#if only he knew how to use his words instead

[shadowlord420sgf]

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ Abandoned & Aching

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ xxXShadowl0rd420Xxx | Skips x reader ୭ ˚.

⌗ summary: You left Skips waiting, aching—now that you’re back, he won’t let you go until he’s felt all of you again. word count is 1.6k

⌗ warnings!: female reader, fingering, p in v, missionary, creampie, established relationship, porn with feelings, everyone & everything is desperate, skips is kinda emotionally deranged, fucking on the floor (sorry florence!), i think: hurt + angst with comfort

⌗ author’s note: (you can also read this on my ao3!)back with everyone’s favorite sad emo boy ☹️ thanks for all the support I’ve received on my fics it actually means a lot to me and i love everyone!! like and reblog if you would peg skips 💕 also my irl friend: @funnygirlwriter104 gave me the idea for this fic, check out her dirk one!

It had been some time since you’d last paid Skips a visit. You two had left off on a high note, he asked how you slept and told you about his efforts of keeping the silverfish away. Cute. However, you couldn’t help the excitement you got from speaking with other objects around the house. The dateviators just made you so curious that you didn't notice how you strayed away from the person, or shadow, who loved you the most...

Your ignorance wasn’t on purpose though, so many objects were really so entertaining! You especially liked helping Maggie solve cases, or going on extreme adventures with the Hanks. But none of that changed how you felt about Skips. If only he knew that, instead of assuming that you’d left him for good.

So, when you focus your dateviators on the shadow of Gaia one morning, what you find is a bit unexpected. It’s your beloved Skips, obviously, but something seems to be off with him.

“Hey you.” He greeted, looking a bit surprised that you were in front of him. “I was wondering when you’d come back to see me.”

You winced internally. It couldn’t have been that long since you spoke to him, right? Either way, you felt terrible for being the reason his voice sounded unsure, and a little hoarse like he hadn’t used it in a while.

“I—I know, I’m sorry,” you said gently, stepping closer to him. “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long. I just got caught up with everything—”

“It’s okay,” Skips interrupted quickly. A little too quickly. “You don’t have to explain. I mean, you’re here now, right? That’s all I wanted.” He gave a shaky smile, eyes flickering across your face like he was trying to burn it into his retinas.

He gazed at you like that for a moment before speaking, barely loud enough for you to hear, “I just… I thought maybe you didn’t wanna come back. Like Benji and the others, you know?”

Oh my god, you’ve fucked up this time. You’d left him alone for so long that he compared you to his old friends from way back in his Thiscord roleplaying days. You knew how important those memories were to him, and how hurt he felt as his companions drifted away. You never wanted him to feel like that again.

You stepped even closer, and he didn’t move away. He never would.

“Skips…” you started, finding the words to apologize, but you didn’t get far. He surged forward and wrapped his arms around you like he couldn’t stop himself, pressing your warm body against his cool one. He buried his face deeply into your neck, breathing in. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this. You missed being in the comfortable darkness and silence around Skips. Everything was just so natural with him.

You hugged him impossibly tight, and it still wasn’t as hard as he clung to your body. Your hands tangled into his hair and he made a let out a noise that you swear was a sob. Oh Skips… His voice was muffled against you, “I really fucking missed you. I kept thinking maybe I did something wrong, or maybe you found someone better. Or maybe you just—”

He cut himself off with a shaky breath. “But you’re here. You came back. You came back for me.”

His words made your heart shatter inside. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “There’s nobody like you, Skips. No one.” You whispered, not a hint of dishonesty in your voice. “Of course I’d come back for you, I love you.”

He paused hearing those last three words. You’ve said them to him before, and always meant it of course, but it changed something in him at this moment. There was a beat of silence, and then his lips brushed your jaw. Then your cheek. Then—finally—your mouth.

It wasn’t a careful kiss. It was desperate, uncoordinated, messy. Like he was scared you’d vanish again if he didn’t taste you right now. His hands were everywhere—your neck, your waist, clutching tight, tugging you closer like there still wasn’t enough of you against him.

You groaned at finally feeling his lips on yours again, after so long. “I need you,” he gasped between kisses, eyes half-lidded, voice wrecked. “I’ve been needing you every single night and—I didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again—please…” Skips was practically whining for you.

You nodded, touching and kissing him all over just like how he was doing to you. “Ah…Need you too, Skips.” He groaned again hearing your sweet voice that he missed so much.

“I need you,” he rasped again, grinding his hips against yours with a frustrated moan. Oh how he wishes your clothes weren’t in the way. “I need to feel you. Now. Please—just—let me have you.”

“You always have me…” you mumbled against his lips. “I’m yours—fuck—I promise.” You both needed each other more than it was possible. It would never be enough.

“O—Okay, can you uh…get on the floor for me?” Skips panted, barely getting the words out. You obeyed him with a smile, pulling off your shirt in the process. Shit, everything you did drove him crazy. Skips did the same before slotting himself in between your thighs, where both of his hands gripped. You felt like melting under his gaze… His dark eyes were actually staring into your soul.

Skips moved his hand higher and higher up your thigh, until his fingertips met with your clothed core. Your back arched up a little at how the small touch sent heat throughout your entire body. Skips chuckled, “So wet already, huh? Knew you missed this as much as I did.” Moving your underwear to the side, he pushed a finger into your wet cunt, and groaned as you did.

“Missed touching you like this,” he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, and you cried out his name. “Missed the way you whine for me when I touch you just like this—fuck.” He always knew exactly what to say.

“M—Missed it too—” You couldn’t bother to answer him properly, not when he was so close to making you come all over his fingers and make a mess. “Ah.. Skips, I’m—I’m close,” you managed to blurt out, hips squirming under him.

Just then, he pulled his fingers out of you. “I know, Penumbra… I always know,” he was right, “And you know I’ll make you finish— But it has to be when I’m inside you. There’s nothing I missed more than that.”

His words alone could’ve made you come undone. They made you forget how close you’d just been, made you wetter than you already were. “Yes—Yes, please I need you… need to feel you, Skips.” You mewled, hands reaching for him on instinct & dragging him down into another kiss that was all tongue and teeth and desperation. He kisses you back with more force than you gave him. He’d never ever let go of you.

Skips was quick to slide off his pants along with his boxers in one impatient motion, allowing his hard length to spring up. You couldn’t help but moan a little at how perfect he was. He gave himself a few quick strokes before positioning himself between you again. “Are you ready, my Penumbra? I sure am…” You nodded, voice too broken to say anything except a “Please…”

With that, he pushed into you, agonizingly slow. You both gasped at the feeling, the familiar stretch of his cock and the wet warmness that enveloped it. You two stayed like this for a bit before you whimpered, “Skips… y-you can move, please I need you.”

“Right. S-Sorry, I just missed this—missed you— so much.” Before you could answer in agreement, he crashed his mouth against yours again, hips rocking into you as he began to move—deep and slow at first, like he was savoring the feeling of being inside you again after so long.

You wrapped your legs around his hips, digging your heels into his lower back as he hit that perfect spot in you again and again. You were already so close, pleasure building fast, curling deep in your belly like it had been waiting for him this whole time.

Your moans turned into soft sobs, overwhelmed. “Skips—fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he gasped, voice cracking, hips stuttering, “Me too—just… come with me, please. I need it. I need you.”

Before you knew it, your orgasm ripped through you like a wave crashing, sharp and hot and all-consuming. You cried out his name, clinging to him like your life depended on it as your walls clenched around him, pulsing hard.

Skips let out a broken, guttural sound—his body trembling as he followed right behind you, spilling inside you with a low groan pressed against your neck. His thrusts slowed but didn’t stop, like he couldn’t bear to pull away just yet, even as the continued thrusts made you both twitch and whimper.

“Don’t leave me like that again. Please don’t.” Skips begged, still panting. You kissed him yet again, breath heavy. “Never—I’ll never leave you Skips.”

Later, Skips had you tell him what objects you were hanging out with, giving his own input on them. He scoffed when you mentioned that you had to talk to Scandalabra, who Skips refused to interact with. Something about the light contrasting with darkness? It didn’t matter.

There was really no one like your Skips.

[sincerelystarry]

( ☆ ) . * and i can’t get enough of you baby . . . can you get enough of me !!

f!reader x co-worker!steve harrington

starry’s sweets — order #011

ask : "hii can i get a medium caramel tea cake with oreo crumbles 😋” — @imsogonesposts

summary : your best friend, robin, knows you’ve had a massive crush on your co-worker, steve, since forever. so why does she keep sneaking off with him? why do they keep whispering and giggling with each other? why does it seem that she’s trying to get him first?

warnings : lots of miscommunication & misunderstanding, suggestive content, making out but no sex, allusions to sex, reader is a bit of a bitch to robin, but it’s ok she apologizes and everything’s okay! best friend robin buckley, they all work together at scoops, canon-compliant but pre-russians

word count : 2.2k

Steve Harrington is a little bit pathetic. That’s probably why you’re so head over heels for him. You started working at the Scoops Ahoy ice cream in the new Starcourt Mall with your best friend, Robin, not too long ago. You always knew of Steve’s existence, Hawkins is a small town and you all went to school together, you and Robin only being a year below Steve. You never spoke to Steve until work, though, as you hung around different circles.

Summer break and Steve now out of high school meant no more cliques, and the three of you working together meant Robin bullying Steve for his horrible luck with girls. He continuously blamed the silly sailor hat that you were all required to wear as apart of your uniforms, saying it covered his hair, which was apparently where half of the charm was. 

You thought he was cute, hat or not, and looked great in the sailor shorts. Words you’d never utter to Steve, or you’d probably quit right then and there and move out of Hawkins, but you have told Robin of your interest in Steve on days where it was just the two of you and he was no where around.

You didn’t tell her of your feelings for him out of your own volition. Your friend unfortunately has a keen eye, and spotted the amount of times you would keep staring at the way Steve would flip the ice cream scooper in his hand on a slow day or laugh a bit too hard at one of his dumb pick up lines. What she didn’t know was how you wished so badly he was using those pick up lines on you and not some girls on a shopping spree that just stopped by for some ice cream. 

What Robin would hopefully never find out, and something you would never fess up until you were dead, was how you would stare as Steve would steal a bite of ice cream when the store was desolate and it was just you and him running a shift. The way his tongue would flick out at the cold treat on a sample spoon, and how you wished that tongue was working on you instead. Thoughts that would immediately be ceased by someone coming into the store and one of you had to tend to the register.

Just as she noticed the way you would stare at Steve, the way you’d laugh at his unfunny jokes, you noticed how she started to act around him too. How he started to act around her. They were comfortable with each other, in a way that you wish you were with Steve. Robin always poking fun at him every time he failed to score with a girl or dropped his scooper on the ground or complained about the sailor hats. Steve always looking over to Robin, the two of them communicating through wild gestures and facial expressions you can’t seem to decipher.

They would sneak away, too, during shifts where all three of you were working, leaving you to man the counter yourself. Into the hallway that Steve would let the gang of middle schoolers use to sneak into the movie theater for free. You could hear them talking and laughing, and Robin would always come back beaming, Steve sometimes with a slight flush on his face. You know you shouldn’t jump to conclusions. They’re friends, it doesn’t mean anything. But they seemed so comfortable around each other. The way they seem to act as if they were dating, giggling and sneaking off. 

Robin knows of the little crush you have on Steve, why would she do this? You have to admit, she’s pretty. Any sensible guy could see that and you couldn’t blame Steve if he’s attracted to her. But her entertaining him? When she knows how you feel, how you’ve felt since the start of summer. She’s never once showed any romantic interest in Steve so why now? Is she just doing this because she doesn’t like you?

All the thoughts and worries run through your head as you ring up ice cream for a group of girls one day, culminating into anger. You’re passive aggressive to Robin throughout the shift until she finally asks, when the store is empty aside from the two of you, “What is your problem?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, stealing a sample spoon of strawberry cheesecake ice cream, sucking and chewing on the plastic even when the ice cream is gone, just to give your mouth something to do. 

“I mean how you’ve been acting these past few days?” she says, perching herself on the sill of the window separating the front of the ice cream parlor and the backroom. “Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you somehow? Because I’m sorry— you know I wouldn’t hurt you purposefully. You’re my best friend. We’ve been friends since 7th grade.”

You scoff, tossing away the spoon. “You’re sorry?” you say, giving her an incredulous look.

“Yeah, I’m sorry. But it’d also be great to know what I’m sorry for.”

You take a breath, staring at her with wide eyes. “Going on your little trysts with Steve in the middle of shifts?” you start. “Giggling and whispering to each other and hiding your fucking relationship from me like you’re Romeo and Juliet or something?”

“Woah— wait— what?” She blinks at you, looking very confused. “What do you mean our relationship.”

“Don’t fucking play dumb, Robin. It’s pretty fucking obvious, with the way both of you keep sneaking off and leaving me to deal with customers alone. The way he’s always all blushy when he’s around you!”

Robin laughs at your words, as if they were the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard. “You think Steve and I are dating?”

“Yes!”

She says your name as if trying to garner if you’re joking or not. “I don’t like men.”

“Well clearly you like at least one—” you start, thinking she’s saying it in some sort of feminist-y way. 

“No—” Robin laughs, standing and grabbing onto your shoulders. “I don’t like men. Especially not Steve.”

You stare at her for a few minutes, confused, before realization dawns on you. “You don’t… like men?” You repeat her words, getting confirmation with a nod. “Since when?”

“Since middle school,” she says.

“Why did you never tell me?” you ask her.

“I didn’t know if you’d still want to be friends.” She shrugs, grabbing two more sample spoons and handing you one with a glob of cherry vanilla on it.

“So the sneaking off? The giggles and secret hand-wavey messages?” you ask, sucking the spoon into your mouth.

Robin look at you, spoon of Reese’s swirl halfway to her mouth. “You cannot be serious.”

“What?”

“Steve is practically in love with you!” she says. “Him being all blushy around me? He’s being a tomato-faced mess around you. The hand signals and weird looks are me trying to convince him to ask you out and him being a chicken about it. We’ve been sneaking away because he’s been trying to plan this date to ask you out on and keeps needing to check in with me on what your favourite drink, or food, or dessert is!”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, leaning back against the counter.

“Jesus Christ is right,” Robin huffs. “I’ve been watching the two of you pine for each other for the past month. Do you know how infuriating it gets when neither of you are brave enough to actually make a move? It’s like a shitty coming of age rom-com but worse because you two are my friends.”

“Wh— So what do I even do?” you ask.

Robin takes a large breath, as if refraining from slapping some sense into you. “You ask him out,” she says, rubbing at her temples. 

“Right—” you nod. “When?”

“How about right now?” She nods to a certain sailor-boy walking through the door, just in time for his shift.

Steve greets both of you, hand running through his hair as he does, and it’s only now that you notice for the first time how his eyes linger on you for a bit as he says hello.

“Go get ‘em, sailor,” Robin murmurs, giving you a light push in Steve’s direction. 

“You’re a bitch,” you hiss, but your words are full of love for your friend.

“I love you too,” she says, moving to the register.

“I’m sorry for snapping like that,” you say before you forget.

“It’s alright,” she assures you. “I get it. Now seriously, go get him.”

“Steve!” you start, wincing at how oddly high-pitched your voice goes. You cough a bit and try again. “Can we— uh— talk?” You nod to the backroom.

“Sure? Am I in trouble or something?” he jokes, taking a small spoon and stealing a bite of ice cream, tossing the plastic utensil away afterwards.

“Not quite.” You look over to Robin. “You can handle being alone up front for a bit?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” She nods.

You take Steve into the back hallway, not wanting Robin to eavesdrop on your conversation.

“So what’s up?” Steve asks, almost trepidatiously. 

“Would you like you have lunch together?” you ask.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, my break isn’t for a while since I just got here—” he starts.

“No—” you cut him off. “Not on break. More like— a date?”

“Are you serious?” he asks.

“Only if you say yes,” you say. “If you say no then I’m joking.”

A wide, almost giddy, smile blooms across his face. “Yes I’ll go out with you,” he says, almost relieved at your question. He sobers up quickly though, seemingly realizing something and telling you “Shit. I owe Robin twenty bucks.”

“What?” you ask, confused. “Why?”

“We bet that you’d ask me out before I could ‘grow the balls to’,” he explains. “Her words, not mine.”

You laugh at this, almost snorting.

“It’s not funny!” he insists. “I’m going to be out twenty bucks now! And if I don’t pay up she’s going to be mean about it! She’s like a bank when it comes to betting.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you say, tugging Steve closer to you.

“Uh-huh.” He doesn’t seem to process your words as you end up only a few centimeters apart, his eyes flicking down to your lips before up to meet your gaze again. 

“Steve—?” you start, voice soft, but you don’t get to finish your thought before his lips meet yours in a kiss you’ve wanted to have for a month.

“You taste of rocky road,” you mumble against his lips, giggling a bit as he presses you against the wall of the corridor.

“Flavor of the week,” he jokes, pulling away from the kiss, head dipping to nip and suck at your neck instead. 

“Yeah?” you laugh, hands moving to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly. “What’s next week?”

“Last week was cherry jubilee,” he mumbles against your skin. “Next week will be a surprise. You’ll have to wait and see. Find out on your own.”

“God, you’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot,” he says, pulling away with his lips spread into a cocky grin.

You make some noise between a scoff and a huff but pull him in for another kiss, your tongue delving into his mouth, craving the flavor of the rocky road ice cream he had earlier, craving the flavor of him. He groans into the kiss, tugging your blue and white-striped shirt from your sailor shorts, hands creeping up, his palms rough against your skin. You tug at his hair again, eliciting a higher-pitched sound from him, one that makes you laugh at how unexpected it is, coming from a guy like him. 

“Don’t laugh,” he grumbles, his grip on your waist almost bruising as he kisses down your neck once again, biting and sucking.

“What am I supposed to do then?” you ask, eyes fluttering as he starts to suck at a particularly sensitive spot.

“Pull my hair again,” he mumbles against your skin, the vibrations of his voice sending jolts down your spine.

You oblige him, tugging at his hair a bit harder this time, and Steve practically melts under your touch. 

“Christ, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he says, moving back up to your lips, hands creeping higher up your shirt.

You’re not sure when, but his shirt eventually gets untucked from his shorts too, and the light indent of your teeth can be found littered across his neck, glistening with slight traces of your saliva. You’re sure you’re not in a much better state than he is. 

