.

Something on the snow caught your attention just outside, right here in front of the stairs.

Lean closer to Investigate. Curiosity gnaws at you, an urge to move and see for yourself. It’s right here outside. One quick look can't hurt... right?

Inform Mike about it. It hopefully won’t disappear soon despite the snow falling rapidly. You can go and inform Mike about it along with also seeing what happened with the window.

You take a breath, steeling yourself. And in a single, decisive moment, you make your choice.

Lean closer to investigate

A faint shimmer appear, the delicate flap of a butterfly's wings.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Curiosity gets the better of you and without a second thought, you lean closer to the window. Your warm breath fog the window but not enough for it to be at the same height of your eyes.

Footsteps oddly spaced stretch from the edge of the woods toward the chalet. There's something... wrong about them, something that makes your skin crawl. The tracks don't look human, they're wider, deeper, and almost clawed. They're fresh, not yet filled in by drifting snow and tinted in red crimson blood. Whatever made these prints is close. Too close.

You turned around when you heard Mike coming back, his voice confused as he told you about something that broke the window.

You barely had time to inform him about what you saw before the glass behind you shatters and claws dig into your shoulders as you're pulled back, helpless against the force dragging you

You soon made contact with the snow as you got dragged further and further away from the cabin and into the woods.

The thing holding you is relentless, hauling you over snow and rock with an unnatural speed that makes your head spin. Fear crashes over you like a wave, cold and consuming. You thrash, trying to free yourself, your hands scraping against hard, rough skin.

You hear from not far the frantic shouts of a voice you know well. Mike. He's chasing after you, calling your name in a voice filled with fear and desperation but you can barely hear him over the blood pounding in your ears.

All you can think about is survival.

Desperately, you claw at the ground, fingers scrambling for anything to slow down the creature dragging you deeper into the trees. Your hand brushes against something solid, a branch half-buried in the snow. Without a second thought, you grab it and slam it upward, striking the creature’s arm.

The creature hisses, a guttural, furious sound that shakes your bones, but its grip loosens just enough for you to tear yourself free, stumbling forward and landing face-first in the snow. Cold bites at your skin as you scramble to your feet, legs already aching from the strain, but you can't afford to stop.

Not now.

Your injuries slow you down. Blood seeps from your arms and legs, leaving a trail as you push through the forest. Every breath feels like fire in your chest, your vision blurring around the edges as you force yourself forward, stumbling over rocks and roots.

In the distance, Mike's voice reaches you, a lifeline you cling to even as fear claws at your heart. You risk a glance back, just a fleeting second, and see him from afar, rifle in hand, his eyes wide with terror as he takes in your disheveled form and the blood marking your path.

He shouts your name desperately, his voice is raw, terrified and it propels you forward with renewed urgency.

But before you can reach him, the creature catches your ankle, sending you sprawling to the ground once more. Pain jolts through you as you hit the frozen earth, your vision going dark for a split second as it kept moving forward deep inside the woods and far away from Mike until you could no longer see him.

It stopped abruptly, it’s clawed hand slashes through the air, inches from your face, before a bright flash of light erupts behind it.

A burst of flame cuts through the night, illuminating the creature's twisted form as it recoils with a screech, backing away from the intense heat. You blink, disoriented, your eyes adjusting to the sudden glow. A figure stands a few feet away, wielding a flamethrower with a practiced ease, his face covered by a mask and big glasses for the snow.

"Get up," he barks, the command cold and unyielding. "Follow me, now."

Still dazed and struggling to catch your breath, you hesitate and the stranger's moves closer, the flames licking dangerously close as he gestures again with the flamethrower.

"I said, move."

With no other option, you stagger to your feet, following him as he leads you through the trees. Blood drips down your leg, each step a painful reminder of your injuries, but fear propels you onward. You cast one last glance over your shoulder, hoping to see Mike but to not success.

From a distance, Mike watches, heart pounding as he tracks your struggling form, his pulse surging with terror and fury.

He sees you stumbling through the snow, your face pale and stricken, blood streaking your clothes and painting the ground beneath you. His stomach twists painfully. His hands tighten on the old rifle he'd grabbed from the cabin, fingers white with the grip.

His eyes flick to the figure standing near you, holding a flamethrower. Mike can't make out the man's face due to the position but he's close enough to see the way the stranger's hand grips your arm, steering you with a harsh, unyielding authority.

A surge of rage floods Mike's chest into something cold and vengeful.

He shouts, his voice cracking with a desperation he can't hide but you’re too far away for him to hear. He raises the rifle, leveling it with a single, fierce purpose. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, drowning out the sounds around him. All he can think about is protecting you, keeping you safe, stopping this man who had the nerve to lay his hands on you.

He pulls the trigger.

Nothing happens.

Mike stares at the gun, disbelief and frustration crashing over him in a sickening wave. His hands tremble as he frantically checks the rifle, but it's no use. The damn thing's too old, a relic that was never meant for anything more than decoration.

“Jammed up piece of shit” he muttered to himself as he tossed the gun on the ground but not before taking the sight off.

His fists clench, anger and self-loathing simmering just beneath the surface. If he'd only been quicker. If he'd only gotten to you sooner.

You stumble over your own feet as the stranger pulls you forward, his hand gripping your arm with an iron strength that doesn't allow for argument or hesitation. Your head throbs and a nauseating chill seeps into your bones

He's silent, his face obscured by the mask he is wearing. You're not sure whether you should be more afraid of the creature that attacked you or of this stranger.

"Where are you taking me?" you ask, your voice rough, scraping against the quiet. Panic flutters in your chest, but you keep it in check, trying to sound braver than you feel.

The stranger’s grip tightens, his voice low and cold as he finally speaks. "To the sanatorium. Only place you'll be safe."

Safe? You can't help the bitter laugh that escapes, but it sounds foreign even to your ears, tinged with the underlying fear that pulses with each beat of your heart. "And I'm just supposed to trust you?"

He doesn't respond, his silence as solid as stone. You're struck by the thought that maybe he doesn't care if you trust him at all. To him, you're just another problem to be dealt with, whether you like it or not.

You feel the blood trickling down your calf, soaking into your jeans, and you know that each step leaves a fresh trail in the snow, a trail that anything or anyone could follow.

The old building looks even more haunting up close, its windows shattered, its walls covered in a thick layer of ice and grime.

Your footsteps falter as you take it in, the realization sinking in that this terrifying ruin is where he intends to take you.

The stranger seems to sense your hesitation, and he stops, turning to you with a hard, assessing gaze. "You don't understand what's out there," he says, his voice a low, gravelly murmur.

You square your shoulders, meeting his gaze with as much strength as you can muster. "Then tell me," you say, the words steady but quiet, a demand laced with a plea. "Tell me what's going on. What was that thing?"

He hesitates, just for a moment, deciding how much to reveal. Then, with a deep sigh, he gestures toward the sanatorium. "Inside. We're not talking out here."

You follow him through the heavy, rusted doors, wincing as they creak open, the sound echoing through the hollow halls. Inside, the air is thick with dust and stale.

The stranger leads you deeper into the building, down a winding corridor lined with cracked tiles and peeling paint. He finally stops in what might have once been a treatment room, with a few battered chairs and a broken table shoved to the side.

Two wolves appear from the dark. A black one growling at you and a white one tilting his head as he looked at you curiously.

You leaned back against the cold, damp wall, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you as the adrenaline began to fade.

With a quiet hiss of pain, you tore off a strip of fabric from your shirt, pressing it against a particularly deep scratch along your arm. The fabric was thin and already damp from the cold air, but it was all you had, and the pressure seemed to slow the bleeding. You shifted your weight, your hand shaking as you worked to tie the makeshift bandage in place, gritting your teeth against the sting that flared with each movement.

The stranger knelt down, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached into a pocket, pulling out a small roll of cloth. He hesitated, his masked face turning to you, as if silently asking for permission. You gave a slight nod, and he moved closer, crouching down to your level.

His gloved hands were surprisingly gentle as he pressed the cloth over a cut on your leg, inspecting the wound beneath. He muttered something under his breath. "Not too deep. You must be tough one to make it out here in one piece."

You managed a weak smile, though it barely masked the pain etched into your features. "I... I didn't have much of a choice. I just kept running."

"Smart," he murmured, adjusting the bandage on your arm, his fingers surprisingly steady and precise despite the thickness of his gloves. "It was all you could do in that situation. If you ever face them again, don’t move. It’s like toads. Sight is based on changes of movement in their field of vision"

He pulls out a small photograph from his jacket pocket and hands it to you. You take it, fingers trembling as you examine the image. The man in the picture is a horror to behold. His face gaunt, his cheek on the left a gruesome patchwork of scarred, missing flesh, exposing jagged teeth beneath. His eyes are milky, blind and vacant, but there's something hauntingly human about his expression, a remnant of a person buried beneath the monstrous features, a true nightmare made flesh.

You swallow hard, slipping the photo into your pocket as the man turns around to throw a bone at the wolves.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"What you saw out there wasn't just any creature. It was once human, before the curse took it."

You blink, your mind scrambling to process the words. "A... curse?"

He nods, his gaze hardening. "Wendigos. Spirits that inhabit the bodies of those who commit cannibalism. It turns them into monsters, driven by the need to feed. And once it's taken hold, there's no going back."

"So... the thing that attacked me..." you start, your voice barely a whisper, "it used to be human?"

The Stranger's gaze softens, just for a moment, and he sighs. "The Wendigo remembers parts of what it once was. People, faces, moments. Things it hated. Things it wanted. All now mixed with hunger”

Suddenly, the faint sound of footsteps reaches your ears, distinct and growing louder with each step. You freeze, the pulse of fear quickening in your veins. The man hears it too, his eyes narrow, his body going rigid as he listens. Without a word, he tightens his grip on your arm, helping you stand up and dragging you with him as he pulls you away from the main hallway

"Don't make a sound," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper, harsh and commanding.

You see a silhouette emerging around the corner and he starts to pull you backward, leading you out of the room, away from the figure.

The stranger led you down twisting passages until you reached an area near the entrance to the mines. He turned to you, his grip finally loosening, and gestured to a dark alcove.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice low but firm. "I'll check to make sure the rest of your friends aren't out there. When it's clear, I'll take you back to the lodge."

You nodded, exhaustion overtaking you as you sank down against the wall, your mind spinning with worry for Mike. You touched your cheek again, feeling the sting of the cut, your pulse still racing as you waited, alone, the cold stone walls pressing in around you.

Back inside, Mike watches as your figure disappears around the corner, led away by that dark, looming man and a fury unlike anything he's ever felt boils up inside him. He takes a step forward, desperate to follow, but his path is blocked by a heavy iron door separating him from the main lobby, the missing key preventing him from giving chase. He shakes the door in frustration, feeling the cold metal dig into his palms as he rattles it, cursing under his breath.

"Dammit," he mutters, his voice low and seething. The image of your face twisted in confusion and fear is burned into his mind and that only makes the anger roiling within him burn hotter. He barely notices his surroundings as he slams his fist against the door, once, twice, the sharp pain a poor substitute for the wrath and worry he feels building inside him. That bastard had hurt you, taken you, and he has no idea where or why.

The night air bites at their faces, unforgiving and cold as Mike and Chris drag Josh through the snow. Mike's hand is iron around Josh's collar, yanking him forward with an urgency that leaves no room for argument, while Chris trails close behind.

The desperation in his eyes is like a fire that's threatening to spiral out of control.

"Mike," Chris starts, his voice quiet, hesitant as he watches his friend's clenched jaw, the tightness in his grip on Josh's shirt. "Maybe we should just take a second. Think this through."

"Talk?" Mike spat, his voice a low growl. "We've been talking, Chris. And he's not saying anything because he's lying." He looked back at Josh, his gaze cold, unforgiving. "He did this. He knows where he is and he's just sitting here, laughing in our faces."

All he can see is the image of you being dragged away, hurt and vulnerable, every second stretching like an eternity, his mind racing with fears that sink into his chest like stones.

They reach the shed. Mike throws the door open and shoves Josh inside, not giving him even a moment to catch his breath.

Josh stumbles as he's shoved against a wooden support beam, his wrists still bound. Both Chris and Mike stepped forward to tie down and immobilize Josh completely against the wooden beam.

"Where is he, Josh?" he demands, each word taut with barely contained fury. "He's out there, alone and injured because of your sick little games!" Mike's voice rises, his anger spilling over as he steps even closer, his face inches from Josh's.

Chris stands to the side, a knot of worry tightening in his gut. The thought of you being hurt, or worse, out there because of this was almost too much to process. A wave of guilt rushes over him, crashing against the worry and confusion roiling inside him. He remembers every joke, every moment you'd shared and the thought that Josh might be responsible for taking that away, it's enough to make his stomach turn.

"Josh, please," Chris says, his voice soft, pleading, as he takes a step forward. "If you know anything, just tell us. We're not... we're not doing this for fun, okay? He’s a friend. Just... please."

There's a flicker of something dark in Josh's eyes, something that only Chris seems to understand. A decision, a choice that still lingers in his memory. Josh seems to notice, his smirk growing wider, almost triumphant.

"You let him talk you into thinking you were important, that you mattered, and then you turned on the only one who would've stuck with you." Josh's voice is soft, insidious, as he watches Chris's face pale. "All it took was a few words, and look at the mess you made with her. But sure, keep believing that he's your friend. Keep thinking he's anything more than just... clever with his words."

Chris’s expression stricken, the weight of the accusation settling heavily on his shoulders, mingling with the unresolved guilt he's tried to keep buried.

Josh looks between the two of them, an air of smugness creeping into his expression. "What, Mike, you think he's anything special? Can you realize that he’s not really the angel you think he is?" he mutters, a sneer curling at the edge of his mouth.

Mike feels his hands tremble with the effort to hold himself back, to keep from lunging at Josh right then and there.

"Don't you dare talk about him like that," Mike hisses, his voice rough, a dangerous edge in his tone. "You don't get to say anything about him. Not after what you did."

Josh just laughs, a hollow, bitter sound that echoes through the empty shed. "You've got it bad, don't you? You'd do anything to convince yourself he's worth the risk."

Mike's fist slams into the wood beside Josh's head, sending a shower of splinters scattering to the ground. "You don't know a damn thing about what he means to me," Mike growls, his voice low, laced with a ferocity that makes Chris's breath catch. "Not a damn thing."

For the first time, there's a flicker of confusion in Josh's eyes, a hesitation that betrays the anger, the defiance in his expression.

“No... no... I don-. I’ve got a problem, Mike... I don’t remember hurting him...”

“Christ” Mike mutters to himself, looking around in disbelief at seeing how fucked up Josh’s mental health was.

“I mean, I feel like I would’ve remembered killing him, right?” Josh continued, his tone shifting from confusion to something Mike didn’t quite like. “If you were with him for a year, he must’ve had one hell of a body.” He flashed a smug grin at Mike.

Mike pulled out the gun from his jacket and pointed it at Josh, shouting with a desperation that borders on madness. “If you don't shut your fucking mouth, I swear I'll-"

"Mike!" Chris's voice trembles as he steps forward, reaching for his friend, fear evident in his eyes. "Don't do this. He's just messing with you. It's what he wants."

Time seemed to stretch endlessly, the air thick with tension until Mike finally lowered the gun. He never wavered his gaze from Josh as he spoke to Chris.

“Go back to the lodge with the others” Mike told Chris as he glared down at him, his voice barely controlled, barely holding back the rage that's tearing him apart. "You sure you’re okay?" Chris whispers and Mike nods. “they’ll want to know everything’s fine up there”.

“You’re right. See you in the morning” Chris muttered, sparing a last glance at Josh before slowly making his way back to the lodge.

The lodge has grown quieter than ever, the weight of fear and exhaustion hanging heavy in the air. The night presses on, feeling endless. A loud scream echoed inside the woods and Emily soon bursts into the lodge, her face pale, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Snow clings to her hair and jacket and her eyes are wide, glazed over with a fear none of them have seen before. She's shaking, her body visibly trembling as she stands there, looking as though she's barely keeping herself upright.

"Emily?" Sam is the first to speak, her voice soft but filled with worry as her and Ashley carried her to the couch. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Emily takes a shaky breath, swallowing hard as she nods, though her expression is anything but calm. "A monster- it’s a monster!" she stammers, glancing around, her eyes darting from face to face.

“Em are you okay?” Chris asks, concerned but also curious about what happened to her.

"I’m fine. I just need to calm down. It was moving so damn fast- i just needed to get away!"

“Em, Em. You can relax... Josh was messing with us but we-“

“You’re not listening to me!” Emily swallows again, her hands shaking as she raises one to her mouth, pressing her knuckles to her lips in a nervous gesture.

The group falls silent, their faces reflecting a mix of shock and unease as Emily explains to everyone how she called for help from the tower and she found herself in the mines after it collapsed.

"I found Beth’s dead body" she whispers, her voice barely audible, but her words carry through the room, settling like stones in their chests. "I didn’t find Hannah but I found some of her things there. It seemed she was just there starving to death while we were all searching for her up here"

“Em! You made it” Mike entered the lodge breathless from running.

She got up from the couch and immediately hugged him.

“What about Matt?”

“We’re trying to figure it out...”

“And there is also this “monster” that was chasing her-“

A loud knock at the door made everyone turn. A fresh wave of panic settled over them. Mike's hand instinctively goes to his side, reaching for the gun, but he stops short, his face tense as he glances around.

"I'll check it out," he mutters, glancing at Chris, who nods, his expression equally wary.

They move toward the door cautiously, every step filled with tension. He opens the door slowly, his hand poised on the gun and there, framed in the doorway, stands a stranger, his face full in view this time. He moves with a speed that catches Mike off guard, wrenching the gun from his grip in one smooth motion.

"Easy," the stranger says, his voice a low rumble, as he lowers the gun, his gaze intense but steady. He glances over his shoulder, nodding toward the darkness outside. "It's safe. You can come in."

There's a moment of silence and then, slowly, you step into the doorway. You're limping just slightly, your clothes torn and dirty and covered up by an old jacket similar to Mike’s one, your face bruised but alive.

Mike's heart stops, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he stares at you. He can barely move, his eyes wide, unable to process what he’s seeing. For a split second, he thought that it was a dream until you take that hesitant step forward and reality crashes in. He whispers your name, his voice barely audible, filled with a raw, aching vulnerability he can't hide. And then he's there, crossing the distance in an instant, wrapping you in his arms, holding you tightly.

The warmth of his embrace floods over you, the steady weight of his arms filling you with a sense of safety you haven't felt since the night began. You return the hug, exhaustion seeping into every muscle, and you let yourself sink into his warmth, closing your eyes as you let the moment wash over you.

"I thought I'd never see you again." Mike's voice cracks, and he buries his face in your shoulder, his breath shaky as he struggles to hold back the emotion.

You reach up, brushing your hand against his cheek, and manage a tired smile. "I made it back." you whisper, your voice soft but steady.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gaze scanning every bruise, every cut, his fingers brushing gently over each mark. "Are you hurt? What... what did this do to you?" His voice is laced with worry, a protectiveness that's fierce, almost desperate, as he holds your face in his hands, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek

You reached up to cover his hand with yours. "I'm okay, don’t worry" you murmur, offering a small, reassuring smile.

Chris steps forward then, his eyes wide, relief flooding his expression as he pulls you into a hug, his grip firm, steady. "Man, you scared the hell out of us," he says, his voice thick with emotion. He pulls back, a grin breaking through the tension as he adds, "Don't ever do that again, okay?"

A small laugh escapes you, and the tension in the room begins to ease. You all follow the stranger and get to where the girls were waiting.

"Thank god you’re okay." Sam says softly, a warm smile on her face as she carefully hugged you to avoid any further pain.

Emily, still recovering from the shock she went through, gave a curt nod in your direction. "You look like you have been through hell" she mutters.

You manage a small smile, grateful for each familiar face.

The man clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention back to him, his gaze steady, a hard look in his eyes. "I don't have time for reunions," he says, his tone firm but not unkind. "There's something you need to understand."

Everyone falls silent, their faces tense as they turn to him. Mike leads you to the couch, pulling you down beside him, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you close as you leaned against him.

The stranger begins to speak, his voice low and grave as he explains the truth of the mountain, the curse that turned the ones who commit cannibalism into unrecognizable monsters. His words hang heavy in the air, each one sinking into them like stones.

Mike's hand tightens on your waist, his gaze dark as he listens, his mind racing with the reality of what you must have endured all alone. The knowledge that you survived this and made it back to him fills him with a mixture of pride and fear that he can't shake.

When the stranger finishes, silence falls over the room, the weight of his warning settling into every corner, pressing down on each of them. Chris is the first to break the silence, his face set, determined. "So... what do we do?"

The stranger's gaze sharpens, his expression hard, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "You’re going to need to find somewhere safe to hide"

“For how long?”

“Until dawn”

They all nod, a shared understanding passing between them.

“Guys... i ran out and left Josh when i heard screaming” Mike told everyone, guilt spreading on his face at realizing what could happen to Josh.

“Your friend is already dead” the stranger spoke with unwavering certainty.

Chris steps forward. “No, no he can’t be. We were just with him a moment ago”

“A lot can happen quickly on this mountain”

"I'm gonna get him," Chris said with determination. "I’m supposed to be his best friend and i let him down"

“Then i’ll go with you” the man said, offering Chris a rifle to fight if needed.

Chris takes a deep breath, steeling himself and holding the rifle tightly to his chest as he stares at the door, the stranger next to him and ready to leave to rescue Josh. Just as he's about to turn away, he notices you and Mike standing together. Mike's arm is still around you but you place a gentle hand on his shoulder, leaning in close to murmur something to him. His face softens and he reluctantly lets you go, his hand lingering for a moment longer.

You walk toward Chris, your movements slow but steady, the worst of your injuries seeming to fade, the pain dulled and it gives you a chance to run again thanks to the man’s help. You hold up a hand for a high five, grinning just a bit. "Be careful out there, alright?"

Chris smirks, the familiar glint of humor in his eyes. "Hey, you know me. Careful my middle name." He claps your hand, his expression softening slightly. "We'll get through this."

Your gaze shifts to the stranger, a silent expression of gratitude in your eyes as you give him a slight nod. He meets your gaze, there's a faint hint of acknowledgment in the way he inclines his head.

Turning back, you move toward Mike. You catch sight of Ashley leaning against the wall, her gaze fixed on Chris with a strange, distant expression, something that you never saw on her when together with Chris. You pause, opening your mouth to ask her if she's alright, but she steps forward and places a hand on your shoulder to help you back toward Mike.

You give her a small nod, something unsettled lingering in your mind but you let it go as she guides you back to Mike. You feel his hand slip around your waist again, steady and reassuring, his warmth grounding you as you settle beside him, leaning into his side as he guides you to the basement with the others.

The atmosphere in the basement is heavy with silence, an oppressive weight settling over everyone. You were sitting down on one of the tables there, looking at all the cameras present there together with Sam and Emily. The door creaks open, and Ashley stumbles down, followed closely by Mike. You can see immediately the way his face is drawn, his eyes hollow, a deep sadness etched into every line.

He looks at you, the pain in his gaze made you fear the worst. "Chris... he didn't make it," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath.

You feel the ground shift beneath you, the words sinking in with an ache so sharp it feels physical. Chris, your friend, is gone. Your throat tightens and the reality of the situation claws at you, an emptiness that leaves you hollow.

Ashley stands frozen, her face pale and expressionless. Emily immediately moves to her side, reaching for her hands, while Sam steps forward, her voice soft with sympathy. "Ash... I'm so sorry."

Ashley shakes her head, her jaw clenched as she stares past them, her eyes glassy with shock. "I'm fine," she insists, her voice hollow and distant, "I'm fine."

Sam's voice is soft, cautious as she looks at Mike. "What about the man with the flamethrower? Did... did he make it?"

Mike shakes his head, his voice a low, haunted murmur. "Didn’t see him coming back. He's dead, too."

The walls seem to close in and Mike moves with big steps towards you and hold you tightly, pulling you closer, "I’m so sorry”. His hand moves gently to your back, tracing soothing circles, his fingers trembling slightly.

You find yourself melting into his touch, his hold a balm to the raw pain in your chest.