You’re only interrupted by a loud knock on the door separating you from the ice cream parlor and Robin’s voice calling out, “Stop fucking back there and help me out or I’m getting both of you guys fired!” You and Steve stare at each other and laugh for a bit, Steve’s laughter ceasing and yours only growing when Robin adds, “And you owe me twenty bucks, Steve!”

The two of you hurry to the front, attempting to fix your disheveled state as the two of you tuck your shirts back in. Robin looks both of you up and down when you return to the backroom, snorting.

“Nice hair, Steve,” she comments, prompting you to turn and look at him, you and Robin bursting out in a fit of giggles in the way it’s sticking out in odd places from your earlier tugging at it.

“What— what’s wrong with it?” he asks, running his hands through it in futile attempts to fix it.

“Well— let’s just say we’re lucky our uniforms require hats,” you laugh.

a/n: i think i was possessed while writing this. like i wrote a bit of intro, stopped, wrote the part where they start kissing, and like. blacked out and woke up with over 2k written. holy shit. ook it's like 2am excuse typos goodnight

[kingkat12]

euphoria (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: spanking, fingering, hair-pulling, clit-play, pussy-slaps, dom/sub, name-calling, praise, fluff (believe it or not), angst, aftercare, Roman is an ass (surprise lol)

summary: what happens when a certain someone comes home early from his work-trip in a really untimely matter? but maybe the main question isn't what-- maybe it is why?

word count: 10,848

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a/n: oh how I loved writing this chapter... the smut scene got so long because I spent a whole day only writing, AHH how I love summer break!!!!! enjoy lovelies<3333

I've never been good at emotional stuff-- containing it, working through it, understanding it. But anger? Anger, I was good at.

Peter laughed at something one of his colleagues said, effortless as ever, as I stood at his side, nodding along to a conversation I only caught half of; something about pre-litigation strategy, and a new partner hire who might be a walking HR violation. I hated thinking about HR. Why did we have to talk about HR? Fucking HR. Just thinking about the HR lady made my heart push up into my throat, clogging my airway, making me worry I'd start wheezing like a child that had swallowed a chew toy. 

I was also a walking HR violation, yet Peter had no idea. None, whatsoever. Would he want to be here with me at this nice banquet if he knew I was? Definitely not. Certainly so. 

Nodding along to the conversation between the legal team for Godfrey Industries, swirling my drink, trying not to look so guilty, I wondered where Mr. Godfrey was tonight; probably some rooftop in Switzerland once again, surrounded by models whose cheekbones could slice glass, surrounded by women he probably wanted to fuck. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't want to fuck me. He didn't even want me to touch him. How could I disgust him so?

If only he were here to see me now; I was dressed to kill and standing beside Peter, the hottest paralegal in the office who only had eyes for me, who wanted me. I should have been glowing from the attention. I should have been containing my giggles, blushing, wrapping my arms around his, clinging to him like a giddy date probably did in normal instances, but instead, I felt like the wilting, dying orchid in the corner of Mr. Godfrey's office. 

"Hey,"

Peter's voice cut through the legal chatter, low and careful, meant only for me; my eyes darted up to his, wide. His hand ghosted the small of my back again, grounding me in a way I didn't deserve. "You good? You've barely touched your drink."

I blinked, caught. "Oh," I mumbled, swirling the contents of my champagne flute. "I-- yeah, I'm good."

Peter gave me a look; lawyer instincts, surely. "Uh-huh,"

I smiled, a little sheepish, and took a sip to prove a point. "Happy now?"

"Hmm... I'll settle for now, in favour of peace in the court," He stepped a little closer, shielding us from the others with the easy slope of his body, his voice warm enough to melt the ice climbing up my spine. "You know," he murmured, leading me away. "I was half-convinced you'd bail on me tonight. Figured I'd get some text last minute saying 'sorry, food poisoning, maybe next year'."

That garnered a real giggle; "You really have that little faith in me, Peter?"

"Come on, kid, how would I know?" Peter grinned, shrugging as he looked back, checking that our desertion went unnoticed. God, it was annoying how kind his face was; open, honest, and safe. With him walking so close, I could smell his muted cologne, the cloud of dreamy musk, and I couldn't believe I wasn't able to feel the same way about him as I felt about my asshole boss. Peter was fucking perfect.

I sighed, looking up at the sunshine walking next to me; "Well, surprise, I showed up. And I'm glad I came, Peter,"

It wasn't a lie. I was glad. I loved hanging out with Peter. He always looked at me like I was whole, like I hadn't been chewed up by a man who could unmake me with one glance. I loved being near Peter, because standing next to him and his kind eyes never failed to give me the illusion of being someone different-- someone good.

"That's good to hear, because you look...." Peter paused, scratching the back of his neck like he didn't want to overstep. "You look amazing. Just-- yeah. You look great."

My chest ached; I wished that compliment would land the way it was meant to. I wished I could believe him instead of wondering if Mr. Godfrey would even notice me in this dress, or if he'd just raise a bored eyebrow and return to his drink and long line of supermodels. I felt so unworthy of Peter's eyes, his words, his kindness; maybe Mr. Godfrey should link him up with one of those Swiss models too? He deserved that much. 

I smiled anyway, feeling my cheeks redden as my pulse quickened. "Thank you," I breathed. "You look really good, too."

"Ah, is that right?" Peter cocked his head to the side, his smirk curling. "Guess I'll have to wear actual suits more often, huh?"

"You say that like you don't wear one to work every day,"

"Yeah, but I don't usually do the whole pocket square thing." He gestured down at himself; "This was for you, obviously."

"Noted," I smiled, even though it hurt-- God, I was really leading him on, wasn't I? 

Before Peter could snark back, already laughing, someone called out behind us.

"Rumancek!"

Peter winced, half-laughed, and turned. I could see his face melt with annoyance the second he saw who it was, letting out a small groan, accompanied by a roll of his eyes. "Sorry," he tried, already backing away as he sent me that apologetic look I knew too well. "That's Kyle. If I don't go hear him brag about his latest settlement, the bastard will explode. Two minutes, max?"

"No worries," I murmured, nodding along. "I'll be here, or passed out drunk over the ledge of the balcony. Either or."

Peter's brown eyes shimmered, charmed; "Not on my watch, young lady,"

Within seconds, he melted into the crowd, swallowed by suits and the warm, polite, rich laughter echoing through the banquet hall. I watched him go, the ghost of his cologne still clinging to my wrist like a secret, but as I turned, wondering where the waiter with the nice snacks was, I felt something in the air shift.

It was subtle, like a ripple under the surface of still water. The hair on the nape of my neck stood up; my instincts were ablaze. What was this?

I turned on my high heels, ears perking up, scouring the hall, until--

The sea of people opened up.

Standing near the entrance, talking to one of the board members, dressed in that signature black-on-black, was the man who wasn't supposed to be back until 23:47 tomorrow. That was the time of his flight. It was on the damn schedule. I had scheduled that damn flight. 

Roman Godfrey.

He was scanning the room with his usual disinterest, lips slightly parted, eyes sharp and heavy-lidded like he was always thinking something awful, yet he somehow managed to keep a charming smile as he talked to the key members of the company. He was good at this. This was his forte. 

Mr. Godfrey looked like sin. Mr. Godfrey was sin. Hair slicked back just enough to show off the cut of his cheekbones, the soft, spoiled curl at the ends betraying how young he still was— young enough to be reckless, young enough to get away with it. He was drunk on this, wasn't he? The power he wielded when he entered a room. Forbes nose, Forbes nose, Forbes nose. Unfair.

But then, before I could do anything to stop it, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes found mine with carved precision-- had he been looking for me?

My breath caught.

For a moment, we just looked at each other. No expression. No smile. I felt my skin burn beneath my dress, all the way down to my bones; my chest raised, heaved, as I refused to back down from the staring contest, refused, refused. 

Mr. Godfrey was back. Death had come for me.

And with a growing, sly smirk, he raised his hand, motioning for me to approach with the same two fingers he had once rubbed my clit with. 

That was when something cracked inside of me; I let out a choked laugh of disbelief, feeling the anger boil inside of me. Hello? Who did he think I was, his servant? A waiter? Why did he think he could call on me like that, like he didn't have the energy to walk over to me himself? I flailed my free hand, lips parting, grimacing back at him to show what I thought of him, silently telling him off. 

Irked, I watched as Mr. Godfrey gave in to a slight twitch of his head, his green gaze narrowing. The next twitch was deliberate, more of a come here motion, and that in turn set off a twitch in my eye, along with a shake of my head. 

War. This was war. Anger, I was good at.

But... Mr. Godfrey was better.

Because he didn't need to raise his voice. He didn't need to snap his fingers.

He just looked at me, like he knew every inch of my body under this dress, every secret curled up in the pit of my stomach, every thought I'd had about him since the second he left for Geneva. Some of those secrets, I had given him for free though, through that fucking drunk email. Mr. Godfrey's expression was darkly amused, but underneath it, I saw it; the irritation, the nerve I had struck by disobeying my dominant. 

Then, like it was inevitable, like he was bored with the charade, he lifted two fingers again. Slow. Deliberate. The same motion. Not playful this time, not even smug. Just... final.

Come.

My stomach twisted.

And surely enough, my heels carried me before my brain could stop them, slicing through the crowd like I had purpose, like I wasn't being called across the floor like some pet. My heart pounded with humiliation, heat, fury, but I obeyed. I fucking obeyed. 

I reached him just as his conversation tapered off, just as the board member excused himself with a pat on Mr. Godfrey's shoulder and a lingering glance my way. 

Mr. Godfrey didn't look at me, not right away-- he didn't have to. He simply took his glass from the table beside him, sipped slowly, and murmured, low enough only I could hear;

"Took you long enough," he said. "Enjoying your evening?"

I didn't answer-- I didn't want to. I stared past him like I hadn't heard him. Was that all he had to say to me? Was that it? Was he seriously leading with small talk?

Mr. Godfrey clicked his tongue, amused by my antics. "Ah," he said. "We're doing this."

"Doing what?" I snapped.

"You not looking at me, and me entertaining it," He cocked his head, waiting for me to glare at him. "That's not how this works, though. You know it."

"How what works, exactly?"

"You and I," Mr. Godfrey gave up on trying to get my attention; instead, he positioned himself next to me, looking out on the guests as he calmly sipped his champagne. 

I had to do everything in my power to not fold my arms over my chest and pierce his foot with my sharp heel. "Okay, then. Then maybe I don't think I like how you and I work anymore," 

A pause. The sound of the party humming behind us-- cutlery, laughter, some jazz quartet in the corner. He didn't rise to meet my anger; that was the worst part. "I see," he said. "So what is this? A tantrum?"

"No,"

"No?"

"I throw tantrums when I want you to manage them, but that was when I trusted that you wouldn't go too far," Going against him like this made my fingers tremble around my glass, and I had to force myself to continue; "You overstepped. You hurt me."

"Aw," Mr. Godfrey drawled, tilting his head, clearly mocking me. "And here I thought you liked a little pain."

Asshole. 

Finally, I turned to look at him, immediately met with his green eyes. Infuriatingly enough, he had that look about him that told me he was convinced this was a joke-- that this was part of our play, that this was part of our dance. "Not that kind," I muttered.

Mr. Godfrey's gaze flickered, searching my face for the truth, and finding-- what? More performance? A scene? He tilted his head slightly, mouth set in that careless, impenetrable line. "Mm," he hummed. "You'll have to be more specific."

"Oh, fuck you," This was clearly about the Swiss models-- did he not realize?

Seemingly not. Mr. Godfrey only smiled, evil yet charming. "Is that what this is?" he asked, quiet. "You missed me, so you're biting?"

"I didn't miss you,"

"Didn't you?"

"I didn't even know you'd be here,"

Of all things, that landed. A fractional pause fall, small, but enough to let me know he was finally paying attention. His lashes dropped slightly over his eyes, gaze narrowing. "No?" he murmured. "Did you not see the schedule change?"

"No,"

"You always check that," he mumbled. "Slacking off, then?"

"No," Fucker. "It's a Sunday. I don't work for you on the weekend."

"Then who dragged you out?"

Something told me that Mr. Godfrey was genuinely curious, maybe a bit shocked? I waited a beat, let the silence press in between us like a knife, as my eyes narrowed further; "I came with Peter,"

He didn't blink. He didn't breathe. He didn't do anything.

For a moment, I almost wondered if Mr. Godfrey had heard me at all. But then, slowly, I watched the corners of his mouth curl-- not in a smile, not even in anger, but in something colder, something almost like disbelief. "My paralegal?" he chuckled, mocking as ever. "That's original!"

My eye twitched; I wanted to smack him. For the first time ever, I genuinely considered it. I bet he'd moan. Twisted fucker. "Better than spending a week in Switzerland with a harem," I hissed. "Or was it a business trip? Who knows."

Mr. Godfrey's expression didn't shift much, but something behind his eyes sparked. Not rage. Not offense. Amusement, maybe? Finally, he knew what this was about. His fingers curled tighter around the glass, slow and measured, like he was restraining a grin. His pupils didn't shrink-- they narrowed, sharp and calculating. "You've got a lot of nerve talking to me like that," he said, voice low, but not threatening. He sounded entertained, like he was watching a show, like this was the moment he had been waiting for all week.

"Says the man that gets off on being challenged," I huffed. "Don't act like this isn't exactly what you wanted. Why else would you call the paparazzi when you went to that party?" I dared to glare up at Mr. Godfrey, hoping he'd feel my wrath; "I'm not fucking stupid. I know how those things work."

A flash of something showed on his face, barely-there, lightning-quick, but I caught it-- oh, I caught it.

"I don't want to do this tonight," I said, standing my ground. "You said you'd be gone for a week. I want my whole week of peace."

Mr. Godfrey's laugh was short, almost a snort-- "Wow," he said under his breath. "I thought we were enjoying the same game here." He took a step forward, eyes scanning me with that slow, assessing look that always made my stomach twist. "What, the models upset you? I was giving you something to bite back over." Mr. Godfrey's smile curled, but it didn't reach his green eyes; "Come on, now. Don't tell me you've forgotten how this works," he added, lips curling, voice edged in that same boyish mischief he always used when he wanted to keep things unserious. "Play with me, won't you? Or are we rewriting the rules?"

... Seriously?

Was this all a game to him?

Before my brain could churn through the possibilities, Mr. Godfrey took one last step forward, which in turn had me backing into a nearby table; he leaned forward, brushing it off as him putting away his drink, smooth and planned. His lips hovered just above the shell of my ear; "You think I flew in early across the ocean just to leave you alone?"

No. 

No, no, no.

He wouldn't come here for me. He wouldn't. This was yet another cheap trick in the book, wasn't it? Typical heartbreaker, that's what he was. How had I not seen it before now? That would've worked on me a week ago, but not now, not after the whole ordeal with the Swiss models. He took it too far. Still, we hadn't agreed on exclusivity-- that word was probably not even in his vocabulary. Did I have a right to be upset? 

My breath caught, and a shiver travelled down my spine; Mr. Godfrey's breath was warm. I felt beyond warm too, and I was sure I'd start boiling at this rate if he didn't move. Surely, this whole ordeal hadn't lasted for more than a few seconds, but as I found myself unable to breathe, I stared up at him, wide-eyed, silently begging him to move. 

"I don't know why you came," I said, breathless. "But now I wish you hadn't."

Mr. Godfrey stilled.

For a moment, just one slim, suspended moment, Mr. Godfrey looked at me like he had never seen me before. Not the girl from the interview, not the secretary he tormented, not the girl who folded under his tone-- something in his gaze shifted, cracked at the edges. Maybe it was confusion, maybe it was restraint? Maybe it was the very first flicker of doubt that I wasn't playing anymore?

With that, slowly, he stepped back. Just a fraction, though-- just enough to let the air cool between us, just enough to let me pass.

And I didn't wait for him to change his mind.

My heels scraped hard against the floor as I moved, fury twisting in every step. I didn't look back; I wouldn't. Tonight was mine. Tonight, I had authority too. Just because he cut his trip short, shouldn't mean that I had to adhere to his antics? 

But then, the second I thought I had gotten away, a hand caught my wrist-- not harshly, not even tightly, but like it was automatic. Mr. Godfrey yanked me back like he had already decided I belonged to him, and this was just part of how the night would go.

Now, the smirk was wiped off his face-- now, he was pissed. 

"Fine," he hissed through gritted teeth, no longer caring if people were watching. I was his property in his mind, anyway, and he could do as he pleased, right? "You want to be like that? Be like that. But you're gonna go talk to Derek, the lead of catering, and tell him this party needs ice. And while you're at it, count how many glasses are left at each station. I don't want anyone bitching about shortages. Get it sorted, and do it now."

I would've gasped, had we not been surrounded by people-- I should've known that he would do this, I should've known he wouldn't let me get away so easily. This was my punishment, wasn't it? Staring up at my boss, blinded by his violent beauty, the green of his eyes, the caramel brown of his hair, the looming authority with which he held me, I couldn't believe this was happening; "I don't work for you tonight," I huffed, trying to get out of his grip, but to no avail. "Find the fucking party coordinator lady, this is not my!--"

"You work for me always," Mr. Godfrey hissed, tightening his hold. "And you will do as I say."

It slipped out of me before I could think about the possible repercussions; "No!"

A beat.

Way too long.

"... No?!" Mr. Godfrey looked like he was about to explode. "What did you just say to me?"

Finally, I yanked my wrist hard enough for him to let me go; "No!"

The word echoed, sharp and crystalline, slicing through the low din of the party, but not loud enough to draw eyes; it was just enough to seal it between us.

No one else seemed to notice. The music swelled over it, masking the crack in the air, laughter clinked against champagne glasses, like I hadn't just signed my doom. We could've been arguing about napkins for all anyone knew, for all they cared. 

But he knew, and I knew, and that would be enough.

I didn't dare to see how he'd react-- I knew this would cost me. I knew I had just carved a line in the sand I couldn't step back over, but I turned anyway. My heels bit against the marble floor as I walked away, eyes forward, jaw clenched so tight it hurt. I didn't breathe until I saw the silhouette of Peter's black suit; here, I was safe.

But Peter saw me before I even reached him.

His smile, that warm, crooked thing that usually lived somewhere between mischief and charm, had been replaced by what looked like a glare. His eyes flicked over me, reading the tightness in my shoulders, the way my lips were pressed together too hard, the raw, blinking shine still wet in my lashes, before he stared back at the perpetrator-- Mr. Godfrey.

When I approached him, on the brink of hyperventilating, Peter reached one arm out, pulling me closer by my waist, immediately sensing my distress. "What the hell was what?" he asked, not accusatory, but concerned. "I didn't think he'd be back until--"

"I know," I said, breathless. "He's an ass. He just... he--" My voice cracked down the middle, a quiet, trembling thing; "Can you drive me home?"

Peter's fingers curled slightly at my waist. He looked over my shoulder again, jaw ticking. "Home? Yeah. Of course. But-- are you sure? I can talk to him,"

"No!" Too fast, too sharp. Fuck. "Please don't. Just... don't."

He looked at me, visibly torn. "You're shaking,"

"It's fine," I lied. "I just-- I need to go. Please, Peter."

He... didn't budge.

"Peter," I touched his chest lightly, just above his lapel. "You're not going to get through to him. And even if you say something, he'll just make it worse for me tomorrow."

His eyes searched mine, reluctant and unreadable. "You shouldn't have to deal with this,"

"I know," I whispered. "But I do."

For a long moment, Peter just looked at me-- really looked. We stood in the middle of the party like we were underwater, everyone else blurred to nothing. I could see him deciding; hero or bystander. Rage or mercy.

Finally, after a beat that nearly broke me, he exhaled. "Okay," he said, soft. "Come on, kid."

Peter wrapped an arm more firmly around my waist this time, possessive without meaning to be (or maybe a little?), and started leading me toward the exit. I kept my chin low, my eyes lower, trying not to be seen or noticed.

Still, I knew that was impossible. I knew Mr. Godfrey was here somewhere, watching this, drinking it in-- he wasn't going to let me get away so easily, was he?

I dared to look up, and I immediately found him stood near the tall windows, half-turned from a cluster of investors, his body tense in that controlled, tight way I'd come to recognize when he was mad. One hand still clutched the champagne, but the other had curled into a fist at his side, knuckles stark white. He wasn't listening to the man talking beside him, not really-- his eyes were locked on Peter's arm around my waist.

And then they flicked up.

Met mine.

And that was what it took for me to press closer to Peter, away from Mr. Godfrey, away from this party. This wasn't the clean break that I had wanted-- this was a warning shot, and I had just fired it at the worst possible target.

This could cost me everything.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The night air was cooler than I expected, brushing against my bare shoulders, but it cleared my head a little. My heels clicked on the pavement, slower now. Peter matched my pace easily, hands in his pockets, looking so much more at ease than I felt.

"You know," Peter said as we reached the front step of my apartment. "I half expected Roman to throw a drink at me."

I gave a weak laugh, stopping in front of the door. "I think he wanted to. Maybe next time,"

"Better bring a poncho," he said with a half-smile, his brown eyes never leaving mine. For a second, we just stood there; him with one step down, while that usual crooked mischief quieted in his expression, replaced with something far gentler. He was reading me, trying to decide if I was still breaking, or just beginning to bend back into shape.

Peter's hands were still in his pockets, but he leaned forward slightly, like his body was pulled toward mine without him meaning to. "You sure you're okay?"

My heart hurt; "You don't have to do this," I started, gentle and low. 

"What do you mean?" The question was so simple in his mind. "Make sure you're fine?"

"Yeah," I breathed-- my hand reached to linger at the door knob, shifting my weight from one heel to another. Suddenly, I couldn't meet his gaze. I couldn't face him. "Thank you for driving me home, and for the lovely evening, and for being so kind, but... I don't deserve this."

"Nonsense," was the immediate response. 

That made my eyes dart up to look at Peter, the porch light catching the silver at the tips of his dark lashes. His jaw was tense, but his smile was soft, almost reverent, like he saw something noble in me that I couldn't. "Nonsense," he echoed. "You deserve good things, kid. Don't let Roman convince you otherwise. I've seen countless girls like you come and go out of his office, one more broken than the other, but you can't let him break you. Not when you shine so bright."

My throat tightened, my lips parted-- suddenly, my head felt light. Was this how it was supposed to feel? "Peter--" I started, but there was nothing to follow it with except for the sudden ache behind my ribs like someone had struck me there. Peter looked at me like I hadn't already been burned, used, and destroyed, and that... that felt unreal.

"You're not just some secretary," Peter said, quieter now. "You're just hurting, and-- and he saw that and pushed, didn't he?"

I looked down, blinking too hard; this was hitting closer to home than I had expected. "You don't want to know," I breathed. "You wouldn't look at me the same."

With a sigh, Peter reached out, hesitant at first, and touched my arm; a warm and grounding touch. "I see you just as you are," he murmured. "And I like what I see."

There was a pause. That undid me more than I expected-- my heart stuttered in that small silence, and when our eyes met again, something passed between us, uncomplicated, for once. No power games. No traps. Just kindness, and maybe even longing?

Peter's eyes dropped briefly to my lips. Not in the lustful way I was used to-- just a flicker, a beat too long. His body shifted ever so slightly closer, shoulders angling in, and suddenly, it felt like there was a question floating between us, one I didn't quite have the courage to voice.

"You want me to stay?" he asked, low, like he wasn't sure himself.

I didn't answer. I didn't know. I didn't dare.

"I could--" he started, a breath closer. "Just for a minute. We could talk. Or not? Whatever you need."

Fuck. My pulse was going through the roof, I was sure my hands were clammy, my eyes had widened beyond retrieval, but then...

The door finally clicked open behind me, cool air brushing past my ankles. I should have said goodnight, should have stepped inside and closed the door and let it end sweet and clean-- but I didn't.

I lingered...

And Peter noticed.

The thing is, I wanted comfort. I wanted to feel like I wasn't spiralling alone, like someone saw the mess and didn't flinch, or didn't want to make me flinch because of it. Still, I also knew this wasn't neutral-- Peter wanted to be the one I turned to, the one I leaned on, the one I kissed.

His hand ran down my arm, slowly, his fingers brushing mine-- just a featherlight touch, waiting for permission.

I didn't move. Didn't pull away. I think, maybe, I wanted to see if I still had that effect on anyone, if someone could still want me without breaking me open; Peter wouldn't ever want to break me. He'd want me whole. Breathing. Happy. Unbothered, pampered, content, calm, neutered, and nice. I could be nice, right? I didn't have to run my filthy mouth all the time? I could stop getting off at inappropriate times and places? I could be normal. I could be the perfect, sweet girl. I could be. I really think I could be.

And then, Peter leaned in-- slow, respectful,��letting me stop him. His breath was warm, his nose just brushing mine, and my heart thudded hard once in my chest, and--

I almost let him.

Almost.

Because suddenly, in the cold night air, in front of my open apartment door, it hit me that I couldn't.

I couldn't be normal. I couldn't play nice. I didn't want to be unbothered-- I wanted to be set on fire. I wanted gasoline to be poured all over me, to feel my blood boil, to feel my body melt, because only then would I feel alive. My mouth needed to run. My skin needed to burn with the sting. 

I... couldn't go back. Not after having met Mr. Godfrey. 

I was ruined. I was filthy. I was me. Peter didn't want the real me-- he didn't know the real me. If he knew, he'd run for the hills. He'd know I was used up. He'd know I had been defiled by the one man he couldn't stand. 

So, with Peter's lips barely an inch away from mine, his warm breath ghosting over my upper lip, I dared to speak; "I should get some sleep,"

Immediately, Peter pulled back. "Yeah," he said, clearing his throat, suddenly all nerves. "Of course. Yeah, totally."

My heart hurt for him-- my heart hurt for us. 

I leaned forward, wrapped my arms around him, and pressed my cheek to his chest; this felt better. This felt right. I liked hugging Peter-- he froze only for a second before folding into the hug, his chin brushing the top of my head, holding me like I was something delicate but not breakable, like I was allowed to just be held. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, eyes welling up with tears. 

Peter held me tighter, arms wrapping all the way around like he could shelter me from the weight of my own words. "Don't be," he said into my hair. "You don't owe me anything."

I pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glassy, the porch light haloing his silhouette; his brows were drawn, like he wanted to understand but knew better than to press. "I wish I met you before," I breathed. "Before all of this. Before I turned into someone I don't recognize."

He cupped the side of my face, careful, his thumb brushing a tear I didn't know had fallen. "You don't always have to bleed to earn good things. Not everything has to be a battle. It will come to you in a few years, trust me," With a sigh, Peter leaned in again, just enough to press his forehead to mine, and his voice came soft and certain; "But when you do feel like you've done enough suffering to deserve something nice... I'm here."

Oh, how that gutted me-- that kind of gentleness always did.

I mustered the strength to nod, barely, and stepped back. To steady myself, my hand found the doorframe, and I felt like my brain was fighting the enormous shutdown I was holding back. Everything Peter had said made so much sense-- maybe he actually saw me more than I thought? I couldn't think about it. Not now, not here. 

"Goodnight, Peter," I whispered, a small smile accompanying my words. "Thank you for tonight. I had a great time."

"I'm glad," His smile was small, tired, but real. "Goodnight, kid."

I watched Peter retreat down the steps, hands back in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched like he had left with more weight than he came with-- fuck. 

I closed the door only once I couldn't see him anymore, and then I leaned my forehead against it. I didn't cry-- not really. I just... stood there. Hollowed out. Full of warmth I didn't know how to carry.

Peter was light...

But I had already been claimed by the dark. 

Not only claimed, actually-- consumed. Because the only thought that remained after I'd allowed myself a little breakdown, was damage control. Damage control. Damage control. 

Mr. Godfrey was going to make my life hell. He had seen me leave with Peter, I had openly defied him, and... 

I knew there was only one thing to do to maybe make tomorrow just a smidge easier.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I stared down at my desk, nudging the stapler for the fifth time to make sure it was aligned with the edge of the table. This was crazy. This was nuts. Why was I doing this, and why was I doing this at two in the morning?

After Peter, after everything, and after I had gotten out of my dress... 

I ran back to work.

Back to this desk, this office, these goddamn pens, as if putting them in order might put me back in order too.

So here I was, nudging my stapler, sorting my pens, and wiping my computer screen in the exact same outfit I had worn to work a few days ago. Sick fuck. Heart hammering like I was about to go out on stage and give a speech, I walked back and forth, back and forth, to make sure I hadn't missed anything. 

I couldn't sit still; I wanted there to be nothing Mr. Godfrey could take me for. I knew he was now going to wreak havoc in my life again, I knew he was going to try to make my life hell, and this was my way of trying to cushion the fall. 

After having gone up against him, it felt like my brain had melted and become mush. How could I do that? How did I manage to tell him no? In that moment, that had felt like the biggest rush, but now...

What the hell had I done?

Hyperventilating, I nudged the stapler a bit to the left, feeling my eyes well up with tears all over again. I had also messed everything up with Peter. I had realized that everything that had happened between me and Mr. Godfrey had caused irrevocable damage, because hello-- how the fuck had I allowed myself to be driven to the point where I was having a breakdown at the office at two in the morning?!

I swiped at my eyes quickly, angrily, then turned back toward my desk again... only to freeze at the sound of footsteps echoing down the marble hallway outside.

Slow.

Measured.

Unmistakable.

I knew that walk-- I knew the rhythm of his shoes like the back of my hand.

The click of his shoes drew closer, and I didn't move; I couldn't. I stood by my desk like a kid caught sneaking out, blinking through the leftover blur of tears, still wearing my black office heels, wearing my usual office attire like a fucking maniac.

My stomach flipped violently when I realized how close he was, but I didn't run. I straightened my spine like it would save me, like posture could hide panic. The steps then came with absurd slowness, like he knew the sound alone would be enough to skin me.

And then---

There he was.

I spun around to face him; Roman Godfrey stood behind me, framed in the low office light like some half-dressed specter of everything I had ever wanted and shouldn't have touched. His coat was open over his shirt, a few buttons undone. No tie. His hair was damp at the ends like he had just stepped out of the rain or a scalding shower, and his jaw was tight.

"What... the fuck," he hissed, vicious; "are you doing here?"

That was it. No greeting. No smile. No teasing quip. Just quiet, simmering fury.

I let out a shaky breath, realizing I was cornered; there was nowhere to go. My back hit the desk, and my hands went to grab at it like it would save me. "I could-- I could ask you the same thing,"

"You could, sure," he said, voice low and threatening, eyes dark like never before. "But this whole building? The one you've technically trespassed? It's mine."

I flinched. He didn't yell, but God, it was worse than yelling. That cold authority, that quiet confidence that he could have me arrested or worse, and I wouldn't even put up a fight; I was already breathless. "I didn't break in," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I have a key. You know I have a key."

"Oh, a key," he scoffed, tone mocking, gesturing at the spotless desk. "So this is just a normal night for you? Rearranging office supplies at two a.m. in your little secretary costume? Jesus."

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling-- I wasn't ready to cry again, not yet. But Mr. Godfrey just kept looking at me like he didn't recognize me, like I was a problem he couldn't categorize, and it was killing me. 

"You look unhinged," he finally said, taking me in from head to toe with something like disgust. "What is this? Did you lose your mind while I was gone?"

Something inside me snapped-- enough.

"Maybe your OCD rubbed off on me," I muttered. "Maybe now I'm just as fucked up as you are."

The moment the words left my mouth, the silence that followed was so thick it might as well have died. Mr. Godfrey went utterly still. His jaw clenched once, then again, like he was grinding down a scream between his molars.

And then--

He exploded.

"That's enough!" he barked. "You think you get to act like this because what? I left the country for a week?! I don't know who made you such a brat, or why you think you can act the way you've done tonight, because I've given you everything you've ever asked for!"

"That's-- You don't even let me touch you!" I cried, voice breaking. "You let me need you, and then you punish me for it! All I ever wanted from you was some-- some basic decency, you spoiled piece of shit!"

"Decency? Decency?" His laugh was dry, bitter; "You wanted this! You asked for it! You even got down on your fucking knees and begged for it! So don't turn around and act like a victim now, just because I didn't behave exactly how you fantasized!"

"I'm not!--"

"You've wanted exactly what I've been giving you, so I don't get why you suddenly want out!"

"I don't want out!" I yelled, angrily wiping away my tears. "I just didn't-- I didn't think you'd run off with a bunch of models!"

"Oh, fuck you!" Mr. Godfrey snapped-- his words boomed so loud, I was sure the walls of the office shook. His fists had balled, his jacket had been tossed to the floor, and his ears had gone red from all the screaming. "You're just assuming things, but you're the one who ran to Peter the second I left the country! You even went��home with him!"

I let out a sob, realizing there was no stopping my tears; "Nothing happened with Peter!" I cried. "Because you've made me sick! I'm sick! There's something wrong with me now, and-- and!--" My voice was hoarse, and I could barely finish my sentences. Saying it out loud just made it a thousand times worse, and I broke apart. "Please just do something!" I sobbed, shamelessly letting my tears fall. "Just-- please, I can't!-- I can't snap out of this, I need!-- I need you to-- snap me out of this!"

Stunned, Mr. Godfrey's green eyes widened, staring at the crying mess in front of him. I bet he hadn't expected a full breakdown like this, not at two in the morning, not when he had probably come here to fetch some file or God knows what. Mr. Godfrey's chest heaved from all the yelling as he stared at me, really looked at me, for the first time since I had started unraveling. The storm in his green eyes faltered, cracking just enough for something softer to seep through, something painfully close to concern.

He didn't say a word. He knew what I needed. 

Mr. Godfrey stepped forward. Reached out. Grabbed my wrist with a firm grip that barely hurt but left no room for argument, and started pulling me toward the door to his office.

"Wait--" I tried, but he cut me off with a sharp look.

No questions. No explanations. He knew what I needed.

When we reached his office, Mr. Godfrey pushed the door open without ceremony. The only light came from a dim desk lamp, casting long shadows over the room and over his face. Sniffling, I tried to wipe the tears and the snot, and somehow found myself... getting calmer. That was not how this usually worked? Usually, this would get my heart pounding even faster, but now? It felt like I was about to be relieved, like he was about to make it better. 

And he was the only one who could.

With a click of the door behind us, Mr. Godfrey looked down at me with an unreadable expression. I couldn't understand whether he was furious or getting over himself-- it was impossible to decode.

Then, his voice came quiet, almost calm; "I think ten would do,"

Ten? 

Oh.

"I don't know if that would be enough," I breathed. 

"Fifteen would only make you cry harder," he mumbled, clearly from experience. "That wouldn't help you."

"Twelve, then...?" 

"Twelve?"

Were we really having a civilized discussion about this...? About spanking?

"Three times four is twelve," I mumbled, sniffling. "You-- you like threes."

Mr. Godfrey stilled, his chest rising with soft, slow strokes. This was it-- we had made a deal, and he didn't have to say anything to know he was sold on it. Had I just done business with the most notorious businessman of the country? 

The way I was put over his lap was different this time; this felt like something sacred, like a routine we had practiced. Every other time had been consensual, but this... I had never wanted it more. I had never wanted him more.

As Mr. Godfrey's big hands reached for my skirt, I heard him sigh as he bunched it up around my waist. "Fucking hell," he mumbled, tracing the line of my underwear; the exact pair he had gifted me a while ago. "I knew these would suit you." 

There was nothing I could do to fight the shiver that ran up my back, and I let out a shaky breath. 

And he noticed the breath-- of course he did.

Mr. Godfrey's large palm flattened against the small of my back, warm, steady, possessive, while his other hand ghosted over the curve of my ass, fingers brushing the edge of the silk like it annoyed him. The heat of him seeped into my skin before the first strike even landed, but it didn't come right away.

No, he waited. Drew it out. Let the tension stretch until I could barely breathe.

And then--

Crack.

My body jolted, the pain ripping through me as I cried out, quiet and broken. "Fuck, ouch," I breathed. "One."

Mr. Godfrey hummed, dismissive; "You don't have to count," His fingers dragged over my sore skin, smoothing out the ache like it was his to mold. "Just try not to tense your legs. It's going to make it much worse."

That was odd-- why wouldn't he want me to have it worse? "But... it's supposed to hurt,"

"Yeah," he murmured. "But not to the point where you pass out."

Before I could say anything, his hand came down again, harder, firmer, to the point where my air left me with a shaky cry. God, it hurt, but I had missed this more than anything; the shock, the pain, the shame-- I loved it.

And then, when I thought it couldn't, it only got better.

"This is for your filthy mouth," Mr. Godfrey hissed, another smack falling before I could answer. "This is for your bratty little attitude tonight." Crack. "You really thought you could run your mouth without consequences? Not around me. Not ever."