Mike began searching around the place and on the cameras to look for any possible other escape. Josh had the key for the cable car. The wendigos might have taken him to the sanatorium and he declared he will go there to get them and save him.

All of your friends group around the table to analyze the map left by the man, talking about the mines and the sanatorium.

You’re too deep in thoughts to participate in it. You felt tears ready to spill down from your eyes as you kept thinking about Chris and the man’ deaths.

“Em... Em, what is that?” Ashley's tone of voice was concerning. You looked up in time to see all of your friends slowly backing away from Emily as she kept a hand on her shoulder.

You got down from the table and wiped away the tears on your eyes. Stepping closer but stopping when you noticed blood seeping through her shoulder.

“Ash...” Emily began to talk, her gaze moving towards everyone as she carefully thought about her next words

“Oh my god. Oh my god, oh my god! Oh, no, oh, no!” Ashely was freaking out as her gaze moved back and forth to Mike and Emily.

“It’s nothing. It just- it bit me and-“ Emily tried to explain but Ashley's loud voice interrupted her again.

“It bit you? What bit you?!”

You took another step closer while Ashley grew increasingly agitated with each word.

“The...ah... the wendigo,” Emily stammered, her voice trembling with fear rather than conviction. “It’s nothing, really. It’s not a big deal—it doesn’t hurt anymore, not really.”

Mike takes a step back "Em... if that thing bit you..."

“I know what you’re thinking and i’m fine” she took a step forwards and expanded her hands towards Mike but he backed away, his arm moving in front of you to shield you from her as he stepped away.

“Emily at least let us check it out,” Sam told her quietly, hoping to calm her down.

“Emily... if the wendigo bit you, you could turn into one of those things” Mike told her as he kept his arm in front of you.

“Oh that’s ridiculous” Sam said, her voice rising in frustration as she stepped forward to intervene. But Ashley sharply spoke again, her expression a mix of desperation and impatience.

“He said it was from EATING each other- remember, he said that! It happens if it bites you, you’re gonna turn into one of those things and you’re gonna turn in on us. Oh my god. Oh, my god! OH MY GOD”

Was it really like that? The man told you that it happened if someone committed cannibalism but he never told you about bites or other things like that. Was it just common knowledge and he didn’t told you because it was oblivious?

You took a step forward and felt pain radiating on your shoulder. A whimper of pain was heard through your closed lips and Mike turned around immediately, his arm outstretched in front of you while slowly moving you behind him as he positions himself between you and the perceived threat.

“You can’t be down here with us. You gotta go. You’re putting us ALL in danger” Mike told Emily firmly, no hesitation on his face or voice.

“Like hell I am!” This was the first time you saw Emily this desperate.

“Mike, just cool your head, okay? We don’t know how it works, maybe it’s just a bite” Sam said, her voice steady but edged with concern, though the unease in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t entirely convinced herself.

“What is this? Guys, what are you doing” Emily looked more and more scared the longer she looked around at all of you.

“Door’s right there. I’m letting you doing this voluntarily” Mike spoke firmly at her.

“Oh, no. You’re just doing this to make yourself feel better about sending me to my death because you know there’s a wendigo out there ready to rip me to pieces like it did with-“

“OKAY, OH MY GOD! WILL YOU JUST GO?! GO! GET OUT OF HERE!” Ashley screamed at the top of her lungs, voice full of frustration and terror at this point.

Mike move towards the table and took the gun, pointing it at Emily who immediately backed away in shock.

“Whoa,whoa-whoa- Mike! Calm down!” Sam tried to intervene but Mike pushed her away, his arm pulling you behind him protectively as his other hand kept pointing the gun at Emily.

“You’re gonna shoot me?” Emily crawled on top of the table until her back hit the wall, desperately trying to get away from the situation. “Mike...? Me?”

“This is the safe room, Em. And it’s not safe as long as you’re in it. Not for us!”

“Don- don’t do this!” Her voice broke on the last word, her hands reaching out as if she could somehow stop him.

“I’m really sorry” Mike choked out, his voice trembling with regret, the words barely escaping through a veil of anguish. His hands shook as he gripped the weapon, his heart pounding in his chest as he took a step forward. His finger pressed the revolver’s cylinder, rotating it to prepare the next shot.

Tell Mike Not to Shoot Emily. She's still Emily, still herself... isn't she? The fear is there, yes, but a part of you knows this isn't right.

Support Mike no matter what he chooses. The thought of Emily becoming one of those things, of putting Mike in danger, fills you with a dread so deep it nearly leaves you breathless.

Your heart pounded as memories surged through your mind, vivid and relentless of the wendigo’s claws tearing through your body as it dragged you into the unknown. You remembered the helplessness, the horror, the feeling of being trapped in a nightmare you couldn't escape.

Now, the thought of Mike facing anything remotely close to that horror because of a single hesitation sent fear clawing at your chest. You wanted to believe Emily; she was one of you, someone you'd shared memories with. But what if she did turn? What if Mike's hesitation meant losing him?

Support Mike

You lean closer, your voice soft, trembling, barely a whisper. “I trust you, Mike. Whatever you think is best... I'll stand by you."

A subtle shimmer appears, almost like a faint trick of light, the beat of butterfly wings sending ripples into the unknown.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

Your words seemed to reach him, settling into something deep inside. The fear in his eyes hardened into something resolute. He was reminded of the bruises on your face, the cuts on your skin, the exhaustion in your frame as you spoke softly at him. You were still recovering, still weak from the encounter. In the state you were in, you wouldn't be able to defend yourself if she turned into one of those things.

He can't let her be a threat.

The shot rings out, sharp and final, echoing through the room. The bullet made contact with her left eye, ending her life on spot and smearing the wall behind her with blood.

“Oh, shit... oh, shit... oh, shit. What the fuck did i just do?” Mike lets the gun fall from his hands, his expression haunted, his eyes flicking to you.

You reach for his hand, gripping it tightly.

“You’re safe... you guys are safe. I had to do it” he looked around, searching for reassurance, for some sign that he did the right thing.

Ashley backs away, shocked and terrified to look at him despite being the one ready from the start to make Emily leave the room.

“I’m going to get the keys from Josh. I’ll... I'll come back here.” He began to back away “you guys are safe... it’s over...” he let go of your hand, looking at you desperately one last time before turning away.

You watched him go with a worried expression. Sam came close to you, her hand resting on your shoulder as she looked with you where Mike went to get what was needed to let you escape this nightmare of a place.

From behind, you heard Ashley panicking again as she mumbled under her breath. She was sitting on the opposite side of a table reading what you assumed to be the diary of the stranger

“What? What does it say?” You and Sam stepped forward together until you were right next to her.

“It says... well... if it bites you it’s not infectious. It doesn’t do anything”

Sam took the book in her hands, looking briefly at Emily’s dead body and whispering her name softly. A tear about to spill from her eyes.

You peeked over Sam’s shoulder as she read the last page pf the diary. It talked about all the wendigos trapped inside the sanatorium.

Mike was going to fall right into a trap.

“We need to get to Mike” Sam said firmly, tossing the book aside as you and her made your way to Mike.

The dim, echoing tunnels of the mine stretch before you, the air is thick with dust and the faint metallic tang of rust. Mike is beside you, keeping close, his eyes darting around as if searching for any sign of danger, while Sam moves slightly behind you, her flashlight casting shadows that flicker and dance against the rock.

A small lake was blocking your path. The frigid water sending a chill just from looking at it.

"Guess we don't have much of a choice," Sam murmurs, voice tight.

You nod, sharing a glance with Mike, whose gaze is steady but filled with the same dread. Together, you step into the water, the cold biting instantly as it soaks through your clothes. It seeps up your legs, then higher, numbing everything it touches. By the time the water reaches your waist, your muscles are tense, your breaths sharp and shuddering from the sheer chill.

You could help but mutter something about how you were freezing your ass, teeth chattering as you trudge forward and earning a small chuckle from Sam, suffering as well from the extreme low temperature of the water.

A solid surface came ahead and you all got up from there.

Sam spots something on the ground and in the glow of her flashlight, you see a small, battered notebook, its cover dusty and worn but unmistakably familiar. It's Hannah's diary, you recognized her handwriting.

The three of you huddle close, drawn in by the painful intimacy of her words. The cold, the hunger and the maddening isolation as she struggled to survive in the mines with a broken leg. She stayed here for around a month.

“Oh god... it makes sense. I think... Hannah dug up Beth. It was Hannah. Beth died in the fall- so Hannah must have buried her“ Sam pieced everything together”

“God-dammit” Mike muttered in disbelief.

“She would have been starving... she would have been desperate-“

The implication of what it meant twisted your stomach, bringing back flashes of the memory from that night. You feel the cold seep through your skin, but it's not the chill of the mines.

It's the haunting weight of regret.

Mike's voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone gentle. "Hey... you okay?" He's watching you, his gaze filled with concern.

Lie. You could brush it off, tell them it's just the cold getting to you. It would be easy, just a few words to keep the truth hidden, to protect yourself from the shame that threatens to overwhelm you. But the guilt would stay buried, festering, a constant reminder of what you did and chose to keep hidden.

Confess. You could let it out, finally release the burden you've been carrying. Admit that you saw Hannah that night, that you knew about the prank but chose not to warn her. This choice would mean exposing yourself but it might also allow you to find a sense of forgiveness. A chance for honesty and maybe a path toward healing.

The truth gnaws at you, clawing its way to the surface, refusing to stay buried. You can't keep it hidden any longer.

Confess

Taking a shaky breath, you look at Mike and Sam, your voice barely above a whisper. "There's something I need to tell you. I saw Hannah that night. Right before... everything. She asked me if I knew where Mike was and I didn't tell her about the prank." Your voice cracks, raw with the pain of holding back the truth. "I could've warned her and stopped it. This is all my fault."

The silence stretches as your confession hangs in the cold air. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, your chest tightening as the weight of it crashes over you.

Mike's hand tightens on your shoulder and he looks at you with a softness that you didn't expect. "This isn't all on you. I shouldn't have gone along with the prank in the first place." His voice is laced with regret. "If anyone's to blame, it's me."

Sam's hand finds yours, squeezing gently. "You made a mistake but we all did. I should have found her faster. I should have insisted more on stopping that prank. None of us were perfect that night."

Her words are like a balm, gentle but unwavering, her empathy wrapping around you as she holds your gaze. The three of you share a moment of quiet solidarity, bound together by the shared regret.

You all continue moving through the mines. Mike's hand brushes against yours as you move inside the water.

"So... you were jealous?" His tone is playful, laced with his usual teasing, as if trying to lighten the atmosphere.

You roll your eyes, feeling the corner of your lips curve upward. "It was like a year ago, alright? And yeah, I was jealous."

Mike grins, his eyebrow quivering as he nudges you gently. "And how long were you crushing on me?" He leans a little closer, his voice dropping to a low, flirtatious murmur.

Sam, walking just behind, groans in mock exasperation and from the cold water. "Could you two get a room already? I really don't need to be the third wheel right now."

"Sorry, Sam." You laugh, feeling the last remnants of tension ease from your shoulders.

Eventually, you could hear Josh mumbling to himself, his eyes wild, his expression a chaotic mix of fear and mania.

"Josh!" Sam calls, her voice gentle but firm. "Josh, it's us."

He doesn't respond, muttering incoherently, his gaze distant, as if lost in a nightmare he can't escape. “He’s tripping or something” Mike muttered to himself before giving him a slap to snap him out of his stupor. "Josh!"

Josh blinks, his gaze slowly refocusing on the three of you, a flicker of recognition sparking in his eyes. "Don’t h-hit me, p-please-"

“You were deep in it, man. Full metal jacket”

“Josh, Hannah was down there for weeks... a month?! She dug Beth up” she was on the verge of crying and you stepped forward to place a hand on her shoulder.

"We need the keys," you said gently, trying to keep him calm. "The keys to the cable car, do you have them?"

Josh's hand trembles as he digs into his pocket, pulling out the keys and handing them to Sam. She pockets them and glances toward the slope leading up to the surface.

"That's our way out," she says, her voice filled with determination.

Mike shakes his head, glancing at Josh. "He's not going to make it up there. We'll have to go back the way we came."

Sam nods, though her face is etched with worry. She looks at you, assessing your condition with a careful gaze. "Think you can handle the climb? I can help you up if you need."