My eyes burned as the heat bloomed beneath my skin, the sting deepening into something molten, something that settled in my core and made my thighs clench without permission.

Crack.

I gasped again, this one more strangled than the last.

"You even looked smug when you mouthed off," he hissed, bending low enough that I could feel his breath against the back of my neck. "Like you wanted this, you fucking brat. You did, huh?"

Another hit-- my body twitched in his grip. "Yes, sir," There was no use in lying, right?

I could almost hear Mr. Godfrey rolling his eyes. "That's what I thought," he muttered; his hand stroked the curve of my ass, then squeezed, like he was checking his work. "Bet you even missed this when I was gone. Bet this shit was on your mind when you sent me that drunk mail."

Crack.

Tears slipped from my eyes, not from the pain, but from the unbearable rightness of it all. He was punishing me like I belonged to him, like I mattered. Did I? 

Then, when I expected the next strike, it didn't come. Instead, Mr. Godfrey's hand moved further down, easing between my thighs, forcing them apart as I squirmed in his lap. Like this, I couldn't see anything, couldn't do anything, so when he dragged his thumb down my clothed, wet sex, I let out a shaky, quiet moan. What was happening?

"Do you get off on this, hm? Being put in your place?" 

I could only nod, looking back at him with glossy eyes. There was no hiding. There was no escaping. Where were we now? Six? Seven? I had lost count, even though I promised myself I wouldn't. 

Mr. Godfrey tsked, probably getting a kick out of the ruined sight of me. "This is not for you to get off," he huffed. "This is for you to snap out of whatever mess you've made in that tiny brain of yours. Why the fuck are you so wet, huh? Are you not ashamed? You should be." 

Then, with a flat hand, he smacked me between my legs-- Jesus Christ.

It was the oddest sensation. That force against my clit was both agony and pleasure unlike any other, and I let out a broken, loud cry of a moan that I instantly regretted, because suddenly? There came many more, small ones, firm, as my back arched up against Mr. Godfrey's hand, trying to meet the strikes for some reason I couldn't understand; this was the oddest, most pleasurable sensation, and I only knew that I wanted more. 

"Fuck, fuck-- fuck!--"

At that, Mr. Godfrey's hand moved and pressed into the curve of my lower back again, holding me in place like it was nothing. His strength felt effortless, like pinning down something wild; a reminder that he could hold me here forever if he wanted to. His voice stayed low, infuriatingly calm; "Look at you," he breathed, as if disgusted-- but there was nothing disgusted in the way he touched me. "What am I supposed to do with you, huh? Dirty girl."

My hips twitched, involuntarily seeking friction, something, anything, but he didn't give it. His thumb hovered again, threatening, teasing, denying, and then with the most feathery touch, traced a line down my underwear, stopping right before he reached my clit; for a second there, I even forgot to breathe. "Please," I whispered. 

"You act like a little monster," Mr. Godfrey continued, disregarding my pleas. "And then cry when you get treated like one."

"I'm not!--"

"You're not what?" he bit back. "Not needy? Not desperate?"

I clenched my jaw, tears clinging to my lashes, the shame glowing so hot in my chest I thought it might consume me. But still, I whispered, lying through my teeth; "I'm not crying,"

Mr. Godfrey chuckled-- a real one, low and cruel. "No," he murmured. "You're whimpering."

And then his hand slipped inside the waistband of my underwear; not hurried, not greedy, just steady. Intolerably slow. He dragged his fingers along my slickness, letting out the softest, sharpest breath when he felt how soaked I was. "Christ," he mumbled. "You're absolutely filthy."

Yes. 

Yes, I was. 

Mr. Godfrey held them there, two fingers barely pressing at my wet entrance, not moving. The tension knotted behind my ribs, unbearable. "Say it," he murmured.

I blinked, dazed; "Sir?"

"Say you missed me,"

My eyes widened just a bit, and my breath got stuck in my chest-- what? Why did he want to hear that? Why did he want me to say it? "I missed you," I confessed, shaky, not sure what to anticipate. 

"Are you lying?"

"N-- No, sir,"

Mr. Godfrey's digits moved, barely, with pressure at my hole that made my breath catch; would he put them in? Then, his fingers moved away, slow but deliberate, now dragging up to circle my clit once, twice-- before pulling away completely. "Stupid girl," he mumbled. "You shouldn't have."

My mouth parted in an airless gasp as he slid out of my underwear and came back with the flat of his hand, striking harder than before--

Crack.

"Eight," I gasped-- barely a whisper, barely a breath. The word slipped out before I could stop it, torn from the tight, trembling place in my chest. Everything burned. The ache had started as something low and dull, but now it bloomed sharp and alive, tracing every nerve along my spine and spilling down my thighs like fire.

Behind me, Mr. Godfrey let out a low breath-- half a sigh, half a laugh. The sound was cruel in its amusement, like he had expected this from me. "Still counting?" he murmured, voice velvet-smooth and full of mockery. "Didn't I tell you not to?"

I couldn't answer. My jaw was slack, my face already slick with tears, heat prickling under my skin-- I didn't know if I was shaking from the sting or from the shame that pulsed like a heartbeat in my chest. 

"I think you like the numbers too," Mr. Godfrey said next, almost to himself. His nails scraped a slow trail down the side of my thigh, making me jolt, making my stomach twist. "Makes it feel earned, doesn't it? Like you deserve it."

I whimpered, some fractured sound catching in my throat.

Another pause. Then;

Crack.

"Nine--"  The word burst from me on instinct, no thought behind it; just a raw, knee-jerk reaction.

He didn't let it go.

In one smooth, terrifying motion, Mr. Godfrey caught a fistful of my hair and pulled, yanking my head back just enough to make me gasp. My eyes flew open, vision swimming, breath catching. "I said," he hissed, low and cold in my ear; "Don't count."

"I'm sorry, sir," I whimpered, already unraveling. "I-- I keep losing track, I can't-- I need--"

His grip tightened again, sharp and absolute, every inch of him a warning; "Don't give a damn," he hissed.

Crack.

My whole body jolted, and a whisper of a ten left my lips. Shit. Shit.

This time, he didn't scold me. Maybe he hadn't heard me? But then, Mr. Godfrey pressed his hips forward, so I could feel the weight of him beneath me-- feel him growing beneath me. That was when it hit me that he was hard; thick, hard, and cruelly restrained. He wanted me to know. He wanted me to feel.

"Jesus," he muttered, now dragging the silk of my underwear down past my thighs; did he want to get a better look at the mark he was leaving? "Look at you... Wet like you're in heat. Ashamed yet?"

I was, but I wasn't. What the fuck was this feeling? I didn't even care that I was exposed anymore.

"It seems not," Mr. Godfrey hummed, dragging his fingers through the slickness between my legs, coating them, before trailing them down my thighs, humiliating me with every slow move. "Little brat's been dripping since strike three." 

I shivered; this was sticky. I was sticky. My legs were sticky. Was he? I whined, helpless, pathetic; "Please, sir, I feel-- ew, I feel--"

Crack.

My cry was loud this time, a real sob punching out of me-- finally, I had forgotten everything about the models. Peter. Mr. Godfrey's absence. The mess at the banquet. The lady from HR. The previous secretary. The emails. This was what I had been longing for-- this was the kind of numbness only Mr. Godfrey could give me, show me, teach me. This was why I needed him. That was why I needed this, us, whatever it was. 

As it all came crashing down on me, I felt the eternal knot in my chest unravel-- suddenly, I felt lighter than ever. Suddenly, I was ethereal. There was peace. Through my glistening tears hanging off my eyelids, I felt myself smile-- I slowly turned my head, looking up at Mr. Godfrey, showing him the release he had unleashed upon me. 

His green eyes, which were previously furious, had softened, but not noticeably. I could see it in the way his shoulders fell just the smallest movement, the way his face softened for just a beat too long, the way he let go of my hair-- he knew. He felt the euphoria too. 

This was the premise of everything.

This was why we needed each other. 

And then, to put me out of my misery, came the last crack of his palm against my skin-- I let my mouth fall open in a silent moan as I felt my body go limp with the relief. Euphoria, coursing through my veins. Euphoria, being pushed to this state. Euphoria. 

Mr. Godfrey exhaled behind me, pleased. "There she is,"

Then silence came, as a gift to us both. A heavy, glowing kind of silence that filled the room like warm light spilling across polished floors. No footsteps. No fumbling. No more commands.

Just him. Just me.

I heard him breathe again-- slower this time, calmer. Mr. Godfrey then reached for me with unexpected care, curling his arms around my torso, guiding me up and pulling me gently into his lap, settling me sideways so my legs draped across his. I didn't even think of the oddity of his softness-- my brain had melted into the best form of delirium as I let my head fall against his chest like it belonged there, right beneath his collarbone, where I could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

I wasn't trembling anymore; I had found peace.

One of Mr. Godfrey's hands rubbed slow, careful circles up and down my back, his touch soothing now. The other cradled my thigh, his thumb absently brushing over my sticky skin-- no intention, no edge, just grounding presence.

"You did well," he murmured after a while, barely loud enough to hear. His voice wasn't sharp anymore; it was low, warm, and close. "Took everything I gave you, didn't you?"

I nodded faintly into Mr. Godfrey's broad chest, a wet exhale slipping from my lips. My hand came up to loosely clutch his shirt, something I would've never dared to before-- I didn't know if it was for balance or need. Maybe both? 

"Good girl," He pressed his lips to my temple-- not a kiss, really, just a press. His mouth was warm. "I've got you." Mr. Godfrey tilted his head down to rest against mine for a moment, our foreheads nearly touching. "I shouldn't have stayed away that long," he said. "Look what it did to you."

Look what it did to us.

... He didn't say that part, though. He didn't need to.

My body felt heavy in his lap, but not in a bad way; in a way that said I could stay here forever. "I needed this," I admitted, quiet as ever, soft and uncomplicated. "I needed you."

Mr. Godfrey's jaw moved like he was biting something back-- we didn't have to talk about the rest of it. Not yet. I didn't push. I got it. I finally understood. "Shh," he murmured again. "I know. I know." His hand kept tracing circles into my back; "Do you feel any better?"

"Yeah," If only he knew. "I just-- I'm just a little sticky, though." I tried pulling my thighs apart, but with every move, I felt the slick Mr. Godfrey had smeared all over them. If I really focused, I could still feel the arousal pulsing through me, the build-up that hadn't gone anywhere. Squirming, mildly uncomfortable, I let out a shaky breath against him, unsure whether to mention it or not. Maybe not. I could go one night without it. I could get off when I got home, right? 

It just... wouldn't be the same.

But that was when I realized Mr. Godfrey wasn't done with me, anyway.

He felt the shift in me instantly-- the restless little squirm, the way my thighs tried to edge apart just slightly, only to stick uncomfortably. The breath I let out was thin, almost whiny, as he reached down to help me spread my sticky thighs. "That's good," he murmured. "That's gonna help."

"Help?" I echoed, voice frail. "Sir, I don't-- I don't follow?--"

I didn't need to.

Mr. Godfrey's hand slowly went between my legs, his long, thick digits reaching the warmth of my slit, listening to the quiet whimper that left me. "Don't think," he murmured, slicking his fingers on my wetness, dragging and catching over my clit; "Let's just finish this up, hm?"

I was jelly in his arms, letting out a shaky moan as I sank into the feeling. I couldn't believe Mr. Godfrey was taking care of me, couldn't believe this was happening. Usually, he wouldn't touch me like this, wouldn't be so physical, but here we were.

"You really thought I was gonna let you walk out like this?" Mr. Godfrey said, brushing slow, lazy circles over my clit, each pass firmer than the last. "Can't let you leave the office in this state. How would that make me look, hm? I have a reputation to uphold."

I whimpered, my hips twitching against his palm.

"Mm... Thought so," he murmured. "You've been holding onto this for days, haven't you?"

My head fell back against his shoulder, lips parted, eyes fluttering shut; he had no idea. He had no fucking idea. If he ever left me for Switzerland again, I'd kill him with my bare hands-- it had been unbearable.

"You're lucky I'm feeling generous," he added, rubbing me in steady, expert strokes that had me unraveling by the second. "You're lucky I maybe missed you, too. There were no cute secretaries running around in Switzerland, y'know? You made my day with that fucking email."

My breath hitched, and I let out another quiet whimper, trying to keep my eyes open even though they were glazing over. "I thought you--" I moaned softly as his circles turned firmer, nearly derailing my words entirely. "I thought you were angry."

Mr. Godfrey chuckled quietly, the sound rich and warm in his chest, vibrating softly where I rested against him. "Oh, I was furious," he said, almost affectionate in his mockery. "But only because I couldn't do anything about it. Sitting in a boring meeting, trying not to picture you going nuts here, getting off behind my desk... Do you know how fucking hard it is to negotiate with a tent in your slacks?" Then, unexpectedly, he slid his fingers lower, easing one inside me. "But I knew I'd make you pay for it eventually."

I gasped against him, burying my face in Mr. Godfrey's chest; I never expected him to be inside of me in any way at all. Suddenly, it was also dawning on me that he was letting me cling to him, letting me writhe against him-- what was happening? "Sir," I breathed. "I'm so-- so sorry."

Mr. Godfrey made a quiet, amused sound at the back of his throat, finger curling slowly inside me, deep and deliberate. "No, you're not," he murmured, teasing rather than accusing. "But that's alright, for now. I didn't ask you to be."

I whimpered softly, clutching tighter at his shirt as his thumb brushed over my swollen clit again. My hips pressed forward without permission, desperate to feel more of him, to chase that unbearable friction he was creating, and--

"Easy," Mr. Godfrey murmured, his voice softer, almost soothing. "Don't rush this. I've waited a week for this."

I shuddered at his words, my breathing ragged against his chest. "I just--"

"You just what?" he asked, tilting his head down to whisper directly into my ear, his voice velvety with quiet authority. "You just wanted to torment me from a continent away? Wanted me thinking about you every goddamn second of every meeting?"

My breath hitched on another moan as he slid a second finger inside, stretching me carefully, gently. "I just wanted you to-- to miss me too,"

Mr. Godfrey's lips brushed my temple again, his voice softer than before. "That's cute," he murmured. "That makes me a little less mad."

He tightened his grip around my waist, pulling me closer against his chest as his fingers moved inside me, working carefully, insistently, as if he had memorized every response my body had ever given him and he was using it against me. "Shh, there you go..." he cooed, warm breath tickling my ear as his fingers fucked deeper into me. "Be good for me, just like that... You did so well tonight. I'll let this slide, just this once."

I couldn't believe this was happening, I really couldn't. Exhausted, I clung to Mr. Godfrey, helpless, burying my face deeper into the warmth of his chest as the incoming release finally started to unravel me. It was different this time; gentle, quiet, almost sweet, and somehow infinitely more devastating. The sound of his thick fingers pushing into me over and over was obscene, but I didn't care-- with my heart beating like never before, I even dared to look down at the scene, my breath catching in my throat. His fingers were so wet, the circles he rubbed into my clit were more intense to watch, and just the sheer size of his hands compared to my body was enough to make me shudder.

Mr. Godfrey caught up; "Pretty, huh?" he purred. 

I nodded against him, eyes wide as I watched his soaked fingers working me open-- deliberate, practiced, and cruel. "Yes, sir," I whispered, too aroused to be embarrassed. "It's... it's so--"

"So what?" His voice was a low hum at the crown of my head, his breath warm, his fingers not stopping. "Say it."

I swallowed hard, my legs twitching. "So good," I whimpered.

"Damn right it is," he murmured, mouth brushing over my temple again. "You think I'd give this to just anyone?"

My stomach flipped, my walls fluttering around him involuntarily, and he caught it instantly.

"Oh, you like that," he purred. "You like knowing you're the only one who gets this, hm? The only one I'd let fall apart like this in my lap?"

Wait... what?

What about the models? Hadn't he fucked the models? My brain was melting, falling apart; had he not done anything with them? Were the photos only that, just a show? Our little game? I couldn't answer. There were no words left-- just the sound of Mr. Godfrey working me over. "That's it," he murmured again, voice all praise now, nearly reverent. "I've got you."

Mr. Godfrey's fingers quickened just a hair, curling with each thrust, and his thumb never lost pace, circling tight and fast until I was keening into his chest, eyes clenched, body on fire-- I never wanted this to end. 

"That's it," he whispered again, breath catching. "Such a good secretary, hm?"

That did it-- I was. 

I was.

I was.

My whole body shattered in his arms, trembling, weightless, wrung out. I clutched onto Mr. Godfrey, my boss, my dom, pressing my forehead to the hollow of his throat as I came, letting it wreck me in waves that didn't stop until I was soft and boneless in his lap, barely able to breathe. That was worth the wait of this week. That was worth the chaos. That was worth the longing, the tears, and the pain.

Mr. Godfrey held me-- still, he didn't say a word for a long, long time.

His fingers slowly eased out of me, and then what remained was just the sound of our breath, rising and falling, like we had climbed the same mountain and were only now realizing the air was thinner up here; stupid, stupid risk-takers.

Finally, I opened my eyes-- his were already on me, green and clear.

... Something had changed.

I knew it with how still he had gone, in the way his gaze lingered, like he was trying to see past my skin, like he realized something he wasn't ready to admit.

Mr. Godfrey exhaled slowly through his nose. "Fuck," he muttered, almost too quiet for me to hear. His arms hadn't loosened at all, but he suddenly looked like he was trying to get a grip on himself. "You really don't make this easy."

My chest tightened, unsure what he meant-- what that look meant. "I don't?" I whispered, voice still ruined.

Mr. Godfrey shook his head slightly, like he didn't trust himself to say more. Then, finally, gently, he pressed his lips to my hair.

Just once.

Just long enough to make my heart stop.

"I know who I'm calling into the office tomorrow," he mumbled;

"A fucking exorcist."

(a/n: oh Mr. Godfrey...... playing with fire, playing with secretaries, what's next?? EEK THIS WAS SO FUN, may they both now be confused as hell!! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE LOVE!!<333)

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[larkandpen]

Human remmick obsessed with crazy deluded vampire reader 2: electric boogaloo

PART ONE

PART TWO

Human!Remmick x vamp!fem!reader

Summary: Remmick keeps visiting you every night, and you begin to manipulate him.

Themes/warnings (MDNI 18+ themes): canon divergence, slow burn? set in 1800s, general dark themes, yearning Remmick, reader is crazy and deluded in an unrealistic way (think Drusilla from Buffy, literally some direct quotes.), blood, murder, death, gore, not being nice to dead bodies, you guys suck bad, like menaces to society awful to innocents type of suck, no empathy, mutilation, manipulation, Remmick cant decide if he wans to be turned by her or be one of her victims, no mention of race, no use of y/n.

Words: 3.5K

He doesn't tell anybody about you. or where he disappears off to every night.

How could he? There wasn't one plausible explanation that didn't sound utterly mad.

The nature of this strange situation, watching you, cleaning up after your mess every single time. And you, uncaring and indifferent. sometimes he felt like those little birds, perched up in the mouths of crocodiles, cleaning their teeth.

Some nights were more calm. You barely spoke to him, just humming whimsical tunes to yourself as you played in the grass after a meal or worked on a bloody new art piece. Painting yourself, and sometimes him, in blood. drawing shapes across his face, streaking his hair, forcing your fingertips underneath his lips, and having him taste the sharp metallic. Instead of feeling disgust, he's merely disappointed when your touch leaves.

You had a critical eye for his clothing, it seemed. He began to notice you scanning his outfits with a quick look, lips pursed as you analyzed. If something was amiss, you'd come fix it. Stepping forward and straightening his suspenders, dusting off his shoulders. If he has a button missing or a stray thread, you'll give a small frown of displeasure. clicking your tongue, head shaking in disapproval.

"I don't like it. out of order," you tell him, eyes rolling in annoyance.

He looks down at his clothing; it truly wasn't that bad, the type of errors only the closest, most critical eye would take note of. He tended to wear his clothes until they wore out; a few loose threads, a minuscule hole in a seam—all were trivial. His clothes were no less wearable. He didn't grow up in a home that could just attain new things like they cost nothing; he worked too long and hard to keep all his clothing in mint condition. Not to mention he was running critically low on garments, needing to throw away blood-soaked ones on a regular basis. He was wearing what he had.

He trains his gaze down at the ground, swallowing the shameful feeling your words have caused.

"I can still wear it fine," he protests, the toe of his boot digging into the dirt.

You shake your head with a scoff. Even centuries ago, you couldn't comprehend the concept of having clothes tarnished to any degree. always excess, piling up around you greedily.

"Not me. anything out of place...must rid myself of it completely."

And it was true. Although your dresses were more often than not stained maroon, the structure was always in pristine condition. your hem intact, no rips or tears. Every single intricate bead, embroidered thread, or piece of lace was always secured competently. They were never too over-the-top or glamorous, but the elaborateness of its design was never lost on him.

"I like what you wore last week. the blue."

He looks up at you through his lashes, his head perking up a little. A flicker of confusion crosses his face. He hadn't expected you to remember any of his clothes, you inspections had become relatively common— but he didn't think you'd have memorized any of it.

"I can't wear that one anymore." He clears his throat awkwardly, his voice low.

He knew what shirt you were speaking of, one of his best.

"Why?"

He rolls his eyes at you this time, nearly annoyed you would ask him such a stupid question.

Why? because he had burned it up after covering it in evidence.

He lets out a deep sigh, shifting his weight and looking back at you. He's unamused, but his breath still hitches when you meet his gaze.

"It was covered in blood," he explains through gritted teeth.

You give a simple shrug.

"hardly stops me." You mutter, finding his reasoning to be weak. Because, you think, if he HAD liked his shirt well enough, he would've taken the necessary steps beforehand to take extra care with it. Could he not have simply removed it temporarily whilst he did the cleaning he took upon himself to do every night?

Perhaps he could handle it a tad more gracefully, slow and steady, and then he wouldn't make so much of a mess across his clothes.

Or he could just not be concerned with how the red blossoms into the fabric. Embrace it, a new and enhanced addition to his wardrobe.

"Fact, I like how it looks," you tell him. "Beautiful stains, like memories."

On more high energy nights, you danced. Waltzing across the forest with the arms of the night's unfortunate victim in your hands, a steady movement to music he can't hear, but you sing along to. You search bags and pockets like a common thief. Pulling out things that now belonged to ghosts, looting through the things you want. Scent bottles and small sewing kits from the women; sometimes pretty hand fans with designs that catch your eye. From the men you tend to keep pocket watches, penknives, handkerchiefs with interesting patterns. Occasionally someone is carrying a book on their route, but more often than not your face grows disappointed as you read the cover.

"I've already read it." you'd sigh discarding it.

On those hyperactive nights, blood and guts spread around further, high up into tree branches. harder for him to clean, but he doesn't stop doing it. Even if the lack of sleep is affecting him.

Of course people noticed. His actions didn't go without consequence, and he sacrificed his nights time and time again to come and witness you simply be. It showed the next day on his face and in his subpar work. He moved slower; he was distracted and had to be told things several times.

It shows in his attitude, too. A scowl seems to be all he wears on his face during the daytime. He snaps at people without thinking before he speaks, making dismissive comments and showing a bad attitude towards his family and friends. The lack of sleep made him doze off at any spare second, his dreams filled with your demented giggle and sharp teeth.

He only looked forward to sunset now, when the sun hung low in the sky and the shadows began to stretch out and grow; then he could come and make his way to you. even if you hardly spoke to him, even if when you did he could only figure out a small percentage of it. Even if he knew how dangerous you were—that at any second you could rip out his jugular with your teeth or your claws, string him up and bleed him dry, and leave him left for dead.

But you don't.

Remmick thinks maybe he's special. Maybe you keep him around, let him stay because of that. Maybe he's interesting enough to you, and a part of you likes to watch him just as much as he likes to watch you. Deep down he hopes that maybe you might just like him. that you don't want to hurt him.

It has nothing to do with that.

He isn't anything special, and the most interesting thing about him is his interest in you. You wouldn't complain or question anything if he left one night and never came back. You might not even notice.

And it wasn't that you didn't want to hurt him. you do. You really do.

Every time you smell him entering your premise, every glimpse of his suspenders and his mop of waves staring up at you with a longing he might never understand. breath heavy at just the idea of seeing you, heart racing with excitement. like a stray dog who desperately wants you to take it home.

But he's too eager to be hurt too fast. He doesn't say it out loud, but every beat of his heart begs for it; every night he keeps showing up in the trees proves it, every nervous swallow, every open-mouthed stare. begging you to rip into him like you did whatever unmissed person you'd drunk from that night. pleading with jealous eyes for just a scrap of the attention you give to the bodies at your feet.

craving to be broken.

And you would; it would just take so much longer than one single night.

He never looked away when you fed anymore; he found himself liking it. He watched with an intense stare. lips parted in gentle awe as it happened, leaning forward like he was the hungry one. and the way you crouched on the bed of the forest, moving slowly, deliberately. like it was a show you were putting on for an audience of one.

He didn't scream when you licked the gore off her fingers mid-conversation, as if they'd been dipped in honey. He didn't flinch when you recalled to him—through your nonsensical musings, the horrors you'd inflicted on others in the past. Entire villages burned to ash, carriages crashed, and ships sunk. the amount of lights snuffed out at your hand, all told to him like riddles, mixed in between all the nothingness you trill at him—or at yourself from in the long, dark grass.

You'd decided to really put him to the test at one point. He wasn't scared, he wouldn't leave you alone, he didn't need to be asked to clean up all the carnage night after night—lugging it across the clearing and down to the stream. So what would he do if you did ask? How far would he go to please you? How far would you be able to take it before he refuses?

You ponder this as you twirl a lock of hair between your fingers. The hair doesn't come from your head, but it does belong to you now. Darkened and caked in blood, a flap of scalp is still attached to the roots as you toy with it. He sits a few feet off to the side, back leaned against a tree. Watching you deeply, his head elsewhere, like he was completely lost within you.

"Come here, bunny." You don't look at him when you give the order. Eyes fixated on the long, dark lock of hair snaking around your fingers in a repetitive motion.

He does. Throwing himself forward, almost too eager. Crawling towards you on all fours, closing the gap further but stopping just before you.

He doesn't speak; he wouldn't dare. He just sits low with eyes unwavering and steady on you in silent devotion, waiting eagerly to see what you require of him.

The look in your eyes is delighted, the smile on your face is secretive and dangerous as you stare so intently at him. Your head jerks around as if to look at someone else, a vision of yours he cannot see.

"Hush now." You chastise the quiet night, eyes settling back down on him. "I have a favour to ask."

You lean forward gently, hands barely grazing his coat. Licking your lips eagerly, you come down to take his wrist. You tie the lock of hair around it like a bracelet for him, ending it in a little dark bow.

"I should like a new toy," you tell him, dropping his hand down now. satisfied with your work.

He hesitates, his eager expression falters ever so slightly before he opens his mouth to speak, but you don't let him get a word in; your smile sharpens.

"There's a young man." You tell him, pulling back and rising to your feet elegantly. The grass seemed to move around your feet, accommodating your movements almost before they happened. Like the earth knows you.

"I wonder, has my bunny seen him? bright eyes and merry. Like he possesses a piece of the sun within him, glowing. I saw him working in the church garden just at dusk and was able to glance at him before he went home. He was humming, and I wondered, what would he sound like screaming?" You smooth your dress down, swishing your skirt around your ankles, unable to contain an excited jump and your mad giggle.

A look of recognition passes over his face; it doesn't go unnoticed by you. smiling sickly as you come to a still, leaning down close—just inches from his face.

"A friend?" you muse. the way you say it, like you almost knew. But there's no way you could have. You'd never seen them together, never heard him speak of any friends. But when you saw that young man, you knew you wanted him to bring it to you.

Remmick didn't answer right away, needing to think for a second to answer. No, the young man was not a friend. Not in the sense that they were close; they didn't grow up alongside one another. But they did attend the same church; their mothers share baking and sewing tips in passing. He did know the boy.

"I—" he begins to speak, but you silence him swiftly.

"You will bring him here...?" The question rings out, hardly a question at all. not when you know he will do it, deep down in your thorny gut, and your brain is older than any book he has read. You think he might just do anything.

Your eyes darken, gentle fingers reaching down to cup his chin, a short jerk upwards of his head. forcing him to look at the sky, exposing his neck. You watch the pulse race gently.

"Won't you?" you pout.

You feel his pulse quicken, sweat beading at his hairline as he desperately licks his lips, trying to find something to say to you. He should find the strength to tell you 'no,' the guilt he feels nibbling inside his stomach. All of it overpowered by you. Your touch on his face, so smooth against his skin, so cold.

"You've such a trustworthy face," you purr. "Could lead an angel right down to hell with the proper smile."

The praise does it for him, words sweet on your tongue. like nothing he'd ever heard before, going damn near lightheaded when he hears it.

He can feel the saliva pooling in his mouth as he forces himself to swallow, blinking stupidly up at you.

Your lips stay parted gently, like you might speak. Still gripping his chin in your cold grasp, you move his head up and down in a nod, nodding along with him.

"Y-yes..." he stammers out.

"Yes," you speak with him, your mouth upturning in a wicked smile.

Thomas scoffed as they stumbled out of the pub the next night. His face flushed from the alcohol, his hair tousled and unruly. Remmick had bought him one too many pints and laughed jollily at each of the jokes the boy cracked. Sat at the same table with him deep into the night, looking him in the eyes. knowing what he was going to do—for you.

The moon hung low, shining yellow through the tall trees. casting a sickly filter across the path they trudged along. Remmick held a lantern in his hand, lit, emitting a warm yellow glow. Its flame dances wildly within the glass, flickering against the dark backdrop of night. casting long, spindling shadows against the trees as they move forward.

"What kind of lady keeps to the woods at such an hour?" Thomas gives a tipsy laugh as his brow furrows in naive confusion. He nearly trips on a root as he's led deeper down the path.

It had been too easy to bring him out here. She was right; it only took one word. Just the mere prospect of a woman wanting company was enough to send him on a wild goose chase. Young, inexperienced, and eager for any lady who'd have him, Remmick scoffs.

"One who doesn't suffer the noise of this world we live in." Remmick tells him. His boots crunching under the sticks and leaves, his eyes set ahead, not looking at Thomas, who seems to be gathering more sense—or fear, as he trudges along.

"And you're positive she truly wanted to meet me?" He gives an awkward laugh. "Feels a bit like a jest."

Remmick looked at him—his stare intense. Under the dim light of the lantern, he can see the soft curve of Thomas' brow, the pink in his cheeks from the cool night air, and the childish hope in his voice. His stomach flips for a second, a sick nausea creeping up him as the weight of these actions begins to sink in. Pressing against him, trying so hard to escape and take control of his movements. His mind screaming at him to do good! Be good!

And then he thinks about you.

Your words, curling into his ears, seeping into the folds of his brain, and rooting yourself inside his thoughts. The way you consume him fully, your eyes in his vision when he tries to sleep. The rare moments when you grace him with your cool, gentle touch.

"She said you were captivatin'" He tells Thomas. He averts his gaze down. a bitter taste in his mouth when he speaks. "Saw you by the church, liked the way you walked."

Thomas flushes deeper, visible even in the dark. He gives a scoff, a nervous scratch of the head. "Come on now, don't make sport o' me Remmick."

He just shakes his head at Thomas. "I ain't." He swallows hard. "Now go on, she's through there."

They approach the clearing, the lantern flickering pathetically now against the dark forest. The carnage from before had been long cleaned up by him. the water a willing keeper of all his sinister secrets. But the grounds just feel amiss, heavy with grief, thick and slow and sinking deep into the dirt. The trees feel too still, the air feels colder, and it smells faintly of a sweet rotting.

"Are you positive this is the right way?" he asks Remmick. His footsteps make a slow stop; he's nervous now. "Felt sure I saw something in the trees."

Remmick doesn't turn to look at him, just giving him a grunt and a shrug. His pace not faltering, leading his friend in deeper. His jaw hardens, and his hand beckons Thomas forward.

"Aye. The branches move in the breeze all the time, and shadows stretch long under the moonlight. You mustn't mind it." He insists lowly. I've been down this path many a night." He swallowed hard, regret creeping up into his gut. He raised his lantern higher, and from inside the darkness of the trees, there came the sound of something moving. slow, deliberate, limber.

"She's in there."

He points deeper into the forest, where the fog got thicker beneath their footfall and the air felt even colder. the leaves crunching beneath their boots, branches snapping under their weight. If you weren't aware of their presence yet, you were now.

He brings Thomas to a stop by the tall trees, the moon high above them now. They look so small compared to the large, gaping mouth of the forest, ready to swallow them both.

"Some joke, Remmick. There's no lass here!" He scoffs, turning to face the man, the lantern casting shadows upon Remmick's face as he remains unspeaking. He gives a scoff as he claps Remmick's back, a dumb smile on his face as he shakes his head. Of course, he had been so foolish as to fall for a prank.

Something within the trees rustles again, and Thomas' laugh dies in his throat, a hesitance on his face as he looks up at Remmick, confused. He searches his face, looking for any mutual fear, but Remmick's expression remains unchanged.

He gulps as he turns to look into the trees again, eyes scanning the dark with a growing paranoia, only to be met with your two glowing eyes. red, steady, just beyond the light of the lantern.

He's about to turn to Remmick before you step out beyond the dark, just far enough to be seen. Your eyes are feral and bright, your hair unruly as you close in gently. Your head is cocked to the side curiously as you get a closer look at your present. Even more perfect up close, a proper doll. Thomas swallows, his bright eyes fresh with unease and confusion, cheeks flushed the perfect shade of pink.

Remmick sighs.

"Forgive me," a desperate plea whispered from his lips. "But she hungers...I cannot deny her."

The fear in Thomas' eyes grows panicked as he realises this is no trick, but that his friend was serious. His jaw drops in shock as his feet begin to automatically backtrack. Remmick takes a small sidestep, Thomas' back hitting against him as he blocks the way. His hand clapping down on Thomas' shoulder as he leans in close. nodding towards you, urging him to look at you.

"Look at her; I think she's quite gorgeous." He says lowly into the man's ear. Watching in awe as you take your time, slowly looming in their direction. Both of their hearts thud like drums in their chests, but only one of them is due to fear.

"You've gone mad, Remmick. Lost your soul!" His shrill voice echoes against the trees only to fall on deaf ears.

Remmick's face remained unreadable, hardened. He doesn't look Thomas in the eyes. the smallest part of him fighting to act humanely. But he just gives a short nod.

"Aye," he confirms quietly, voice lower than a whisper. "And I gave it gladly."

Then you were on him. Quickly, in an inhuman motion. Remmick didn't look away as you pushed him to the ground, one hand on his chest—against his heart—and the other cradling his face with the gentleness of a lover. Shushing him softly with wild eyes, teeth gleaming under the moonlight as you smile down at him. One hand came up to pet his hair, all as he lay frozen in fear. You crank his head back, looking thoughtfully at where his pulse beats against the pale skin of his neck; the green and blue veins snaking beneath the peachy flesh.

When you sink your teeth in, Thomas only has time to let out a small, sharp gasp.

Then, only the wet hush of thirst being sated.

And he watched.

And he felt like he'd done something holy.

Thank uuu this is literally us rn (yes US, me and you) ↓

[pankowcrumbs]

Delicate love X Bucky

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

Plot: You find out Bucky has a file on you and how can you possibly trust him now.

Trust is a delicate thing.

It doesn’t shatter all at once. It cracks. Slowly. Quietly. And by the time you realise it’s broken, it’s already too late.

I suppose I should have seen the signs. The way Bucky would avoid my eyes when I asked certain questions. How he'd come home late and kiss my forehead rather than my lips. How his mind would wander when he thought I wasn’t looking.

But I loved him.

God, I loved him.

So I didn’t ask. I didn’t dig. I just believed.

We’d been together nearly two years. In that time, Bucky had gone from the haunted soldier with a history soaked in red, to the man who would make tea in the morning and hold me close at night. We built a life together. A quiet one. A soft one. I thought we’d made it through the worst.

Until I found the file.

I wasn’t snooping. I was looking for a charger in his bottom drawer. He always kept spare cables in there. What I found instead was a sleek, black folder. S.H.I.E.L.D. stamped across the top.

I hesitated. I knew it wasn’t meant for my eyes.

But my name was written on the tab.

My stomach twisted.

I opened it with shaking fingers. And there it was.

My full file. Where I’d been stationed during my humanitarian deployment in Sokovia. Where I lived before that. Family history. Medical records. Surveillance images. A copy of my birth certificate.

And tucked in the back a contract.

Assignment: Y/N L/N Target status: LOW THREAT Engagement objective: Gain intel and assess allegiance to Sokovian resistance cells. Agent: James Buchanan Barnes

My knees gave out.