Mike steps in, his hand brushing your arm as he looks at you. "You sure you're up for it?" he asks, his tone soft, but there's a hint of worry in his eyes.

You nod, meeting his gaze with a steady look. "I can handle it. Sam's got my back in case”

He hesitates, his grip tightening on your arm, his gaze flickering with a hint of reluctance. Then, with a soft sigh, he leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, his hand lingering on your cheek as he pulls back, his voice a whisper only you can hear. "Be careful, alright? I want to see that handsome face of yours back at the lodge."

You smile, brushing a hand over his. "You too, Mike. Don't do anything stupid."

He chuckles, the sound soft but tinged with a bittersweet edge. "Stupid? Me? Never." He winks, a smirk playing on his lips, though his gaze holds a flicker of sadness.

He knelt down to help both you and Sam with the first push to start climbing and with one last look, he turns back to Josh, his hand gesturing to the direction to get out of the mines.

You and Sam exchange a determined nod before turning to the steep climb. Every movement is careful and calculated, each foothold chosen with precision as you make your way up.

The climb back to the surface is grueling, every muscle in your body aching, but the sight of moonlight filtering through the cracks above fills you with a surge of determination. Sam pulls herself up beside you, panting but grinning as she looks over at you with a playful gleam in her eye.

"That was just like a climbing class, right?" she quips, giving you a nudge.

You laugh, shaking your head. "Yeah, except with a lot more life-or-death stakes," you reply, matching her tone with a smirk.

She lets her hand fall onto your shoulder, her fingers gently squeezing as she takes a moment to study your face. “You did good,” she says, her voice a soothing contrast to the chaos you’d just survived. “Not a single complaint, even when you looked like you were about to pass out.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her. “Do I really look that bad?” you ask, the question coming out more tired than you’d intended. The last time you saw your reflection was before you were dragged away from Mike, leaving your body feeling like it had been run through a blender. You knew there were cuts, scrapes, and bruises all over your body. The left side of your cheek throbbed painfully whenever you touched it and you could feel the stickiness of dried blood against your lips.

She gives you a small, teasing smile, a spark of humor glinting in her eyes. “Nah,” she says, her voice light but sincere. “It makes you look tough. I can guarantee you, Mike would approve of me without hesitation.”

A tired smile tugs at the corners of your lips. Despite the exhaustion in your bones and the tremble in your legs, you can’t help but feel a small spark of gratitude for her presence, appreciating her support as the two of you move forward and towards the lodge.

A bone-chilling scream pierces the air from behind you. You can feel the presence of something behind you, its screeches growing louder.

The two of you bolt toward the lodge, every step pounding with adrenaline without looking back until you reach the lodge. You pound on the door with both fists, your heart hammering as you shout for someone inside to let you in. You feel the tremor in your hands, the knowledge that every second spent outside is a second closer to whatever horror is chasing you.

Then, a figure from behind calls for your name.

Mike.

Relief floods through you as he steps forward, grabbing you in a fierce hug, his arms wrapped tightly around you, his breaths shallow and shaky as he presses his face against your shoulder and allows himself to rest for just a second.

Sam picks up a rock, smashing it against the window of the door to unlock it. With a final glance behind, the three of you slip inside.

“And Josh?” Your voice suddenly small, a tremor running through it as you glance at him.

He lowers his gaze. It’s a look that sends an icy chill through you, the kind of look that makes your stomach twist in dread. “It got him”

Your breath catches, you feel sick to your stomach, cold in a way that has nothing to do with the temperature around you.

Sam’s shoulders sag, her face twisting with anguish as she drops her eyes to the ground. ”Ohh, god, what an awful way to go...” she mutters, her voice thick with disbelief and grief.

“What do you think we should do now?”

“We should check the basement, might be someone left down there”

Descending down the stairs to the basement, the only thought passing inside your mind was that there was no time to mourn yet. Help will soon be on the way. You just have to survive just a bit longer.

The door of the basement cracks open and three wendigos are there. Their emaciated bodies twisted and contorted, creeping forward with a surprising speed.

Ashley was no longer there.

Mike takes hold of your hand and with Sam behind, you all backtrack to the main lobby. Mike suddenly halts and tugs harshly at your arm to block you in the track.

"Don't move. Don’t fucking move muscle." His voice a hoarse whisper.

Your heart pounds as you follow his gaze and that's when you see it. A wendigo, tall and twisted, perched on the wooden chandelier above. You caught a glimpse of the butterfly tattoo on its arm. This was Hannah. She was no longer recognizable, skin stretched taut over skeletal limbs, her hollow eyes scanning the room with a terrifying intensity.

𝒟ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝓂ℴ𝓋ℯ

Fear grips you, cold and unrelenting, as you force yourself to stay still. You can feel every tremor in your muscles, the effort it takes to control your breathing, to keep from trembling as the creature shifts, her claws scraping against the wood.

The wendigos from the basement emerge to the main lobby. One of them lunges at Hannah, and in a flash of brutality, she catches it’s leg and throws it first against the wooden stairs and then against the chimney, causing one of the gas pipes to break. Another one attacks her from upstairs but despite the height advantage her claws successfully sink into its neck and decapitate it with little effort.

Your eyes flick to Mike, his face drawn tight with focus as he inches toward the lightbulb switch while keeping an eye on the distracted wendigo.

Then you see the last wendigo from the basement perched on the wooden railing near you, its blind eyes scanning and it's facing Mike. Every step he is making is putting him in danger.

Save Mike. Do anything in your power to distract the monster from him. Anything to protect Mike, even if it means putting yourself in danger.

Run. Save yourself. The path is clear. No wendigos are paying attention to you. Just a quick turn around, a chance to escape. You could save yourse—

Save Mike

You raise your foot and press it down onto the floor, letting it creak just enough to attract the wendigo's attention. The creature snaps its head towards you, the hollow gaze empty and yet focused, its twisted limbs twitching as it crawls toward you, its movements disturbingly animalistic.

𝒟ℴ𝓃'𝓉 𝓂ℴ𝓋ℯ

The wendigo creeps closer, its body contorted, moving on all fours with a disturbing grace, each shift of its limbs slow and deliberate, its clawed hands digging into the wooden floor. You can see its sunken eyes, the stretched skin pulled tight over a jaw filled with teeth too sharp, too numerous.

Just as it seems to lose interest, it shifts, turning toward the stairs, drawn by a new sound. Hannah’s form looming over it as her hollow gaze fixes on it, ready to fight.

You see Sam from the corner of your eye, moving silently toward the door, hiding behind the remnants of overturned furniture. Hannah close in on her hiding spot, her bodies coiled with an unnatural tension, ready to strike.

Your heart pounds in your chest, its frantic rhythm deafening in your ears as your body locks in place, paralyzed by terror.

Mike has backed away and reached your position. His hand slips into yours, his grip firm as he starts to pull you toward the door. His gaze remains fixed on the wendigos, unwavering, every muscle in his body tense with vigilance. His attention flickers only briefly to Sam, a silent worry in his eyes matching yours.

Just as you're inches from the door, Sam's scream cuts through the silence. Your blood freezes. Panic surges through you as you turn around.

Hannah’s grotesque hand shoots out, grasping Sam's face and yanking her up in the air as she struggles to break free. In one brutal, swift motion, Hannah's arm pierces Sam's body, tearing through her.

Her scream pierced the air, and then... silence. Sam's body goes slack, her eyes glazing over as the light fades from them. Hannah lets her crumple to the floor, lifeless.

Tears burn in your eyes, blurring your vision as your breath comes in ragged gasps. You clutch Mike's hand harder, your fingers digging into his skin, as the crushing weight of Sam's death settles over you, the weight of loss heavy on your heart. You feel Mike's hand squeezing yours back, his body tensed beside you but his face filled with grief and helplessness.

The two wendigos turn, their hollow eyes finding you and Mike, and they begin to move, their twisted limbs carrying them forward with terrifying speed.

"I'm sorry, Hannah," you whisper as your gaze locks onto Hannah's, the words slipping out, soft but filled with regret at what you did to her.

Mike steps forward as he reaches for the light switch. The moment he flicks it, a spark ignites, and the room erupts in a blinding explosion. The force sends you and Mike flying backward, his arms wrapping around you protectively as the two of you crash to the ground, the shockwave rattling through your bones as the lodge goes up in flames.

You lie there on top of Mike, the world spinning as the roaring fire consumes what remains of the lodge.

In the distance, you hear the faint whir of helicopter blades, the sound growing louder, accompanied by a voice echoing through the smoke. "We've got survivors."

The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow in the police station room, making everything feel painfully real.

The officer across from you studies you with a quiet intensity, his face neutral, but his eyes carry a weight that tells you he knows he's about to hear something he won't easily forget.

“I... I was grabbed and dragged through the woods. I thought I wouldn't make it, but then this man showed up. He had a flamethrower... he saved my life and he... he died trying to save a friend of mine” You recount everything, the words spilling out in uneven breaths as you described the twisted nightmare that unfolded in the mountains.

When you finish, the silence stretches out, heavy and unnerving, until the officer leans forward, his gaze intense.

"There's one more thing we need to discuss," he says, his tone carefully measured. "We recovered multiple bodies from the lodge after the explosion. One is severely burned, difficult to identify, but we believe it was one of your friends." He pauses, watching your reaction. "From what we could determine, she was shot."

The words sink in, your stomach twisting as you realize he's talking about Emily.

The officer's gaze sharpens, his voice low but probing. "Your boyfriend already told one of my colleagues what happened, but... I want to hear it from you. Can you tell me why he did it?"

His question hangs in the air, pressing down on you with a weight that's almost suffocating.

Tell the truth. You could tell the officer everything, lay bare the paranoia and fear that drove you all, admit that Mike had acted out of a desperation to protect all of you, even at the cost of a friend. This would leave Mike exposed, vulnerable to judgment and consequences that he might not deserve.

Protect Mike with a half-truth. You could bend the truth just enough to shield him, craft a version that holds the essence of what happened but protects him from the harshest scrutiny. You could tell the officer that Emily was on the verge of turning, and that Mike's decision was one made in self-defense for everyone. After all, Mike had no clue the bite wasn’t infectious. This would keep Mike safe.

You think of Mike, his face as he'd held the gun, the determination and anguish mingling as he made the choice to protect all of you. The quiet nights, the endless texts that bridged the miles between you when life pulls you in different directions. The inside jokes that only the two of you understood, the late-night conversations. You remember the way he’d stood by you through everything. The way he would always try to make you smile when you were having a bad day, the sound of his voice calling your name in a crowd, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered. The memory of him chasing after you through the woods risking everything to save you.

Protect Mike

"There were other... things in that lodge, things that weren't human. I don't know if you've recovered them yet, but I'm sure you'll find them."

The officer's brow furrows slightly, as if considering the implications of your words. "We... found some burned bodies in the lodge. They were deformed, impossible to identify." His words trail off, as though he's reluctant to admit what he's seen.

You steady yourself, forcing your voice into a calm, controlled tone as you look back at the officer. "Emily was infected. She was about to turn into one of those things. Mike acted in self-defense for all of us, he was trying to protect us." The officer's face remains impassive, though you see a flicker of skepticism in his eyes.

You lean forward, pulling the crumpled photo from your pocket, the one the stranger had given you of the man twisted by the wendigo curse, the monstrous transformation captured in horrifying detail. You hand it to the officer, your hand trembling as you do.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

"These... things aren't human. It wasn't her anymore. Mike did his best at saving us."

The officer studies the photograph, his expression shifting from skepticism to something darker, more troubled. He nods slowly, his gaze flicking back to you, and there's a note of respect in his tone as he speaks. "We'll look into it. Thank you for sharing this. We’ll keep it in mind for the investigation." He slips the photo into his folder, his expression thoughtful as he regards you one last time.

You hesitate, your voice soft but filled with a quiet desperation. "Could I see Mike?"

The officer studies you for a long moment, taking in the bruises on your skin, the exhaustion etched into every line of your face, and the pleading look in your eyes. He sighs, standing up and nodding toward the door. "Come with me."

You follow him through the narrow hallway, your heart pounding with every step as you finally catch sight of Mike, seated outside another interview room, his head bowed, hands clutched together. The exhaustion on his face is evident but the moment he sees you, his face transforms, relief flooding over him like a wave.

You barely have time to process before he's standing, crossing the short distance to you in a few strides and wrapping his arms around you in a fierce embrace. His grip is tight, his body trembling as he pulls you close, his breath hitching as he presses his face into your shoulder.

"It's over now," you whisper, voice barely audible as you press closer. "We're safe. It's finally over."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes filled with fierce determination. He’ll never let anything happen to you ever again.

The two of you sit together in silence, your hands intertwined, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a gentle, steady rhythm. You can barely bring yourself to look at him, feeling the guilt gnaw at you. All of your friends died and it was your fault

His arms then pull you in closer and you lean into him, not saying anything because no words seem to make the guilt any lighter. But, in that moment, with his arms around you, there’s a strange sense of relief. No matter what happens next, at least you’re not alone.

ℬ𝓊𝓉𝓉ℯ𝓇𝒻𝓁𝓎 ℯ𝒻𝒻ℯ𝒸𝓉 𝓊𝓅𝒹𝒶𝓉ℯ𝒹

I really love all the characters in this game, and honestly, it was painful to write their deaths. But I wanted to try something different this time. I hope it didn’t make the story less enjoyable to read—it wasn’t my intention at all. If you liked this, please leave a comment. I love reading them <3

[gavisimmaculaterizz]

hii can you write something about hector and reader being in a situation ship and having some problems because she is very insecure that he doesn’t want anything serious with her but he actually wants yo ask her out?

Please and thank u, love ur writing btw 💝

— be mine // héctor fort.

summary: after meeting at a cafe and becoming an inseparable duo with benefits, can hector finally call you ‘mine’?

warnings: mentions of insecurities (change of 3rd person to 1st person)

masterlist

In the heart of barcelona, where every street corner held a story and every alley whispered secrets, two souls found themselves entangled in a mysterious dance of emotions. y/n and hector, they were. their story was not a tale of love at first sight, nor a whirlwind romance. now, their story was a story of serendipity, of chance encounters and stolen glances that slowly kindled a flame neither dared to acknowledge at all.

their story began in a quaint café tucked away from the noisy streets of barcelona. y/n sat by the window, her fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup as she immersed herself in her college work. hector, a frequent visitor to the café, spotted her the moment he walked in. he was captivated by the sparkle in her eyes that seemed to intensify with every move she made..

since that initial encounter, days turned into weeks, and their sightings at the café have become more frequent. they’d exchange polite nods and fleeting smiles, yet too shy to initiate a conversation. though one day, hector broke the silence and started a conversation. since that day, both of them became an inseparable duo. when they both began knowing each other more though, there was an undeniable connection between them both. a silent understanding that grew stronger with each passing moment.

you both started spending more time together outside the café, visiting places from the public expanse of the beach to the private confines of his apartment. then, one day, he made a significant gesture by taking you to an important football match of his, despite never revealing that he was a professional athlete. trying to maintain a low-key demeanor to avoid intimidating you in the public eye..

you both began to enjoy each other's company, spending increasingly more time together. as you learned more about one another, the spark between you both became increasingly evident.

one might say that this marks the beginning of their benefits..

immersed in the depth of your friendship or situation with hector, you couldn't ignore the burgeoning feelings for him. you cherished him deeply, yet you felt insignificant and inadequate in his presence.

he was a handsome and athletic man, drawing the attention of many women, leaving you feeling inconsequential. you were just a regular college girl, constantly stressed and unnoticed by those who crossed your path. because of his status, rumors of him with stunning Instagram models circulated, causing you to doubt your worth.

you weren't in a relationship with him, so why did these feelings arise?

the sight of him receiving so much attention was indescribable. initially, it seemed like envy—envy that others feel the same affection for him. but this envy soon morphed into insecurity as you witnessed more beautiful women appearing in photos with him, causing your heart to throb with sorrow.

you spent countless days and nights scrutinizing your appearance and every aspect of yourself. you despised your looks, your speech, and even your reactions. you belittled yourself, constantly comparing yourself to those who seemed perfect.

these thoughts overwhelmed you, as you anticipated.

the more time you spent with hector, the more he noticed the shift in yourself. you used to be shy yet self-assured, indifferent to others' opinions. you dressed boldly, unconcerned with showing your body.

that was what he loved about you..

but then, he started to notice subtle changes in you. you claimed to dress more comfortably, which he saw through as a lie, knowing the person you truly were. he consistently raised his concerns, always inquiring about your well-being, yet you consistently brushed them aside.

he sensed something was amiss, which is why he invited you over for a date in the comfort and safety of his apartment.

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

upon receiving his message to come over, you drove to his apartment. without a doubt though, you were dressed once again in baggy sweats and a sweatshirt.

which is what always made him worry about your well being.

you arrived at his place and adjusted your appearance before approaching his doorstep.

after ringing the doorbell, which echoed loudly, he quickly opened the door.

he went to you, embracing you tightly, and asked,

"how are you, y/n?" his gaze lingered on your face, taking in every detail of you. you appeared sadder to him, almost as though you were unwell.

"i'm great, hector!" you declared, your words hiding the truth. he gazed at you with a smile and planted a gentle kiss.

"come on in," he said, leading you into his home and promptly offering you a seat.

once you took your seat, he began to talk, cautiously.

"the reason why i asked you to come over is because i need to talk to you." he said quietly.

you sensed something was up with him, making you extremely nervous to what he'll say.

"what is it? don't scare me, hector," you said nervously.

he grappled with his words.

"recently, i've noticed a change in your behavior around me. you've become very quiet, and it's apparent that something is troubling you," he said, taking a moment to pause.

"please tell me what's going on with you, y/n," he said, taking your hand.

upon hearing his words, you could no longer hold back what you had been concealing from him. you burst into uncontrollable tears, prompting hector to immediately come over and embrace you.

he had finally noticed...

you attempted to compose yourself, yet it seemed futile as your mind was besieged by flashbacks.

==================================

"am I even pretty?" you asked yourself, sobbing. you had spent countless hours looking at gorgeous girls with stunning bodies on social media.

"y/n, look at yourself. you're nothing compared to those girls. you're just a girl who's nowhere near close to being like them, so stop trying to look good for him," you said to yourself between sobs.

you've began to feel ugly and worthless, without a doubt.

“your ‘friend’ from the cafe, has countless of girls on his knees, why is he hanging out with me?” you constantly said yourself.

==================================

your heart felt as if it had shattered, as though something heavy had been dropped upon it. you couldn't believe hector had finally taken notice.

you continued to cry, releasing everything you had concealed from him.

after awhile of crying, you began to compose yourself.

"i just feel like you don't take anything seriously with me, hector. remember all those times we cuddled and kissed as if we were a couple? i'm sure you've noticed a shift in my behavior; i've been feeling quite insecure about myself, especially when I see those stunning models who seem to always be flirting with you." you said finally breaking silence.

hector allowed you to speak further.

"please, hector, stop this suffering if we are not serious about each other. i've changed for you, and it's likely harming us both," you said softly.

hector was taken aback. he was at a loss for words, seemingly unable to even breathe.

from an initial encounter at a cafe to now questioning where they both stood in life, hector began to tear up.

little did you know though, hector loved you ever since he met you at that cafe. he was taken aback by your initial words, though; he never imagined you would change negatively for him, just to end up feeling insecure.

"im sorry y/n." he spoke.

"i've loved you since the moment i met you at that cafe. when i saw your focused face, I was captivated by your beautiful eyes," he said.

"i regret not expressing my feelings, i regret making you feel insecure about who you are," he said, tears welling up in his eyes.

you looked into his eyes, wordlessly. sadness mingled with the overwhelming love you felt for hector.

"please," hector implored.

"may I be your boyfriend? i'm serious about us, and i want to make you mine, to show everyone that you're the most beautiful girl in the world," he said, gently caressing your face.

you smiled at him, a flutter of butterflies in your stomach upon hearing his question.

"yes, hector, i'd love to be your girlfriend," you said smiling at him.

he smiled, gazing into your eyes with affection.

"i'm sorry for what i did, mi amor," he said, while drawing closer to you.

"just shut up and kiss me, hector," you said with a laugh, dismissing his apology.

from what began as a encounter at a cafe, the two pair of souls finally found their destiny. their destiny to be together ..

a/n: tysm anon for the sweet comment 🥹! ive been debating to post this or not bc i think its not my best lol, i dont like the first part at ALL. ive been lately busy with school bc its ending in a few weeks and ive got tests to do💔. hopefully i can do another one next week about fermin🤗!!

[yourfavoritelittlesister]

andrew graves as your older brother.

cw: nsfw!! dark kinks!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK! female reader, little sis reader, fauxcest/sibcest, grooming, possessiveness, jealousy, toxic behaviors, emotional manipulation, penetration (penis in vagina), doggy style/backshots, loss of virginity, choking, praise, degradation, forced/multiple orgasms, some cnc

a/n: i do not condone real life instances of grooming, sexual violence, toxic behaviors, emotional manipulation, or rape. this work is pure fantasy. expect tcoaal canon-typical dark content and toxicity.

older brother!andy, who crawls under your covers at night for comfort whenever he has nightmares. he cuddles up close, slipping his hands in places they shouldn’t go and feigning ignorance when you call him out for it. he tells you to be quiet, says this is a secret you have to keep from mom and dad. a shared promise whispered over messy bed sheets. you arch your back when he traces a path up your spine, stifle your laughs when he brushes against your ticklish spots, force back moans when his fingers dip between your legs. it’s wrong and you know it, but it feels too damn good to resist.

older brother!andy, who teases you incessantly every chance he gets, but loses his temper when other guys do the same. you’re his younger sister, and he’ll be damned if another man puts his hands on you. you wonder why all of the guys who were harassing you suddenly back off, failing to notice the deep cuts on their skin, the purplish bruises on their faces, their blackened, bloodshot eyes. it's what they deserved. no one else gets to bully you except him.

older brother!andy, who spoils you rotten and treats you like his little princess. you get on his nerves and test his patience everyday with your bratty attitude, but in the end he forgives you every time. he melts when you give him those big dolls eyes, caves in to your demands whenever you whine and pout, all while pretending to be pissed... even though he secretly enjoys your sass.

older brother!andy, who pretends to like all of your boyfriends when you introduce them to the family, but goes behind your back and scares them away with threats of violence and intimidation. you can’t figure out why all of your boyfriends keep dumping you out of the blue right after they ask you out and start to think there might be something wrong with you. he tries not to smile when you go to him in tears, asking him for his brotherly advice. this was all going according to his plan.

older brother!andy, who comforts you when you’re heartbroken and holds you tight until your tears finally dry. he showers you in praise, reminds you of your worth, tells you that these other men are garbage and none of them will ever be good enough for you anyway. and even if you never find someone, you’ll always have your big brother. when the rest of the world abandons you, he will be the last one by your side. he'll make damn sure of that.

older brother!andy, who is your first for everything. your first kiss. your first date. your first time. he doesn’t want someone else putting their grubby hands on you and soiling your precious body. special times like these should be shared with people who truly care about you. and he's the one who loves you most. only he knows how to bring you the most pleasure. only he knows how to touch you right. only he is good enough to take you.

older brother!andy, who fucks your brains out whenever he gets the chance. when he's angry, he takes out all of his frustrations on you, yanking your hair while giving you backshots and holding you down by the neck as you struggle against him. he's very vocal, tells you over and over how much he loves fucking your tight little pussy and how good it feels to be inside you, then in the same breath calls you his little slut. he knows your body best, memorizes the things that make you cum, coaxes out endless orgasms until you're crying, shaking, and begging him to stop. he never does, not until he's satisfied.

older brother!andy, who reminds you every day that he's all you've got in the world. he needs you to need him, so he'll say anything to get you to stay. "no one else is gonna put up with your bullshit except for me. no one else is gonna stick around. you're too fucked in the head for anyone else to love." you may deny it, but deep down, you know it's true.

older brother!andy, who will die for you. who will kill for you. who will follow you to the gates of hell and back again if you asked. 

older brother!andy, the only man you will ever need.