I sat on the floor, the file spread in front of me like a crime scene.

It was a joke. A sick, cruel joke.

But I couldn’t laugh.

Because every memory every kiss, every whispered I love you was suddenly thrown into question.

Was I ever anything more than a mission?

He came home a few hours later.

I didn’t even look at him. I sat on the sofa, the file on the table. When he walked in and saw it, the colour drained from his face.

"Y/N..."

"Don’t," I said, my voice hollow.

He reached for me, but I stood up sharply. "Don’t touch me."

“Let me explain.”

“Oh, you want to explain why you used me? Lied to me? Slept next to me every night while reporting back on me like I was some kind of what? Threat?”

“I wasn’t reporting anymore,” he said, his voice rough. “Not for a long time. At first, yes. It was an assignment. But then it became real. You became real.”

Tears blurred my vision, but I blinked them away. “Don’t insult me with that.”

“It’s the truth.”

“No,” I said. “The truth is in that file.”

He looked at me helplessly. “I was trying to protect you.”

“By lying to me?”

“By keeping you close. By making sure you weren’t on anyone’s radar.”

I laughed, bitter. “You don’t get to make those decisions for me, Bucky.”

Silence stretched between us.

Then I said it.

Words I didn’t even know I was thinking until they left my mouth.

“I would have taken a bullet for you just to prove my love… only to realise you were the one holding the gun.”

His eyes flinched like I’d physically struck him. And in some ways, maybe I had.

I left that night.

Packed a bag and didn’t look back.

He didn’t chase me.

I think he knew better.

Weeks passed.

Each day felt like dragging my heart behind me. I moved in with a friend across the city and buried myself in routine. Work. Sleep. Repeat. I kept expecting the pain to dull, but it stayed sharp. Like a knife I couldn’t pull out.

Bucky tried calling. Once. Then twice. Then every day for a week. I never answered.

Eventually, he stopped.

Or maybe I just blocked the number.

Then came the letter.

No postage stamp. Just slipped under the door.

My name written in careful handwriting I knew better than my own.

Inside was a single page.

Y/N,

I don’t expect forgiveness. I don’t even expect an answer.

But I want you to know I resigned from S.H.I.E.L.D. The moment you found out. I couldn’t stomach the idea of standing for an organisation that asked me to manipulate someone like that someone like you.

I’m in therapy. Real therapy. Not just missions and debriefs.

I know I hurt you. I know I lost you. But I’ll keep working to be the kind of man who never would’ve accepted that assignment to begin with.

You were never just a mission. You were my peace.

– Bucky

I sat on the floor, holding the letter, my heart thundering in my chest.

It didn’t change what he did.

But it showed me he was trying.

Three months later, I saw him again.

It was a coincidence. A street market. I was with a friend, and there he was, across the stalls, holding a bag of apples. He looked different. Softer. Quieter. There were shadows under his eyes, but his posture was less guarded.

Our eyes met.

He didn’t move toward me. He didn’t smile.

He just nodded. A small, respectful nod.

And then he turned away.

I don’t know why, but that made me cry.

Because he wasn’t chasing me.

He was letting me go.

It started with the flowers.

The first bouquet arrived on a rainy Wednesday, two months after I’d seen him at the street market. I opened my front door to find them sitting in a brown paper wrap no card, no note, but I knew who they were from.

Peonies. My favourite. I’d told him that once, in passing.

The next week, it was chamomile and daisies.

Then it was sunflowers.

Always left gently at the door. Never accompanied by knocks or footsteps. Just quiet gestures.

I didn’t send any messages. I didn’t return any favours.

But I also didn’t throw them away.

I placed them in jars and let them bloom on my windowsill, the way I had once bloomed in his arms.

He didn’t push.

Not even once.

No texts. No calls. No showing up at my flat or waiting outside my job.

Just… space.

And that space, instead of staying bitter and cold, started to soften. The ache in my chest that once howled with betrayal began to whisper something else something quieter, almost like understanding.

It wasn’t until I saw Sam Wilson by chance at a community centre fundraiser that I heard anything more about Bucky.

“He’s different,” Sam said simply, after we made polite conversation and I couldn’t help asking. “He’s still Bucky. Still stubborn. Still learning how to open up without feeling like he’s exposing a wound.”

I nodded, unsure how to reply.

“But he’s doing the work,” Sam added. “Not for anyone. For himself.”

There was something solid in that. Something real. It stuck with me.

One morning, I found a card with the flowers.

It wasn’t romantic or sentimental. Just a line:

"If you ever want to talk not about us, just about anything I’ll be in the park on Sunday mornings. Same bench." – B

I kept the card on the fridge for a week before I gave in.

That Sunday, I walked to the park, my fingers cold inside my coat pockets. I didn’t expect him to be there. I half hoped he wouldn’t be.

But he was.

Sitting on the bench under the big elm tree, hands resting on his knees, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. His hair was longer now, tucked behind his ears. He looked up and smiled not big, not assuming just a soft pull of his lips like he couldn’t quite believe I’d come.

I sat beside him. No words.

The wind rustled through the leaves above us.

“You look well,” he said after a moment.

“So do you.”

We sat there for twenty minutes. Talking about everything except us. The bakery down the road. A book I was reading. His recent fascination with pottery, of all things.

I walked away that day lighter than I had in months.

It became a thing. Sundays.

No pressure. No expectations.

Sometimes we’d just sit in silence. Sometimes we’d talk for hours. He never brought up the past unless I did.

And I did eventually.

One cold morning, coffee steaming in my hands, I asked, “What made you stop pretending?”

He took his time answering.

“You did,” he said. “Loving you scared the hell out of me. I didn’t know how to love without hurting someone… until you. And when I realised I’d hurt you too it broke something in me. I knew I had to fix it. Not to win you back. Just to be someone who deserved the kind of love you gave.”

I said nothing.

But something in me started to thaw.

He invited me to his therapy session one day.

“I won’t be upset if you say no,” he said. “I just thought maybe… hearing it might help.”

So I went.

I listened as he talked about his past, his regrets, his guilt. He spoke openly raw, but steady.

He didn’t hide from what he’d done.

He acknowledged it.

He was rebuilding himself, brick by brick.

Not for me.

But I was welcome to watch.

He didn’t kiss me the first time I let him walk me home.

He didn’t try.

He just looked at me, eyes so blue and tired and full of hope, and said, “I’m really glad you came today.”

So was I.

Six months after I found the file, he asked if he could take me somewhere.

“Not a date,” he said quickly. “Just… a breather. For both of us.”

“Where?”

“Italy.”

I blinked. “Italy?”

He scratched the back of his neck, bashful. “There’s this little town near Lake Como. Peaceful. No tourists this time of year. I thought maybe you could use a change of scene. No pressure.”

I should’ve said no. It was mad. Reckless.

But I didn’t.

I said yes.

It was perfect.

Not in a cinematic, romantic way. But in its slowness. Its intention.

He was present. Every moment.

He cooked for me in the little villa. Pasta from scratch, fumbling his way through the sauce with a grin. We walked through old markets, sat on sun-warmed stones by the lake, shared stories in candlelight without once looking at our phones.

He asked questions. Listened. Laughed with me, not at me.

He looked at me like I was his world and not because he needed something from me.

Because he finally understood my worth.

On our last night, as we watched the sun dip below the hills, he reached for my hand.

“I almost lost you,” he said softly. “And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I want you to know… I’ve spent every day since working to become the kind of man who’d never make you feel unworthy again.”

Tears stung my eyes.

“I couldn’t lose you, Y/N. You were the best thing in my life. I had to do the hard work not just for you, but so that I never become a danger to the people I love again. Even myself.”

I squeezed his hand.

“I see you trying, Bucky.”

“And?”

“And I love the man you’re becoming.”

We didn’t kiss that night.

We just held each other.

And in his arms, I finally felt safe again not because he was shielding me from the world, but because he was no longer someone I needed protection from.

[cosmicflare]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙿𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎

✦ ;; you, jax and ribbit were all very close. however- after ribbit abstracted- a rift formed between you and jax. now after pomni came along, you couldn't help but want to repair what you had with the rabbit.

✦ ;; jax x gn!reader

✦ ;; slight angst, fluff

✦ ;; here is another jax fic i seem to only write these once a new episode drops, i need to write more ☠️ also i wrote this at 12 am forgive me if i have any mistakes

No matter how many times you told Jax to knock it off, he continued to be the biggest bully in the circus. No doubt he ignored you not just because he's an asshole, but because after the only other person you two were close to abstracted, its been difficult to meet in the middle again. Grief is a terrible thing that everyone experiences differently, especially here. There are no minutes or hours or days or months or years, just...a digital hellscape.

You two had an argument, a nasty one, not spurred between just one of you. It was a mutual blaming of causing the other to abstract. You both blamed each other and yourselves personally for not being able to prevent it from happening. Both were shit friends. Both horrible people. The argument and sudden separation caused a ripple through the whole circus and everyone could sense just how deeply the abstraction fucked with you both. Especially Jax- he became nastier to everyone as a shield to deflect from how broken he was inside.

So when Ragatha said 'Not anymore' in response to Jax not having any friends, it made you furious. So furious that you wanted to give her a piece of your mind. But you didn't, because you weren't even apart of the conversation. No, you were just close enough to hear parts of the whole, but definitely heard that. The rest of the adventures were tense, but you slowly felt yourself being drawn more to Pomni and by extension- Jax. But you haven't had a full on conversation with him yet alone and the thought made you incredibly nervous.

And at the bar, you didn't blame Jax for not saying anything about his life before the circus. You knew him all too well and he had every right to keep it hidden. Meanwhile you? You ended up giving the important tidbits of your life, but a lot less than what you shared with Jax and Ribbit as an attempt to at least connect with everyone more.

It wasn't just Jax you grew distant from, but it was everyone.

Then it was time for baseball with the opposing team who quite literally, were the opposites of you all. At some point, the others besides you and Pomni decide to put him in a maid dress. He did not like it at all. And not just the normal amount of dislike, but extreme discomfort it hurt to watch him lash out in anger and embarrassment.

"I thought you would have voted for me because ya know- I'm the asshole, right?" He sarcastically said to you, causing you to flinch. You said those exact words during the argument all that time ago because you didn't like how unreasonably mean he was becoming.

"Well despite what happened, I don't want to be one to you, no matter how you treat me" You spoke in full honesty, because you never spewed any insults at him even if he did it to you first. It never got to you like how it did with the others since you had gotten used to it, even if he did get worse after Ribbit has abstracted. He sighed and looked away, his expression suddenly turning melancholic as it seemed he was about to say something. But as soon as Pomni came up to talk to him- he just paid attention to her instead. Despite him getting closer to her, you knew he was doing it for a reason, and that he would answer you when he was ready. You extended the olive branch, and it was up to him and only him if he would grab it.

Soon, the rapid-fire adventures ended and you were spit out in the main part of the circus. Jax wanted to show Pomni something in the hallway so they started walking away. But before they could get far- Jax stopped and looked back at you.

"Hey would you want to uh, come along?" His voice was unsure, but firm. He grabbed your offer, the olive branch was taken, and you wers thankful. Saying you did, you hurriedly ran to catch up to them before the rabbit started to walk again.

"So what did you want to show me?" The jester asked with curiosity. You somehow just knew what she wanted her to see and why he wanted you to come along. Was this his form of an apology?

"You'll see, but I feel like my old friend here already knows" You were a bit startled that he knew, but also not surprised at all since you both were so close others used to say you acted like a married couple. You couldn't really define the relationship in any way, but you still respected him very deeply and never wish to fight with him again. He meant a lot to you, and you know you meant a lot to him.

It wasn't long before you three ended up in the hallway full of everyone's bedrooms. Towards the back of it lies the one place you haven't visited since it happened.

Ribbit's bedroom.

The sight of the red x over his face made your breath hitch, you stayed away from this place because you couldn't handle even looking in this direction. Yet here you were, with Jax and the newest addition about to enter. The rabbit held onto the doorknob and he looked at you, a sad expression on his face as he was gauging your reaction. This is where the fight took place; right outside the bedroom. He twisted the doorknob to reveal the bedroom which was still exactly as it was left the day Ribbit abstracted.

"His name was Ribbit, and he was our best friend" Jax's voice was calm and had a sort of fondness as he recounted the many days and adventures the three of you had. Pomni took in the room and this information as he spoke of the good and the bad, all which almost made you tear up. It wasn't long until he got up until the day the frog was abstracted, his breathing became heavy as he slouched over, a pained look in his eyes. You got closer to him and pulled him into a hug.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to" You told him softly, rubbing his back as he slightly gripped the clothing on your shoulders.

"Yeah if it makes you uncomfortable, you don't have to tell me now!" Pomni worridly and quickly added onto your statement, not wanting to ruin the new, budding friendship she was forming with him. But Jax was silent for a moment as he just embraced you in a way that he was terrified on letting you go again. You didn't want to let him go either, but you couldn't stay attached to him forever. This was the moment to decide to get closer to with him again and try to repair what was lost.

"I heard from uhm...Ragatha that you two had a falling out after...it happened. I'll leave you two alone now" she sounded like she was scared of saying one wrong thing and suddenly Jax would return to how he normally was. But she didn't. She held a hand on the doorframe to stop herself as she looked back. "Thank you for telling me though, I'm sure you guys were all really close. But don't forget I'm here too, ok?" And then she was gone.

"Please don't leave me" He was so quiet you barely heard him. But you did.

"I won't leave you again, you hear me? As long as you don't leave me again. I...really want to try being friends again, if that's ok with you, of course" In no way did you want to force him into that since that's the last thing that would help build your connection back.

"I won't ever leave you again I swear. I would uh...like to be friends again too. Don't tell anyone this hug happened or I'll kill you" That got a single huff of a smile out of you as you pulled away and looker at him with nothing but love in your eyes. You always loved him in whatever kind of love that may be. He was back. Your Jax was back. For good this time.

"Oh please, killing me would mean me leaving again" You couldn't help but smile as your heart grew. Maybe happiness was possible here and that happiness could be from a purple rabbit named Jax.

"That's true...I hate when you're right" Rolling his eyes, he smiled as he stared at you with a look that you knew all too well. He was ready to cause chaos.

"Want to get out of here and mess with Ragatha a bit?" Of course, you couldn't be surprised.

"Really? After all that? Let's just focus on I don't know...not piss everyone off again?

"Ok fiiiinne. Race ya to the bowling alley?"

"You're on"

[orellazalonia]

The Soft Thing He Shouldn’t Have Touched

Summary: You were supposed to be just another protection assignment for Bucky Barnes: high-risk, high-reward, but temporary. However, what begins begins as quiet protection turns into control and the man assigned to keep you alive becomes the one rewriting the boundaries of your freedom. (Bodyguard AU | Dark!Bucky Barnes x reader)

Warnings/Disclaimer: Minors DNI. Dark Bucky Barnes. Implied stalking. Controlling/Possessive Bucky. You are responsible for the media you consume.

Word Count: 3.1k+

A/N: I feel like it’s been such a long time since the last dark fic. So, this was a nice change of pace. Let me know if I should add something else to the warnings, tags, or anything else. Happy reading!!

Main Masterlist

You weren’t the kind of girl who needed a bodyguard.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself when your father called from his office and told you the news.

“You’re being watched,” He stated flatly, like it wasn’t even a warning, just a fact. “We’re tightening security. New man starts tomorrow. James Barnes. Don’t argue with me, sweetheart.”

You had tried to argue half-heartedly, but the tension in his voice told you it wouldn’t go anywhere. There had been a few odd things lately. A car that followed you from the studio. Two packages with no return address. Your driver calling out sick and never came back. You’d brushed it all off, but clearly your father hadn’t.

“Isn’t he overkill?” You mumbled, hugging your arms as you stared out the window of your apartment overlooking the park. “Don’t we already have cameras and gates and–”

“Gates don’t stop people like this,” he interrupted. “Barnes will.”

You didn’t ask how your father knew him. You knew better than to ask how your family made their money, or where all the shadows in your life came from.

So instead, you sat in your living room the next day in an oversized sweater, clutching a mug of tea, and pretending not to be nervous while you waited to meet your new shadow.

You knew the moment he arrived by the way he didn’t knocked. Instead, the security panel on your wall buzzed, then clicked. A guard opened the door, nodded once, and stepped aside.

And then he walked in.

James Barnes was taller than you imagined, shoulders tense under a black jacket, jaw sharp and eyes unreadable. His presence filled the room like smoke: quiet, heavy, and lingering. His stare flicked from corner to corner, scanning exits, windows, lines of sight, and then finally, finally, landed on you.

You blinked. He didn’t.

“I’m Barnes,” He said, voice low, clipped. “I’ll be handling your protection detail until the current threat is neutralized.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t look like someone who neutralizes. You look like someone who ends things.”

That got you a blink, barely. He didn’t smile, but something about the way his gaze lingered on you sent a ripple through you. Not fear exactly. Just… awareness.

You didn’t think much of it. He was here to keep you safe after all.

As he settled into your usual routine, things changed.

You weren’t used to rules. Not real ones. Not the kind that came with consequences.

You’d grown up cushioned in luxury from your father’s fortune, your mother’s perfect social masks, and the world softened by assistants and doors held open for you. You didn’t flaunt it. You didn’t really want it. But you were used to having space. To being alone when you wanted to be. To choosing your own schedule and slipping away when the house got too loud, or the walls too stiff.

James Barnes didn’t ask for permission to change that.

The first morning after his arrival, you came down the stairs in your usual routine. Barefoot, still in pajamas, eyes half-shut, heading for the kitchen, only to find him already there. Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. Gun holstered at his hip like it belonged there more than he ever could in your sunlit apartment.

He didn’t greet you. Didn’t flinch when you stopped short in the doorway. Just handed you a small, black notebook. Inside was a schedule, blocks of time filled with words like “accompanied outings only” and “no unscheduled exits.”

You blinked down at it. “You’re serious?”

He met your gaze with something unreadable. “I don’t do half-assed measures. You stick to this. I keep you alive.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, letting the silence stretch. “I didn’t ask for you.”

“No. Your father did.” He pushed off the counter. “And I accepted which means I’m in charge.”

You laughed once, dry and disbelieving. “You think I’m going to just follow orders?”

His expression didn’t change. “I think you’re smart, scared, and stubborn. But not stupid enough to test me.”

You didn’t like how steady his voice was. You didn’t like how right he sounded.

So you tried to prove him wrong. You started with little things.