[kasagia]

Dancing with the devil VI

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!royal! reader Summary: Paul Atreides returns from the dead and you must once again consider whether it is really worth it to follow the path he offers you. You also analyze your feelings towards a certain Harkonnen. And you are afraid of what you might conclude from them. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART V ~•♤♤♤•~ PART VII ~•♤♤♤•~

"So the Harkonnens attacked your family on Arrakis, and you... you're the only survivor? And you came here on a smuggler's ship with some Fremen who believe that you are their messiah who is to provide them with a better life, freedom and independence?" You make sure, summarising everything Paul has told you over the past few hours.

"In a nutshell." He confirms and nods at you. You watch him carefully. His complexion isn't as porcelain as it used to be. He's more tanned, has a few wrinkles, and his eyes… you can see from them that he's been through a lot.

"Amazing." You sigh, sending him an incredulous look.

"And you ended up engaged to Feyd?" He asks carefully, poking at the stones with a stick. He doesn't meet your gaze. You don't know why, for fear of reading something in your eyes, or of realizing that he's been gone so long, that things have changed so much when he was away.

"In a nutshell." You nod, swallowing as reality hits you with the words he says. You really were engaged to Feyd. And was about do become his wife. FOR REAL.

"Not so amazing... or is it?" He asks carefully and stares at you uncertainly.

"Of course not!" You snort, shaking your head at his absurd question. "I would never… not with HIM. Not after what they did to you and your family, Paul. You're… one of my oldest and dearest friends. You're all I have left." You say and garb his hand in a strong grip.

Paul lifts his eyes to meet with yours. You stare at each other for a moment, and he turns his attention to absentmindedly drawing circles on the back of your hand. He lowers his head and shifts his thoughtful gaze to the ring on your finger.

"Well... I remember times when you wished to be his wife."

"It was... a long time ago. Very long." You say, swallowing hard and unconsciously digging your nails into his palm. Paul doesn't make a sound, he just gently repositions your hand so you don't dig your nails into his anymore.

"You never told me what happened. I mean... I suspect a few things, especially since you and Irulan stopped being so friendly and start to passionately hate each other..."

"I... don't like to talk about it. I never told anyone about what happened then." You sigh, remembering what happened reluctantly. But if you were to confide in anyone, it could only be Paul.

So you start your story.

Caladan had never felt so... cold before. Once it was one of your favourite places on earth. Now as you walked the halls of the palace, you feared for the future the Bene Gesserit witches, the Atreides, your parents, the Emperor, and the Harkonnens had planned for you Caladan isn't anymore such... stunning.

You didn't want to marry Paul. Not when your heart had long since been stolen and molded by someone else entirely.

"Practicing the art of stealth?" The raspy voice right next to your ear sent shivers down your spine. Your body involuntarily tenses as Feyd wraps his arms around you from behind and drags you into one of the palace's side passages. You wonder how the hell he even knows about it, since he's barely been here in the first place. "You were avoiding me, my deadly sweetness. Why?"

"I wasn't." You answer with a sort of confidence, but Feyd knows you perfectly well. He knows you're lying. You don't even know why you bothered to tell him a lie.

"Is it because of the Atreides? I can kill them, the Baron plans to break the peace treaty between us soon anyway."

"Feyd!" You hiss at him and punch him in the arm, giving him a reproachful look. You look around, making sure no one has heard you or will, and continue without looking at him, because you feel like the moment your eyes meet his you'll break down in his arms. And then Feyd would kill hundreds, if not thousands. "No. It's not them. Partially. And I don't want to get you in more trouble than you already are. It took your uncle a long time to get over you killing one of the nobles who… wanted too much from me. And I know, I know. He deserved it, I'm not questioning that, just the way you handled it, but we've talked about this before. Back to the main topic. Yes, I've been avoiding you because I… I… I just don't want to make it harder if they decide to… marry me off to Paul."

The silience that comes after your confession is killing you. You imagined in your head a variety of scenarios. In the worst of them, you are losing him completely.

You wonder if it wouldn't be better for all of you. After all, you and he had always been from different worlds, connected only by one small event in your past that made you care about each other. Eventually, you had to grow up and face reality. You didn't belong together. You never did.

And yet, despite the odds, despite all reason… you had developed true feelings for the young Harkonnen. Your mother would kill you if she knew how vulnerable you had allowed yourself to be towards a man. Not to mention that that man was Na-Barony, heir to Giedi Prime.

You are torn from your dark thoughts by his rough hand, which gently cups your cheek. You hold your breath as he leans towards you, his nose brushing against yours, his forehead resting against yours as he inhales the same air as you. Your heart beats like crazy as you think that he might kiss you, but to your great disappointment, he doesn't. He looks into your eyes, as if he wants to convince himself that you mean anything but leaving him.

"The only prophecy that I accept is that you are supposed to be mine." A soft growl leaves his chapped lips.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see his other hand shaking uncontrollably as the thought of never again being as close to you as he wanted it to be crosses his mind. He couldn't let you go. He wouldn't let you go.

If necessary, Feyd would burn Caladan to ashes, slaughter House Atreides and Corrino, and his own, if it meant he finally got what he truly desired. Someone's willing company, closeness, affection. He was too addicted to your softness to let you go completely. He was too drunk on the sweetness of your scent and innocence to let anyone desecrate it. He was too addicted to you to let anyone rip you from his arms.

"So what are you gonna do? You can't just claim me." You say, swallowing hard. The tension between you grows, the heat from his chest somehow seeping through his black armor, his musky scent mixed with a hint of smoke and metal overwhelming you.

"Can't I?"

Your heart beats faster at his question. The fact that he was practically asking for your permission made your head spin. How easy it would be for him to just give himself over to you. How easy it would be to just let him snatch you away and claim you as his in front of the world. But you knew the consequences. You knew how much he would pay for this. And the last thing you wanted was to cause him more pain and suffering than he had already experienced.

"You know it is not that easy."

"It is that easy. All you had to do is say yes."

"They won't let us do that." You shake your head as if that would dissuade him from that stupid idea. Although… you can't say you're not tempted to just run away with him, far away from here...

"I'm not asking their permission, I'm asking yours. Respect that. I could as well take you here and now. Take you to a ship to Arrakis and make sure we don't return to court without my heir in your womb."

"Thank you for your great grace and not treating me like one of your whores." You mock him and take a step to move away from him, but Feyd grabs you tightly by the arms and presses you against the wall with his body, preventing you from any form of escape.

"Don't try to argue with me. We both know you're more than that. As well as the fact that my idea captivates you as much as it captivates me."

This effectively silences you. It was true. You wanted this. Some twisted part of you did. But you knew perfectly well that you couldn't just refuse to marry Paul and decide otherwise. No matter how much you loved your prince from Lankiveil and wanted to be with him.

"Even if... even if I want it… it doesn't matter. They'll probably marry you off to Irulan. You'll be emperor and soon you'll forget about me. Those are the facts. We should stay away from each other."

You don't give him time to respond. You shrug his hands off you and run away from him. Tears gather in your eyes, but you try with all your might to keep them at bay. You run until you find yourself in the palace gardens.

Dark, black storm clouds stretch over Caladan, a cold wind blowing against your trembling figure. You kneel on the wet grass, and, not caring about the dirt on your dress, you put your hand to your mouth and let out a silent scream. The water soaks your hair and soaks into your clothes, but you don't move an inch. All you can do is cry, fooling yourself that the water running down your cheeks is rain as you bite your fist to keep from making any sound.

Paul is the one who finds you. And bless his sweet soul, he doesn't ask you any questions. He simply scoops you up in his arms and leads you back to the palace, obediently ignoring your quiet snorting. He knows exactly which corridors to lead you through so you don't have to run into any of the servants, and he returns you to the safety of your chambers with the promise that he'll be back to you soon.

In your hopelessness, you can't move, can't force a single coherent thought from your mind that doesn't involve Feyd. And with every tear that's shed, every tremble in your chest and sniffle, you realize that you don't care about anything but him. So you stand up and practically run to the secret passage in your room that connected to his guest chambers.

You wonder what you're going to tell him, how you're going to convey that you've changed your mind, that he can really do whatever he wants with you, just so long as you're his, just so long as you don't have to be apart any longer.

You couldn't; you didn't want to live like that. Not without him. Never without him. And you were terrified at first that he had such a huge influence on you, that you couldn't see your future without him, and that he was able to bring you to a state of mind where you didn't care about anything but him. But if you had to burn in his embrace to finally feel content and happy, then so be it.

But your determination falls apart when you reach his chambers. Everything falls apart.

"You never loved her, did you?" Irulan’s question rings in your ears. You hold your breath in shock, staring through a vent in the wall as she idly plays with the material of his shoulder armor.

"Y/N was… a lovely distraction."You feel his words tearing at your heart. Part of you doesn't believe what he's saying, doesn't want to believe what he's saying. But the other…

"It's quite pathetic. How fate has turned. You know, I used to think you were… a psychopath. Reckless. Dumb. But I can say that those traits fit her a little better now than they do you."

"I have to admit that I had a lot of fun breaking her and shaping her for my pleasure." You freeze in place. Completely.

He couldn't have meant it… but what if he did? What if he was really just playing with you this whole time? What if he really saw you as entertainment, someone to keep him company until he became emperor and could enjoy all the perks that entails?

"Will you have this much fun with me too?" Irulan whispers seductively against his lips, her hand falling to the back of his neck as she pulls him closer to her.

"Even more, my princess." Feyd responds with a growl, and with that, he kisses her like he kissed you not a few hours ago.

You take a few steps back in shock until you fall through the wall behind you. You put your hand to your mouth for the umpteenth time that day, stifling a cry of despair, and close your eyes, completely blocking yourself from what is happening in the room in front of you. You take a few calming breaths and retreat back to your chambers. You lock the passage carefully, making sure several times that no one will be able to get through it and sit down on your bed.

You reach over to your nightstand and pull out a sheet of paper, an inkwell, and a pen. You write, ignoring the ink staining your fingers, not noticing when Paul arrives with tea and biscuits for you, but you gorge yourself on the food like a week-starved man when the last word finally moves from your head to the page. You let him read what you’ve written, staring at him expectantly.

"Lady Whistledown?" He just asks, raising an eyebrow at you as he reaches the signature at the bottom of the page. You nod, placing your cup of tea on the bed.

Two important words from today—the day a completely new version of you was born. Whistle—from the whistle of the wind heard in the mysterious passage, which you still had in your ears when you saw Irulan and Feyd. And down. Complete collapse, the bottom you reached today and from which you promised to bounce back. If they... if he thought you were a pathetic little doll... what worse could happen to you? You couldn't make a bigger fool of yourself than you already had, wasting so much time on him.

"I want to make a difference. Something new. Something no one expects."

"Certainly no one would expect this… and especially not from Irulan. Who is this mysterious lover?" Paul asks curiously, to which you only smile mysteriously.

You take the notes you wrote in the heat of the moment from him and put on your coat to… seek advice on distributing them around the palace before dawn.

"Nobody important." You state, gathering all the confidence you could muster. You lean in and kiss him with the exact same intensity and desire Feyd had kissed Irulan with moments ago.

And though the guilt grows inside you, forming a lump in your throat, you don't break the kiss. You had to adapt to the new circumstances.

Even if the memory of Feyd's lips will always stick in the back of your mind.

"You were together then?!" Paul asks in shock, and you just nod, playing with a stick in the dying fire. "And you told him you didn't want him, and then he and Irulan…"

"You sound like you're about to start defending him."

"No. No. I… I want to understand. If you loved him… why did you run away from him and... start this Lady Whistledown thing?"

"I… I don't know why I ran. I just did. It's not like your parents and mine, the Emperor and the Baron, would let us change anything about how they arranged our futures." Paul nods. He places his hand on yours, making you look up at him.

"You know… he always seemed more human when he was around you." You barely hold back the tears, but you manage it. You nod in thanks and pull him into a hug. He tenses, but after a moment he manages to relax in your arms and hugs you back.

"Maybe it's better that we didn't get married. I guess we're better friends anyway."

"Maybe." He agrees, tightening his grip around you. You sit there for a moment, holding each other, when suddenly the stone doors of the bunker slide open.

You pull away from Paul as if burned, glancing back the way you came. You shove the torch and weapon into his hands and push him deeper into the cave.

"You need to get out of it. Use the emergency exit. We'll contact each other somehow when I get back to the palace. For now, wait in your hideout. I... I promise you they'll pay for what they did to you."

Paul looks at you with gratitude in his eyes and disappears before you can say anything. You sigh and run your hand through your hair nervously, grabbing the small dagger you carried with you everywhere. You hide in the shadows, listening carefully for the intruder's footsteps.

When you see movement in the darkness, you attack. You push the intruder against the wall and put your dagger to his neck. You freeze as your gaze meet a Feyd's blue eyes.

"What are you doing here?" You hiss at him angrily and step away from him, making sure that no part of your body is touching his.

He presses some buttom on his armour, causing a small ball of light to fly out to illuminate the room. He looks around, not giving you an answer yet, as he carefully and suspiciously examines the area around him.

"I should ask you this question." He mumbles and finally turns his accusing gaze to you. You sigh and roll your eyes at him.

"Irulan?" You ask, knowing full well that only she could tell him the location of your secret hideout. "Of course. It is alwasy about her, isn't it?" You mutter to yourself and walk over to the extinguished campfire, ignoring the Harkonnen following you.

"We should come back before they notice that we disappaired." He suggests, but you completely ignore him in favour of building a fire.

He doesn't like it. That's why he suddenly rips the kindling out of your hands and kneels in front of you, putting him at your height. You pull away from him, feeling awkward having his face so close to yours.

"What for? My reputation is already ruined."

"Just because someone wrote..."

"Lady Whistledown is not someone!" You shout, turning your furious gaze back at him. The small glow of the light ball highlights the sharp lines of his jaw even more. You curse him for how disgustingly distracting he is and take a deep breath before continuing. "We both know how... society react to her paper. They will believe everything she wrote."

"Or he." He corrects you thoughtfully, to which you just snort, even more furious.

"Please. It can't be man."

There's a deep silence between you, broken only by your breathing. You try your best to keep a poker face and not give him away in any way how close you are to Lady Whistledown's true identity. But, luckily for you, he seems to be interested in something completely different.

"Why did you run away?" The question is as uncomfortable for you as if he were pestering you about Whistledown.

You swallow and look away from him, mentally reminding yourself like a mantra that it was he—his kin—who killed the Atreides. And he almost killed Paul. Paul, who, despite everything, had been a great support to you when Feyd was gone.

"Maybe that's my thing?" You say, trying with all your might to maintain your hostile attitude.

He didn't deserve anything more; hell, he didn't deserve anything you gave him. You should be thinking about how best to get rid of him, how to kill him, and how to get out of this unwanted marriage to a monster who was once the most precious person on earth to you. But all you can do is be furious at him for not being able to just love him—exactly the way you want to.

"What happened to you?" He asks, furrowing his hairless brows, accusing you of suddenly returning your hostility towards him with redoubled force.

"You! It's always you, damn it!" You scream at him angrily and punch his chest. Feyd stares at you in shock as your dam breaks and you unleash all your pent-up emotions from years past on him. "For 5 fucking years I've pined for you while you fucked your three pets! And probably a ton of other women! You're a disgusting monster who's only good at killing and destroying other people's lives! I hate the influence you have over me and my life! I hate that after everything you've done to me, Paul, and hundreds of others, you have the nerve to stand in front of me and beg for my love, for any feeling other than the disgust I should have for you and your house! I hate you! I hate you with every fiber of my being as much as I love you and it's killing me! So stop it! Stop your sick games and tell me that all of this, all of we went throught is just one of your sick plans to ruin my life! Say fucking something!!"

You are perfectly aware that you are behaving hysterically, that with every cry and hitting at him you are only sinking deeper in your pitifulness and coming off as pathetic, but you can't take it anymore. You can't stand that you love him and hate him at the same time, that you want to burn him to ashes and at the same time immerse yourself in the feeling of his strong arms around you. You are simply tired of fighting with the whole world and with yourself at the same time.

And Feyd, surprisingly, holds you through it all as you fall apart against his chest.

He gently tangles his hand in your hair and pulls you close. You rub your nose against his neck, inhaling his scent and crying quietly as he whispers soft, sweet nothings to you.

Your heart swells with love as you hate him even more for being so sweet and protective towards you.

But you don't want softness. No. Softness won't throw out all the thoughts you have, it won't make you finally feel the blog's emptiness.

So you stand on your tiptoes, digging your nails into his bald head as you pull him in for a kiss.

Feyd groans in shock at your actions. At first, he responds to your kiss instinctively, digging his fingers into your waist and pulling you close to him. Your tongues fight for dominance, and you feel your lungs burn from lack of breath. But you need more. So much more.

Your fingers themselves find their way to the buckles of his armour.

You undress him with a strange skill, and he's too focused on the feeling of your eager mouth on him to realise what you're doing. But when the pads of your soft, delicate fingers touch his skin, he wakes from the frenzy you've put him in.

He pushes you away from him. He breathes deeply, heavily, standing with his chest exposed to your hungry eyes.

"Y/N... wait..." He blurted out, not believing that the words were really leaving his mouth as much as you were. He hadn't imagined that he would be… reluctant and resistant when you initiated anything between you, but if anything, he didn't want to use you in such a state…

"I don't want to." You growl at him furious and move closer to him. Feyd groans when your mouth falls on him again and you loosen the ties of your dress.

You guide his much larger hand to your breast and knead it, making him harden in his pants at the mere touch of you. And fuck he wants more. He wants more so desperately. But he shouldn't. He shouldn't be using you like this.

“Fuck the hate for you out of me.” You demand, not beg or ask, against his mouth and slide your hands along his chest and abdomen to the button of his pants, which do nothing to hide the bulge that grows with every touch and gasp you make. "Make me forget about everything."

And Feyd is just a man, after all. A man who has given in to his desires for years and has never fought them. So after making sure that you want it too, he grabs you hard by the hips and lifts you, forcing your legs to wrap around his hips.

Feyd groans, laying you down by the fire, on stones that are still a little warm from the fire that died down. He tears the remnants of your dress from you, running his tongue along the column of your neck and to your bare breasts.

He sucks on one of your nipples, nibbling on it every now and then out of pure desire to see you howl and scream under his touch or to feel your fingers dig a little harder into his back. He needed to feel you close. He needed to know you weren't going anywhere. He could give you a reason to stay. Like he should have all those years ago.

"Feyd…" You moan softly as his fingers travel to your other breast and play with your nipple. Feyd hardens at the thought that one day, maybe, his children will be the ones to receive your beautiful breasts. And fuck, he's going to make sure of that.

He moves his mouth lower, tracing colors, a red-purple trail of hickeys across your breasts, the valley between them, your stomach, your hips, your thighs, to the place that interests him the most. He growls, nuzzling your wet core and inhaling your scent. He licks once, kittenishly, gently, just enough to get you impatient and savor you before he lunges to devour everything your sweet pussy has to offer.

Your moans and chants of pleasure make Feyd work you even harder, wanting to bring you to a sweet, blissful climax at least twice before he obediently fucks anything other than him out of you.

Feyd exactly feels the moment you're about to come. You dig your heels deeper into his back, your thighs gripping his head as if in some kind of trap, you shake under the thrill he's giving you. He looks at you and can't help but smirk possessively as he watches you, eyes closed, fall apart under his tongue, crying out of pure pleasure and relief.

He wastes no time. Feyd climbs over you, encouraged by your hands as you pull him down on top of you. He rests his forehead against yours and kisses you lazily before, with your help, he gently enters you. He stops when he sees you close your eyes and clench your teeth to keep from hissing in pain. He holds you protectively in his arms and slows your hasty movements. Ironically, he's the one who wants to slow down. He takes no pleasure in your pain and doesn't want to see you suffer. He wants to see the same look of blissful pleasure on your face from moments ago. So, to your protests, he slows down and presses his lips to your neck, sucking little raspberries as his fingers return to your swollen cunt, playing with it as he slowly conquers the deepest parts of you.

And it feels so fucking right and good. For both of you. You hold him tight, your nails digging into his abalaster skin as you draw his black blood, as he pushes himself inside you up to his balls.

You bite your lip, and he growls when he sees you trying to make the sound he has rightly earned sound. He kisses you with such fervour that you barely notice he has begun to thrust into you. His pace gradually increases until it is so fast that you don't register when he leaves you empty and when he completely fills every space in you. All you know is that you are one in this moment. You and him. And it feels so damn good. His lips mark every inch of your skin he can get to, just as your nails leave scratches on his back. You mark each other completely, as if either of you will forget what is happening between you now.

The moment you feel like you're going to fall apart you try to hold back, to come with him, but Feyd won't let you. He thrusts into you like it's the last thing he'll ever do, forcing you over the edge.

The force of his thrusts increases, stimulating your orgasm as he drinks in the sight of you beneath him, overwhelmed with pleasure. Your eyes squeeze shut, the scream of his name, and the way you dig your wonderful nails deep into the skin of his neck make him come. Your wet walls clench around his aching length as he kisses you one last time with everything he has, wanting to make sure your swollen lips, the hickeys on your body, and the pleasant ache between your legs remind you of how perfectly you both fit together. Hoping you won't run away from him the moment you get the chance.

He clings to you like a frightened little boy, afraid that when the fog of lust lifts you will come to your senses and pull away, push him away, to declare once again your great hatred for him.

But you don't. True, you gently push him off of you and snuggle into his side, completely exhausted, both emotionally and mentally, but you don't walk away completely; you don't throw insults.

Feyd believes that it's only and exclusively because you're too tired to do so.

Without a word, he pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms tightly around you, making sure to cover you with his black paladin first. You fall asleep quite quickly in his arms, allowing him to relax a little too. Feyd places his lips on the top of your head and presses a long kiss there.

"I've never played with you, little swan. It's always been… real. The realest thing I've ever experienced." He mumbles, his heart pounding faster than ever before with his confession. Even though you’re too deeply asleep to hear him, Feyd still finds it nerve-racking to admit it out loud.

For now, he falls asleep with you in his arms, enjoying the small truce between you. He just wonders how long it will last before you decide you hate him too much to even consider touching him.

Taglist for Feyd: @avidreader73 @aleemendoza2425-blog @peggyao3

Taglist for DWTD: @iloved1lfs0 @heartarianagran @hueanhdang @barnes70stark @forgedfromthestars

@toertche

@emzzlyy

[mystic-writings]

out like a light | steve harrington

PAIRING — steve harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY — you and steve have been living a happy, simple life in hawkins. the return of an old friend flips everything on its head.

WARNINGS — angst, verbal arguments, cheating, steve and reader are married

WORD COUNT — 2,856

NOTES — loosely inspired by 'out like a light 2' by ricky montgomery

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Steve Harrington was all yours. 

It started out as a silly promise, a quiet whisper between lips and sheets in the early days of your relationship. But it was a promise nonetheless, and Steve intended to keep it for as long as you would let him. 

You seemed to have one of those picture perfect relationships; one that everyone envied, even if the path that led you there was anything but. It took time to get to where you were, and a lot of pain. Effort. But it was worth the heartache, the uncertainty. Because you were happy. 

According to the social class guidelines of your high school career, you and Steve even being friends with each other was something nearly unthinkable. But neither of you could care too much about something as stupid as that — your relationship meant too much. You’d been through too much together. 

And, somehow, through the nights spent singing to Queen on the radio and driving along the long abandoned Hawkins roads, you fell in love with Steve Harrington. And he fell in love with you, too. 

Your relationship didn’t go without its trials and tribulations. You weren’t that lucky. 

The first big fight you could remember happened right after your high school graduation. There was no forgetting it; it was the first time you’d ever told him you loved him. 

“Why are you being so ridiculous, Steve?!” You shouted, standing with a heaving chest in his parent’s living room. You’d been shouting at each other for an hour, now. Maybe longer. Steve’s parents weren’t home, so you didn’t mind being so loud. Then again, they never were. “You’re not even listening to me!” 

“I’m not being ridiculous, here! I’m just—” he huffed, carding his fingers through his hair. “You’re going off to college in two months and I’m staying here, I just don’t think it’ll work out.” 

You felt like your lungs were robbed of air. “Don’t say that.” You pleaded, eyes brimming with sudden tears. “You don’t get to decide that. It’s not fair.” 

“You deserve better.” Steve decided. “A lot better than me.” 