You tried to slip out the back door while he was “on the phone.” (He wasn’t. The line was dead. He was testing you.) You stayed up too late reading in the garden. (He stood in the dark under the trees until 3AM, making sure no one touched you.) You didn’t answer your phone once when he called. (The next time you looked up, he was already inside the café, staring down your barista like he was a threat.)

You pushed. He didn’t snap. He never raised his voice. Never touched you.

But you could feel the leash tightening. Not in violence, but in attention.

His eyes never left you for long. You’d glance up during breakfast and find him watching. Quiet, calculating, and memorizing the way you held your fork or twirled your hair. You started locking the door to your room, even though no one told you to.

Three days later, the lock was disabled. Silently, effortlessly. Nothing was said.

He wasn’t trying to scare you. That was the worst part. He wasn’t trying to hurt you.

He just didn’t believe you were capable of keeping yourself safe. So he did it for you.

You tried confronting him once.

“You’re not my father, you’re a bodyguard.”

He’d looked at you from the armchair by the fireplace, one hand resting on his thigh, muscles relaxed, but his eyes stayed sharp. “You think I want to be here?”

That caught you off guard. He stood slowly, and you backed up before you realized it.

“I didn’t come here to play house,” He said quietly, stepping closer. “I came because someone put a price on your head. Because people don’t just want to scare you, they want to ruin you. And because your father offered me more money than God to make sure they don’t.”

He stopped just short of touching you. His voice dropped to a murmur. “But if you think I’m staying because of him, you’re wrong.”

You looked up at him, heart pounding.

“I’m staying,” He said, “Because now I’ve seen you, and I know you wouldn’t survive long in a world like this.”

After that, you didn’t argue anymore.

Not out loud.

But part of you, the stubborn, lonely part that resented being watched and kept, burned quietly under your skin.

You weren’t his prisoner. You weren’t some doll to protect.

And no matter how warm his voice could sound when you cried in your sleep, or how gently he covered you with a blanket when you passed out on the couch, or how intently he watched the world for danger–

You knew what men like him were.

The shift happened on a Thursday.

A slow, golden morning. You had woken early, not because you meant to but because you’d had another dream. One of those anxious ones that made you sit up sweating, heart pounding, with no memory of what exactly had gone wrong. You didn’t call for anyone. You didn’t want Bucky to know. So you got dressed in silence, tugging a soft sweater over your head, and crept down the stairs to breathe.

The air was cool outside, still damp with mist curling through the hedges.

You weren’t supposed to leave the property without telling him. You knew that. But you weren’t going far, just to the far edge of the garden path, past the statues and the wild roses, where you could sit on the stone bench with a book and be alone for ten minutes.

Ten minutes was all you wanted. But ten minutes is all it took.

The sound came first. Fast heavy footsteps, then a flash of something that was too quick to register. You looked up just as a man stepped out from behind a hedge, black cap low over his face, and a silver flash in his hand.

You froze.

The man didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Instead, he lunged.

Your scream barely left your throat before the man was yanked backward like a rag doll. You didn’t even hear Bucky approach, but you saw the silent blur of motion and violence. You heard the sound of the attacker’s back hitting the stone wall with a sickening thud. And then another. And another. You could hear the bone break on the fourth one.

“James!” You yelled, voice hoarse. “He’s down–stop!”

But he didn’t stop. Not until the man slumped forward unmoving, blood pooling beneath his cheek. Only then did Bucky step back, chest heaving. His hands were red, but his face was calm. Too calm.

He turned to you.

You didn’t flinch, but your knees wobbled.

His jaw clenched. He crossed to you in two strides, checking your wrists, your arms, your neck. “Did he touch you?”

“No,” You whispered.

He exhaled hard. And then he grabbed you.

It wasn’t the most gentle but not rough. Like his body didn’t know how to be anything but muscle and instinct. He pulled you to him and held you against his chest, arms wrapping around you, your cheek pressed into the place just beneath his collarbone where you could feel the thunder of his pulse.

“I told you not to go out alone.”

His voice was low, shaking slightly.

“I didn’t think–“ You tried to explain, but he cut you off with a whisper.

“You don’t get to think. Not anymore.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, and the expression on his face terrified you more than the attack.

It wasn’t rage. It was fear. The kind that twisted his features in ways he couldn’t hide.

“You don’t know what it would do to me,” He murmured. “If something happened to you.”

And there it was.

The shift.

Not from professional to personal, because you were never just a job. He had been watching, learning, cataloguing your habits like a scientist watching a rare, soft thing he never thought he’d get close to. You weren’t being protected.

You were being kept.

And now?

Now he wasn’t even trying to pretend otherwise.

He didn’t let you out of his sight after that.

Not for meals. Not for phone calls. Not even for sleep. You woke up two nights later and found him asleep in the armchair across the room, arms crossed, and head tilted back.

He was always watching you now.

He didn’t trust the rest of the world. But more than that, he didn’t trust you anymore.

He never yelled. Never laid a hand on you. But the quiet control grew like ivy, slow and subtle. You started finding your shoes already brought up from the foyer. Your calls answered by someone else. Your plans canceled before you could confirm them.

“I’m trying to live,” You snapped at him once.

He met your eyes. “I’m trying to make sure you still get to.”

And it wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even cold.

It was just… true.

Later that night, you found your door slightly ajar. He never knocked, just stepped in and stood there, framed in shadow.

“I need you to stop running from me,” He said, voice raw. “I’m not your enemy.”

You looked at him from your bed, heart thudding. “Then what are you?”

He stared at you. And then came the answer. Quiet and final.

“Yours.”

From the beginning, you weren’t supposed to matter to Bucky.

You were just another assignment. A well-protected heiress with too much money and too little awareness of how fragile your world really was. Bucky had handled people like you before. Porcelain girls with high security, shallow problems, and an inflated sense of danger. You were supposed to be one more name, one more paycheck, one more job that ended quietly.

But the second he saw you, he knew something was off.

You were soft.

Not weak. Not stupid. Just open in a way people like him weren’t used to. You said thank you too easily. You smiled at the doormen, asked the names of the guards, made eye contact with people like they hadn’t all learned to look away.

You gave kindness like it cost nothing.

And it made him furious.

Because softness like that? It didn’t survive. It was the first thing people tore apart. The first thing people ruined. And yet there you were, handing it out like sunlight, like you didn’t know the world would swallow it whole and spit you out.

So he watched you.

Closely, quietly, and constantly.

Not because he didn’t trust the threat. But because he didn’t trust you to protect yourself from it. From them. From him.

He memorized your routines. Every careless movement. Every time you stepped too close to a railing, turned your back to a crowd, got distracted by some meaningless thing while someone could have been closing in. He saw your softness, your distraction, your warmth, and he hated how much it hurt to look at you.

Because there was something inside you he had never had. And all he wanted was to keep it, even if he had to cage it.

And the night you were attacked, something in him snapped.

He didn’t remember crossing the garden. Didn’t hear your gasp or the scuffle. He only saw the man, hands reaching for you, and then there was blood, bone, then silence. His hands were red and his vision tunneled, but the only thing he could hear was your breath, sharp and panicked behind him.

He’d nearly killed a man.

And still, his only thought was, Did he touch her?

When he turned to you, he saw it. The fear but not of him, but of the moment. The loss of control. And for the first time, he stepped over the line without hesitation.

He held you. Not because you asked but because he needed to. Because you were shaking and he was shaking, and the thought of you being hurt was something he couldn’t tolerate. Something he couldn’t survive.

And that’s when it changed. You weren’t a job anymore. You were his.

So he stopped pretending after that.

He stayed outside your door, even when you tried to lock it. He started answering your calls, canceling your appointments. Deciding what you wore, where you went, how long you stayed. He didn’t shout nor threaten. He simply… filled in all the spaces you thought were yours.

You noticed it slowly. At first, it felt like care or protection. Someone seeing you, anticipating you. But care becomes control when it never lets you go.

And you were starting to realize you were being caged, controlled. Not because you were in danger anymore.

But because he couldn’t let you go.

As your world became more and more constricting, you resorted to going to the one responsible for it all. Your father.

You’d always known your father dealt in shadows. He wore power like a tailored suit, always sharp, always controlled, and always five steps ahead of anyone who dared threaten his peace. He wasn’t affectionate in the traditional way, but he made sure you were protected, safe, and untouchable.

So when Bucky started taking up too much space in your life by deciding your schedule, answering your calls, dismissing your friends, you didn’t run. You went to the one person who could end it.

You started by waiting until Bucky was gone from the apartment. Or so you thought. You’d been very careful. You left your phone behind, caught a cab with cash, and kept your eyes down.

When you reached the office, your father’s sleek high-rise overlooking the city, you didn’t go through the lobby. You used the old back elevator he’d told you never to use unless it was serious.

This was serious.

Because you weren’t scared of Bucky, not exactly. It wasn’t fear that curled in your gut when he stood too close or tracked your movements with those unreadable eyes. It wasn’t even hatred.

It was something worse.

It was some form of twisted comfort. It was knowing someone was always there, always watching. That you could fall asleep and wake up untouched. That the nightmares stayed far away with him on the other side of the door.

And that’s why you knew you had to stop it.

Before you forgot what it meant to belong to yourself.

Your father looked up from behind his desk when you entered, surprise flickering across his face.

“Sweetheart,” He said, folding his hands. “What’s wrong?”

You sat across from him, heart pounding, words gathering like a storm. You explained everything quickly and shakily, your hands twisting in your lap.

“James is… not right. He’s controlling everything. I think he’s–he’s watching me while I sleep. I think he’s…” You stopped. Swallowed. “He’s not protecting me anymore. He’s controlling me, caging me.”

Your father’s expression didn’t change. He leaned back slowly in his chair. Silent and thoughtful.

Then: “Has he hurt you?”

The question struck you harder than expected. You hesitated. “…No, not physically.”

Your father nodded once. “Has he threatened you?”

“…Well, no. Not really.”

“Has he failed to keep you safe?”

You flinched. “That’s not the point. He–he won’t let me live.”

And still, your father said nothing. Just opened a drawer, pulled out a small folder, and set it on the desk in front of you.

Inside was a photo. Your photo. Taken a few days ago of you smiling politely at a café worker, unaware. There in the background was a man, half-shadowed with a gun tucked into his waistband.

“Do you know who this is?”

Your blood went cold.

Your father closed the folder. “Barnes intercepted him before he got within thirty feet of you.”

“…What?”

“He didn’t tell you, probably didn’t want to scare you. But if he hadn’t followed you that day, hadn’t broken protocol, you wouldn’t be sitting here.”

You sat back in your chair, numb.

“He’s good at what he does,” Your father continued. “And more importantly, he’s loyal to you. Obsessively so it appears.”

You stared at him, throat dry. “That’s the problem.”

He looked at you for a long moment. And then, with no malice, only finality, he said: “Then maybe you shouldn’t have let him care.”

You didn’t remember the elevator ride down.

You didn’t remember the street, or the car, or the fact that somehow, Bucky was waiting at the bottom of your apartment steps when you returned. His gloved hands in his pockets, hair wind-swept, and eyes calm like nothing had changed.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

He just opened the door for you, and you walked inside like nothing had happened.

But everything had. Because you knew now: there was no report to make. No exit plan. No help coming.

Your father had practically given you to him and Bucky was never going to give you back.

[crustyfloor]

Mizi calling out HyunA for her avoidance and coping wasn't necessarily untrue...very cruel, but it was true that HyunA was using the rebellion as a distraction from her grief. She was getting better, but never truly healed. When Jacob died, she absorbed herself in his mission, she walked in the life and hope he left behind and made it her own to get by, but really, by doing all this, it feels like HyunA was trying to make up for her guilt and suffering and escape her past (In another sense, she wanted to take Jacob's words to heart and find healing by taking up the idealistic ambition and hopes of the rebellion, but that too might've been HyunA grappling for a distraction)

I can see why this part of Mizi's speech is also tinged with projection and self-loathing. Honestly, all of what Mizi monologues about are things that she hates about herself, things that she finds foolish about herself, and projects them onto others. It's just fascinating that she and HyunA are so alike (and that's why at Mizi's lowest, she serves as HyunA's antithesis, a show of what humans can become at their lowest if they delve into hopelessness instead of hopefulness...they're parallels)

In light of her hopelessness and lack of faith in the world, Mizi is criticizing HyunA's faith in humanity and her complete determination with the rebellion, as hopeful as their cause was. But her words in this section carry a sense of contempt that can translate as self-deprecation. Hope can easily manifest into a coping mechanism, and that can be quickly attributed to the way HyunA and Mizi both confront their life. She and HyunA were both trying to distract themselves in the past with idealistic dreams because of their pain, knowing what they felt deep inside and choosing not to confront it. Mizi has criticized herself before for "feigning ignorance and only looking out for herself instead of the people she believes she loves." Mizi knew what Sua was doing, knew Sua wasn't honest,, but then decided to ignore her own feelings and the truth and let Sua do it just because Mizi didn't want to break her heart. She felt like she could've done something, but she was too wrapped up in some blind hope and faith in Sua. So, "Did clinging to some useless facade of happiness and naivety ever really fix anything, did lying to themselves and hoping save her? It resolved nothing-- it caused a preventable death." It's quite stone cold that she speaks about HyunA's trauma, criticizes her response to it, just because it seems like she's projecting her own trauma onto the scenario... But wow, it's just so raw... I really like how her twisted perspective is conveyed in these unclear moments

And I like how the dynamic between HyunA and Mizi is once again re-established (that cute "HyunA, unnie" in the beginning...) Mizi may not hold the same righteousness or attitude as HyunA, but there's a reason why HyunA went out of her way and saved Mizi because she saw her past self in her during Round 5. There's a reason why Mizi finds HyunA to be the one she can easily confide in most (especially after having known some of what HyunA went through). Their trauma and their responses to it, and their grief and despair... They can understand each other so well (I would suppose that's why Mizi can read HyunA like this, she knows what HyunA's been through and can probably make connections as to why HyunA is so caught up in the rebellion as a means of escaping her trauma. Mizi can also see some of herself in HyunA, the way she reaches for healing through hope, and projects resentment onto it.) Even HyunA can understand why Mizi lashes out; she gets grief and guilt

Mizi and HyunA parallel each other so much as people who use avoidance as a coping mechanism, as innately caring, loving people who suffer in grief and loneliness and self-blame, it's been mostly reiterated in the patreon how similar they are, but it's really nice seeing this conveyed in official art/mvs now, because it's really becoming more apparent how similar they are

[minlighted]

hi! i saw you were taking requests and decided to send a little something! if it's okay with you, may i request stray kids ot8 x 9th member!reader? i was thinking of something that starts angsty but ends in fluff, like reader getting lost in the airport because of fans mobbing and only being found later after a lot of emotional distress and being pushed and shoved.

🌙Thank you for the request!

✈️ Lost in the Noise

Stray Kids OT8 × 9th Member!Reader/GN!Reader 🌪 Angst → Comfort/ 📏 ±5100 words

Masterlist

You knew airports could be busy. You knew fans would show up. But you weren’t prepared for this.

The instructions were simple: hood up, sunglasses off, stay close together. The staff had reminded you of this when you got off the plane. And you had stuck to them — at first. You walked quietly behind Chan and next to Seungmin. The boys looked as exhausted as you felt. After a long flight back from Japan and barely any sleep, everyone was tired, but you were used to it.

You thought: just hang in there. In fifteen minutes we’ll be in the car and it will be quiet again.

What you didn’t know: those fifteen minutes would change everything.

It started with a few distant voices. Then screams. And then — a wall of sound.

Flashing lights, shouting, running steps. Security sprang into action, but too late: the fans had already slipped between you. You felt someone slide past your shoulder, another hand against your arm. Your backpack was pulled back, you jumped and lost your balance. You turned around, instinctively.

And that’s where it went wrong.

Instead of Chan or Seungmin, you were faced with strangers. Cameras. Questions in languages ​​you couldn’t immediately process. Flashes. People getting too close.

You tried to step back. Searched for a face you knew.

“Hyung?” “Chan?!”

But your voice was drowned out. No one answered. Not a limb in sight. Just arms, bags and cameras. You pushed your way back toward the nearest pillar and panicked when your phone wasn’t there—it was in Hyunjin’s bag. You’d put it there just before boarding.

Now you were out of service. Out of contact.

You knew you shouldn’t run. But your legs moved on instinct.

And then you got lost.

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking. Not long. But you can feel it in your chest—your breathing is faster than it should be. Your hand shakes as you slide it along the cold pillar at Gate 34. No one here. Or at least, no one you know.

You pull your hood up a little further and sink to the ground. Your heart pounds in your throat. You try to keep your shoulders still, but they tremble slightly. You’re not hurt. But you’re not okay either.

You rub your arm and try to count your breaths. Feel something normal. But everything feels so far away. Like you and your body are separated for a moment.

I’m lost. They’re lost to me. Maybe they think I’ve gotten ahead of them. Or that I’ve already reached the bus.

The thought is even more terrifying than the silence.

“Hold on,” Chan says, his voice sharp. “Where’s Y/N?”

Heads turn. Movement stops. Felix frowns. “Was just with Seungmin…”

“Not anymore,” Changbin says, scanning. “They’re gone.”

“Don’t panic,” Minho says, but his gaze is anything but calm.

Jisung is already stepping back. “Maybe they got pushed the other way. Or got stuck somewhere.”

“They would never do that on purpose,” Jeongin says softly.

Hyunjin mumbles, “They didn’t have a phone with them…”

That’s when Chan uses his authority. “Staff! Everyone stops. We’re splitting up. Gates 20 to 40. Security calls central cameras right away.”

He looks at the boys.

“We don’t leave anyone behind. You hear me?”

“Always,” Changbin says. “There are nine of us.”

You think of stupid things.

If the bus has already left. If someone is worried. What if they think you did it on purpose?

Then—footsteps. Faster than the rest.

A voice:

“Y/N…?”

You look up, eyes blurry.

Hyunjin.

He sees you. His eyes widen.

“They’re here!” he shouts.

Within seconds, you see familiar silhouettes.

Felix first. His face tense, mask half off. Seungmin with a frown of pure relief. Han with a hand over his chest as if he’s just daring to breathe again.

And then: Chan.

He immediately kneels down in front of you.

“Are you hurt?”

You shake your head, barely visible.

“Are you in pain?”

“Was there someone you—”

Your lip trembles. Your shoulders too.

“Okay. It’s okay. You’re safe. You don’t have to say anything for now.”