“And what makes you think that, Steve? What, because you didn’t get into any colleges?” Your voice was soaked in emotion, and you didn’t have the energy to try to hide it from him. You didn’t want to. “You can try again next year, you know. With Robin. Save your money and just try again.” 

Steve seemed to deflate at your words, but you weren’t done. 

Taking a hesitant step closer, you began to close the gap between you, words trembling on the tip of your tongue. “I love you, Steve Harrington. Nothing is going to change that. I’m all yours. No one else’s. I don’t want to be, baby.” 

“Don’t,” Steve nearly begged. His heart swelled at your words, almost unbearably so, a terrifying reminder of why he was doing this. “I don’t want to hold you back.” 

“From what?” You asked, voice a mere whisper. “What could you possibly hold me back from?”

Steve sighed, his head dropping. He could barely stand to look at you; at the pain he was causing you. Your red rimmed eyes searched for his, and his resolve almost crumbled. The sinister voice in the back of his head reminded him that this was for the best. The calming one told him to hear you out. 

“From a life away from here, from Hawkins.” Steve said, scrubbing his face with his hands. “I’m just— I’ll always be the reminder of this town. Of the things we’ve been through. And I know how much it all hurt you. I don’t want to do that to you.” 

“If there’s one thing you’re not, it’s that, Steve,” you told him, taking another step forward. “If anything, you’re my reminder that there’s still good in this place. You help me forget.” 

A strangled sob slipped from Steve’s lips, and you rushed forward, wrapping your arms around his neck. Steve’s head fell into the crook of your neck as one of your hands cupped the back of his head, your lips pressing gentle kisses to his hair. 

“I love you,” he whispered, grabbing your sweater by the fistful. 

You sighed, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “I love you, too.” 

Being high school sweethearts and making it through college was a feat you didn’t think most people could achieve. But you and Steve had been so in love that somehow, someway, you did. The thought that you couldn’t never even crossed your mind. 

All of the friends you made through college all said the same thing — you were made for each other. Soulmates. The perfect couple. 

A perfect picture of love and happiness. 

Eventually, after that first fight, Steve had proved you right. He and Robin attended college together, graduating the year after you did. You never once doubted his ability to do what he wanted in life. 

You built a life for yourselves together. Steve began working for his dad, with a higher title than he could’ve ever gotten without a degree. You put your knowledge to use, working with the freshmen at Hawkins High. Even if Steve had wanted a life for you outside of the town, you didn’t mind staying. You’d go anywhere if it meant you were with Steve. 

He proposed Christmas after his college graduation. You got married two springs later, and moved into a brand-new, red brick house with four bedrooms — enough room to start a family. 

It was the simplest of lives, but you relished every single day of it. If it meant that there were no more monsters crawling out from the depths of hell to try and kill you, you would enjoy every single day. 

But it seemed that Steve didn’t want the life you did anymore. 

You should’ve seen the signs earlier. After being married for half a decade, and together for almost twice that time, you should’ve seen it when Steve first began pulling away from you. 

Nights spent late at the office, leaving you to eat dinner alone. Business trip after business trip, where Steve barely made the effort to call before bed. The declining amount of date nights, both out and in the comfort of your home. Steve’s lack of enthusiasm to hear about your day, or to just spend time with you in general. The way that every conversation began with snipping remarks that eventually turned into meaningless shouting matches. 

It should’ve been no surprise when you found the root of it all. 

Nancy Wheeler moving back to Hawkins was a surprise. Though, she was by no means Nancy Wheeler anymore. She’d been Nancy Byers for just under four years when she and Jonathan came back to their hometown. 

You were eager to catch up with her when she moved back to town. She and Jonathan had been living in Boston ever since they graduated college — her degree coming from Emerson, and his from Quincy, a community college from what you’d heard. With them, they brought a one-year old boy, with eyes like his mother’s and a quiet demeanor like his father. Benji Byers, short for Benjamin. 

The couple seemed content to move back for their son’s sake, to live out the rest of their life in the quiet town, now no longer plagued by the horrors you’d experienced in your teenage years. You were just glad you had someone familiar to talk to again; Robin stayed in Chicago after college, and only really visited for the holidays, wherein she’d crash in your spare bedroom for a month with her girlfriend, Jess. You loved the company.

You spent a lot of spare time with Nancy, Jonathan, and Benji. They’d moved back to town around the time of year where Steve was away more often than he was home, and you couldn’t get enough of Benji. 

“Why don’t you and Steve don’t have kids yet?” Nancy had asked one day as you sat in her living room, a cooing Benji in your lap. You knew she had meant well, but the stutter in your heart and the hesitation before your response told her everything she needed to know. 

“We’re just not ready yet.” You said with a tight lipped smile. “Steve’s just so busy right now, and I think we’re still enjoying ourselves for now.” 

You just hoped your face didn’t show it as you relived the countless arguments over having kids that seemed to happen between you and Steve. Shouts of ‘I’m not ready’, always to be countered with your rebuttals of how much of a lie Steve’s words were. There was nothing you were more ready for than having a child. 

But it seemed Steve had his eye on something else. 

The Byers family moved back to Hawkins, and in less than a year, your marriage was nothing but a pile of rubble and shattered glass. 

The shuffling of feet and a clatter somewhere in the house roused you from your uncomfortable sleep. 

“Steve?” You mumbled from your place on the couch, voice raspy. 

An open book lay face down on your thigh, darkness drenching the space around you as your eyes adjusted. The last you remembered was flipping the page on your book, the clock reading quarter-past midnight, as you waited for Steve to get home safe. 

The shuffling stopped abruptly, and you stretched out your stiff limbs before closing the book and making your way to the kitchen, where light was spilling from the archway. Bleary-eyed, you glanced at the clock, almost unsurprised to find it reading twenty minutes to four. 

“Where were you?” You asked, finding Steve’s back to yours as he stood at the sink, hands gripping the counter. A bottle of whiskey and a half-full glass sat on the counter next to him. 

“Nowhere,” Steve said, knuckles turning white, head hanging low. “I, uh— I went to the bar with some of the guys, that’s all. Go to bed, I’ll be up in a minute.”

You sighed, shuffling into the room. “Steve,” you whispered. “Come with me. Please.”

Steve’s shoulders tensed beneath his crumpled button down, and it was now that you noticed the state he was in. Most of his outfit had been wrinkled, the sleeves haphazardly rolled halfway up his forearms. His hair was a mess, almost as though the gel he’d put in it that morning was never there in the first place. And the closer you looked, the easier you could see it. 

His hair was wet. 

You had known for a fact that it wasn’t going to rain tonight, mostly because you were planning to cook a barbeque dinner for yourself and Steve. 

The pieces seemed to click into place in an instant, and your blood ran cold. The thought of it made your stomach turn, your heart shattering in your chest, shards ripping and tearing at the skin of your soul. 

“Steve, where were you,” your tone was low, soaked in emotion. 

In an instant, Steve was turning to face you, anger twisting his face. “Jesus, I already told you! I was at the damn bar, Y/n!” 

You stepped back at Steve’s flailing limbs, horrified to find that the front of him looked no better than the back. 

The tie he’d put on that morning was no longer around his neck — in fact, it was missing altogether. The top five buttons on his shirt were undone, exposing the white tank top he wore underneath it. It also exposed the angry red marks that littered his chest and neck, forcing a strangled, quiet gasp from your throat like the last breath of air before you drowned beneath the weight of it all. 

“Who is she?” 

“What?” Steve hissed, following your eyes to his chest. His shoulders sagged, fingers fumbling to button his shirt, as if hiding the evidence of his infidelity would make you forget about it. “Y/n it’s not— don’t—” 

“Who is she?” You said, voice dripping with anger and pain. You could barely see your husband through the wall of tears building in your eyes, but you refused to take your eyes away from him. You would not break. 

Steve gnawed on his lip, heart racing. He knew he couldn’t lie to you, to his wife. 

“Nancy.” He spoke barely above a whisper, the name coming off his tongue like a bullet, aimed at your already shattered heart. 

The staggered breath that came from you made Steve’s chest fill with guilt. When he looked up, he found you staring at him, eyes tearful and cheeks stained with the ones that had already fallen. 

And yet, the response you gave was one he wasn’t expecting. 

“She’s a mother, Steve. How could you?” The more you thought about the entire situation, the more your sadness turned to rage. “She has a child! What did you think was going to happen, hmm?! You’d break up two marriages and ruin that poor boy’s life because— because, what, you got bored of me? That you’d raise someone else’s son because you couldn’t stand to think of having one with me?” 

As soon as the words slipped past your lips, it seemed the brief fire within you went with them. Your stomach turned at the thought, hands carding through your hair. “You… She has a son… Oh, God.” 

“Y/n—” Steve rushed forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

You pushed your husband’s arm away from you, taking several steps back. “Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me, Steve. I can’t believe you.” 

Turning on your heel, you rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs, Steve shouting your name as he followed after you. 

“Y/n, come on, let’s just talk about this,” 

You spun around in your bedroom doorway, chest heaving. “You want to talk about this?” You scoffed. “Why don’t we talk about the fact that every time I’ve brought up kids you said you didn’t want any yet! That you weren’t ready! Let’s talk about how I’ve spent the past four months— longer than that, even— trying to find a way to fix our marriage while you screwed your high school ex-girlfriend behind my back! About how you ruined two marriages because you couldn’t stand living a normal life!” 

“That’s not true!” Steve shouted back, following as you moved to grab a suitcase from the closet. “You know that isn’t true, Y/n!” 

“Yeah, right, it’s not true.” You admitted, stopping between where the suitcase sat open, empty on the bed, and where the dresser sat. “You wanted that life. The white, picket fence, Church on Sundays life. You just didn’t want it with me.” 

Steve stood in your bedroom — the room you shared, as husband and wife — dumbfounded and heartbroken at the sight of you. He had been the one to cause this hurt, and for what? To relive his teen years? To go back to the time that seemed to be the highlight of Steve’s life? 

His mind started back up again when he noticed the clothes you were packing into the suitcase. They were his. 

“What— Honey, what are you doing?” 

“Don’t call me that.” You snapped, shoving everything he owned into one of his suitcases. “And if you really want to know, I’m packing. Because if you really love Nancy that much, you can go sleep on her couch. I’m not sharing my bed or this house with a cheating asshole.” 

Steve’s chest deflated, struggling to catch another breath. “What?”

“You heard me. You made the choice to sleep with another woman. A married woman. Now deal with the consequences.” The zipping of the suitcase on the bed punctuated your words, and Steve watched, practically glued to the floor as you hauled it out of the room and into the hallway. 

It wasn’t until it thumped heavily down the stairs that Steve jumped, legs finally kicking back into gear. 

Your footsteps followed the tumbling suitcase. Steve watched from the top of the steps as you grabbed it, and he followed you as you moved to the front door, wrenching it open. 

“Y/n, Y/n, wait—” 

Steve was unable to stop you as you tossed it out onto the paved walkway, the suitcase skidding along the concrete as you turned to look back at him. 

“Get the hell out of my house.” 

Upon catching the look in your eye, the fury mixed with unimaginable despair, Steve knew there was nothing to be done to salvage your relationship. As he passed you by, Steve stopped at the threshold and whispered, “I’m sorry,” 

You didn’t acknowledge him as he walked out of the house, slamming the door shut behind him. 

And with the click of the lock latching, and the metal door cooling your skin as you pressed your forehead against it, you let the dam break. Sobs wracked your body, shaking your bones as you slid to the floor, curling up against the front door. 

Steve Harrington had once promised that he was all yours. But promises get broken, and people, more often than not, turn out to be liars.

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

steve harrington taglist: @theweasleyslut @starjane312 @the-romanian-is-bae @lillsxd @jemimah-b99 @heavcnslyre @xitsyaiizax @magicalxdaydream @timeladygallifrey @cadencebeat2662 @jamespotterslover @whoreou @mariecoded @suranne-doesstuff @hehehehannahthings @alexwritesthingssometimes @unic0rntaking0ver17645 @wecallhimbrowneyess @erospecies @pariahsparadise @alexxavicry @imabee-oralizard @bluesongbird @1-800-isabellapotter @ajordan2020 @g4ys0n @sunshine-daisies-library @tsaidelrey @moonlightsgirl

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