Hyunjin sinks down next to you. Felix slumps to his knees behind you. A warm hand touches your back. Han sits quietly on your other side, his eyes red with tension.

Jeongin wordlessly takes your hand. You feel him squeeze gently. Not forcefully. Just: I’m here.

You sit in the middle, Chan next to you. His arm doesn’t rest on you, but just behind you—so you know he’s there. The car drives softly. The windows are fogged up from the difference between the outside air and the air conditioning.

No one forces you to talk.

Minho hands you a bottle of water. “For when you’re ready.”

You nod. Seungmin tucks a blanket around your shoulders. His gaze is cautious, almost apologetic. “We should never have let you out of our sight.”

“It was chaos,” you say hoarsely. “Not your fault.”

“Maybe not,” Changbin says, “but we do worry. Because we love you.”

The silence that follows is warm, not awkward.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything,” you whisper. “I didn’t know how…”

“You don’t have to justify yourself,” Chan says softly. “You were scared. That’s okay. We’re here now.”

You’re sitting on the couch in your dorm, wearing a hoodie, a bowl of warm soup in your hands.

Jisung is sitting across from you, distractedly scrolling through his phone. Minho is in the kitchen making tea. Felix is ​​lying on the couch next to you like a limp cat, gently nuzzling you.

You feel… not better right away. But calmer. Heavier in a good way like your breathing is slowing down to where it should be.

Hyunjin sits down next to you with a notebook. “I’ll write it down,” he says. “For later. So we can remember how we never want to lose each other again.”

You smile weakly. “Dramatically.”

“Yeah,” he says, “but sincerely.”

You lie under your covers. You hear a few more sounds in the dorm, a drawer, a soft laugh, the hum of the kettle.

Then: a knock on your door.

You say nothing, but the door opens softly.

Chan.

He doesn’t come in, just stands in the doorway.

“Just checking. Are you okay?”

You nod.

“Not okay-okay. But… safe.”

His face relaxes. “That’s enough for now.”

Then he turns over. “Sleep well, y/n.”

You close your eyes.

You’re not lost. You’re found.

And in the chaos of the world outside, you have eight people who will always come back. Always.

[supernova41st]

Tangled ♪

Jerry (Date Everything) x Wired Earphones!Reader

A/N: There needs to be more Date Everything fanfiction! I’m excited to start writing some Date Everything stuff because the characters are soo cool. So sorry this took so long to release, I’m moving rn so I’ve been pretty busy jdhwjaid my joints hurt

Warnings: Abandonment, Hoarding, Signs of depression, Longer than my normal stuff

MINOR AUTHOR, DNI IF UNCOMFORTABLE

Divider creds: @uzmacchiato

It didn’t make sense to you. You your job flawlessly, playing songs and audios through your wires, delivering the best quality of sound you could, not letting a splash of water get to you so quickly—but even after all of that, your now previous owner was throwing you into a drawer to make room for their wireless earbuds.

It didn’t take long for Jerry to notice you. Sure, he couldn’t keep track of much of his collection, but he could easily sense when something new is added. He was simply overjoyed to see you! To him you were still a hot new thing because he wasn’t aware of the newer technology that was made.

“Oh, wow! Earphones? Did (O/N) drop you off here by mistake? You’re the pinnacle of technology! How could you possibly end up here?”

He closely inspected you while asking you hundreds of questions, twiddling with your wires and pushing your volume buttons constantly. It wasn’t the warmest welcome but you still managed to keep it together even after finding out you were being replaced.

Your wider knowledge of the outside world collided with how isolated and straight up weird Jerry was. The light bulb on his head is what threw you off the most considering the amount of fashion podcasts you’ve played.

“Theres a light bulb on your head.”

“Ah-Ah! Not just any light bulb, but an LED bulb. There just might be a day where these will be recalled all throughout the world, and it could soon be the very last one to ever exist, here on my head! Or maybe it’ll eventually create a new color that no one’s ever seen, unique to the light bulbs structure and technology!!”

“..babe, this is a solar energy light bulb. The only color it’s create is soft white”

Yeah, he didn’t take much of a liking to your ‘needling’. But he gladly accepted you as being apart of his collection. Even if you thought of yourself as a piece of uses less junk compared to the newer wireless earbuds, he still saw something more in you even if you couldn’t.

He never shared how much he more saw in you because he knew it’d get completely dismissed by your needling, so he kept it to himself.

Even through all his admiration, you still thought of yourself as a piece of junk along with the other stuff in the drawer. Jerry hadn’t interacted with you much after a while, leading to you slowly not speaking another word. He thought you were doing okay until he asked if you would tag along with him to play GnG with Chance but you looked, well, not okay.

Your wires were all tangled, your USB cord was a tug away from fully breaking off of you, and your ear tip was dusty, making your voice muffled. You were curled on the floor, staring at the tally marks on the wall that you made to keep track of however long you were in here. Jerry was never really handsy but when he saw you like this he just wanted to hold you.

“No, I don’t want to play GnG. Please just let me stay in here”

“But you’ve been here for so long! I-I know my collection may be all the more spectacular and everything but you haven’t come out since (O/N) put you here!!”

“For good reason.. I’m just as valuable as the rest of this shit”

Jerry knew you wanted him to leave, (like really wanted him to leave) but he didn’t accept it, instead he sat beside you, moving your wired hair out of your face and tucking it behind your ear, he full on expected you to slap his hand away but you seemed to enjoy it.

“Look, I’m not really good with words or talking in general—b-but you’re just about the best object in this drawer! You can’t just give up on yourself now, I’ve met some cassette tapes and cough drops older than you who are doing just fine!—which is kinda weird because at this point those cough drops should be expired right now—but you get what I mean..”

Oof, he was right, he wasn’t good with words. Even with his little speech being quite awkward, the fact that he went to this length just to hang out with you was enough for you to consider leave the drawer after all those months.

“..plus, I think you’re really.. goregous and I—I think that playing GnG with you will…. Be a fun date we could do together?”

Jerry’s voice continued to grow higher, as he became more shy about the clearly scripted sentence being told to you, yet still, it felt very genuine. Looking at this state of an embarrassed red faced Jerry, the feeling quickly became mutual. You thought it wasn’t possible for someone like you, but you were perfect in his eyes, the most prized possession in his collection.

[bowxs]

A filthy drabble about reader meeting dean AND Solider boy🙏🙏 pls

i love love the idea

for some context, im imagining them as cousins for this :)

you knew dean didnt have that big of a family- or more so he wasnt close with most of his family. either way, you never met or asked about them, and you wouldnt. at least until you guys got engaged and it came time for a wedding

it was a surprise when dean said his cousin called and said there was a hunt for them near his house- it was an even bigger surprise when dean said you would be staying at said cousins house during the hunt for a change instead of a motel

the sound of dean and his cousin- ben you learned his name was- caught up and laughed with each other. you were curled into deans side, not fully comfortable with this new environment, and ben was sat in a chair across from you two

"you two look scarily alike" you couldnt help but comment, looked between dean and ben, they were a spitting image of each other, only ben was older- more ragged, with years of maturity on his face but still as attractive as dean

"y'know we used to go around telling people we were twins" ben chuckled at the fond memory and you could feel dean laughing as well, both of them taking a swig of their beer at the same time, somehow looking the same as they did that too

"remember when we got with that one girl who had a thing for twins? what was her name- janet?" you froze for a second. dean never told you about having a cousin who looked exactly like him, never mind having a threesome with a girl named janet.

"what?" you said, raising you head to properly look between ben and dean. "oh come on- dont tell me you didnt tell your girlfriend" the silence was deafening. deans hesitance. bens expecting expression. your confusion.

"well, doll. me and your boyfriend were trouble before he ditched me to do whatever he does now" he laughs at the memory "god the ladies loved us"

"you want us to show you?"

youve never been more full- dean in your pussy and ben in your ass- both filling you to the absolute brim in a way you never thought possible. they hadnt even started moving yet and you could already see what they meant by the ladies loved them

dean, the sweet boyfriend he was, was trying to comfort you from below, his hand gently holding your face to keep your eyes trained on him as he whispered encouragement to you as ben started thrusting inside of you

"your doin' so good for us baby" he cooed. "m'gonna start moving too, okay? you know what to say if its too much" he kissed you one last time before he lowered his hips, not wasting any time in punching himself back into you

both of them moved inside of you with such a practiced ease you wondered how many times they really did this that they hadnt forgotten all this time, but your thoughts practically disappeared as dean hit that sweet spot inside of you and moans started spilling out

bens hand found its way into your hair, tugging it gently and holding you head up, and dean took it as his que to start marking up your neck and you couldve sworn that alone made you see stars

"jesus- cant believe you didnt introduce us sooner" ben grunted from behind you, his free hand moving to massage your ass. "shes such a pretty little thing- never thought youd settle down" he was having a full conversation with dean as if you werent even there. and you liked it.

"pussys too good to leave alone" dean managed out from under you, pre occupied with kissing along your neck and squeezing your tits too focus on bens full words, but he knew was he was saying and a hint of pride filled his chest knowing that he was talking about his girl

"shit- i gotta invite you guys over more often- get myself a feel of her other holes"

[thatcoolweirdgirlwrites]

Heart to Heart ♡ | Sirius Black

Sirius Black x Fem!reader

part one, part two

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: Emotional tension, minor angst, miscommunication, hurt feelings, use of Y/N, Fem!reader, mild swearing

Summary: A tense moment with Sirius Black turns into late-night regrets, an apology letter, and the slow unraveling of something neither of you expected. Slowburn, miscommunication, and a little heart to heart.

Authors' Notes: My first fic!! hope you guys like it. I'm trying to figure out how to get a master list and I'm going to post it as a series. Tumblr is CONFUSINGGGG. Lots of stuff to unpack and a lot left unsaid... anyways, enjoy reading, my lovelies. (however it's not proofread)

You weren't really friends with Sirius Black.

Not really.

He was there most of the time — loud, dramatic, and unapologetically himself — when lily would drag you along to Hogsmeade to hang out with her boyfriend, James Potter, and his three friends— one of which was Sirius. So of course sure you've had your fair share of conversation, but nothing to profound. Mostly dry small talk.

You never really knew why she was so persistent with inviting you and neither of your two other friends. Every time you asked she would just tell you the other two weren't as tolerant of the boys even though you know that was a lie.

–

Tonight was no different.

It was a Friday, so of course most normal sixth-year students would be going to parties, drinking, snogging and what-not.

But instead, you were sitting in your dorm, papers spread around your bed as you studied for an exam you had that upcoming Monday. It was taking up most of your brain space, so you did not fully register the words lily was saying from over your shoulder until you felt something hit the back of your head.

You whip your head around to find Lily looking straight at you. Your eyes flicker down to find her shoe on the floor then back up to her eyes.

"Yes, Lily?" You say with a rather annoyed, exasperated tone that she did not seem to pick up on, considering her constant chatter.

"Are you even listening to me?" She says with an unimpressed look

"no," You say bluntly. You give a slight shake of your head for affirmation and look back at your book, mumbling, "didn't comprehend a word."

Lily scoffs, rolling her eyes as she stands and crosses the room to plop down beside you, pushing some papers to the side.

Before she could open her mouth to speak you look at her and put a hand up. "No Hogsmeade today. I have to study-"

"You don't have to-"

"I want to. I can't fail this test, Lils, I'm sorry." You say trying your best to sound apologetic, but it sounded a bit too clipped to carry that through.

"Come on, when have you ever failed a test, Y/N?" She sounds absolutely flabbergasted that you would even think that could happens. "You and I are quite literally the smartest girls in our entire year."

You let out a sigh of defeat and close your book.

"You know, you could always tell James that you just want to go with him instead of a group. Then maybe we wouldn't have to do this every weekend."

"You mean me begging you for an hour just for you to eventually give in and go? I think that problem could be solved without me telling James I don't like his friends and breaking his heart." She lets out a small chuckle, rolling onto her back, her arms resting over her stomach.

"You know what, fine. When are we going? Same as last time?" You say, tossing your book to the corner and grabbing your wand.

You sit up abruptly, papers around you crinkling as you collect them and put them neatly away.

Lily nods once and stands up. "mhm, same as last time. I'm off to tell Jamie that you're coming- oh by the way, Sirius will be there tonight." She says with a grin that makes you blink a few times in confusion.

You nod once and watch her walk off. You had not seen Sirius in a minute, because it seems the only time you ever cross paths are when it's planned by your mutual friends, and the past couple of hang outs have been vacant of your presence due to 'studying'— Or at least that's what you told them.

–

Later that evening — after taking not even five minutes to get ready — You walk down to the common room, finding Lily, James, Remus, Peter, and Sirius huddled by the couches, looking cozy.

You felt a bit bad being the last one out, making them wait for you, but you shrug off the feeling of guilt weighing on your shoulder and walk over.

"Sorry, didn't mean to keep you lot waiting" you say quietly, watching them all stand up

"It's quite alright, we weren't waiting for long. Sirius took forty minutes to do his hair and you took — what — five?" James says with a grin, looking at Sirius, who grumbled and rolled his eyes, walking to the door of the common room.

You watch him walk away, pulling his leather jacket around himself more. A small smile graced your lips. Not particularly at him, but more the fact that he had taken longer than you just on his hair.

It was the start of winter — so of course, it was blistering outside — and in your rush to not keep them waiting you forgot to grab a jacket.

"Shit-" You mumble to yourself as the snow and cold hits your skin through the long sleeve shirt.

The coverage barely did anything to keep you warm.

You were walking a bit behind the rest, your feet sinking into the snow and your arms wrapped around your body, doing nothing to conceal the shivers that ran through you.

Your eyes were downcast as the chatter of James and Lily laughing a bit too loud at something Peter had said filled the air. How the hell were they always so cheery?

The chattering of your teeth echoed loud, so much so that you didn't realize the figure walking next to you. That was until you felt something get draped over you.

You jumped a bit, the crunch of snow under your nearly soaked converse stopped as you came to a halt. Your head shoots up and your eyes were wide as you see him standing there with a soft smile on his face.

Sirius Black.

He tilted his head a bit and his smile turned into a grin. "What? Something on my face?"

You blink your shock away and start mumbling something, sentences that even you couldn't fully understand. You were completely thrown off by his action and started to take his leather jacket off of yourself to give it back to him.

"I can't- Here, you're going to freeze-"

He shook his head adjusting it on your shoulders and pressing a hand to your back, not forcing you, but lightly urging you to walk forward — as the group had gotten a bit further ahead.

"Don't mention it, love. I'll be fine, cold doesn't bother me" he whispers while looking ahead, his voice uncharacteristically soft, maybe that's why he said it so quietly, but instead of dwelling on it you choose to walk.

His hand never left your back until you got up to the rest.

–

The pub smelled of butter beer, wood-polish, and sweat. There were plenty of old drunk wizards all around, but eventually you all found an empty table to sit at.

You choose the seat closest to the wall, feeling like you'd be less of an intrusion on the groups conversation that way. Sirius took the spot next to you, Peter beside him, and the other three across.

You weren't much of a fan of butter beer, so instead you sat there. You listened to the conversation (barely) and your eyes kept darting to the door. You couldn't wait to get back to your dorm.

You had completely forgot you were wearing Sirius' jacket until you heard Remus across from you. "Y/N, Is that Sirius'? When did you get that?"

And just like that all eyes were on you. Your face turned a light shade of red, heat creeping up for neck and to your ears and cheeks.

"Oh- Uhm yes- it's- I wasn't-" You gave up on trying to speak after that embarrassing stumble of words that left your mouth and just blinked and nodded.

Your fingers were messing with the hem of it, the sleeves falling a bit past your fingers. Your eyes were down on your lap as you heard them teasing. Thankfully Sirius noticed your uncomfortable body language.

"Don't be weird, you lot. I just gave it to her because she was shivering. I barely even know her. It means nothing. If I wanted to do anything more I would've done it already."

He says it so confidently that you nod, but then you think for a moment. You look up at him. You were never the confrontational type but the way he said that seemed almost demeaning.

"Would've done it already? And pray tell, Black, what makes you think I'd let you do anything with me?"

You scoff, going from grateful to offended in mere seconds.

He glances at you and looks a bit shocked at your question. "Come on, Y/N, look at me," He gestures to himself, one hand still holding hid butter beer. "You're telling me you wouldn't want one night to have all of this?"

By the way your eyes widened a fraction and the table got quiet he could tell he just said something wrong. Lily in particular knew how you were when it came to men being like that.

"Right, because you're just soooo hot and perfect." You laugh. The sound was not sweet or warm. It was bitter, like what he had said just changed your whole view of him.

"Are you always this arrogant and full of yourself? Sirius, there is not a chance in this world would I want to do anything with you. Ever. I don't know you like that, and merlin knows now that I don't want to. I wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot broomstick."

The table was now dead silent.

Even James — who could talk through all of detention and and then some in one breath — sat there, not saying one word.

You could feel the weight of every gaze around you. Lily’s eyes were wide. Now, with Sirius Black sitting beside you — his leather jacket still warm on your shoulders — you felt too exposed.

Sirius leaned back in his chair, that cocky look was swiped right off his face. His jaw was tight. He looked at you for a long moment. not sharp or defensive. Just watching you, like he was trying to read something off your face, though he's not even sure what invisible words he's searching for.

“…Right,” he said at last. Not playful. Not sarcastic. Just quiet.

He stood up, too sudden.

“Anyone want another drink?” His voice was too light now, forced. “No? Alright then.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked off toward the bar, the heels of his boots muffled by the pub floor.

You felt your heart stutter in your chest. You didn’t say anything.

Because what were you supposed to say? Sorry your joke flew over my head? Sorry for reacting with the emotions that I felt in the moment?

You sank into the back of your chair, fingers still fidgeting with the cuff of his jacket.

It smelled like him. Smoke and something like pine, musk, and leather. Cologne most likely. You hadn't really smelled it before this moment. You hated that you noticed, because now that you did it was overbearing.

–

Sirius didn’t come back for a while. When he did, he didn’t sit. He walked past the table and gave James a look, nodding toward the door.

“Think I’m heading out. It’s late.”

It wasn’t late.

But no one argued.

Instead you all stood and got our things.

The walk back was silent.

No loud talking. No laughter. Just the crunch of boots against packed snow and the way Sirius’ jacket weighed heavier on your shoulders now that you were acutely aware of the feeling on your shoulders.

He didn’t walk with the group. He kept a bit ahead and kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched over and a unreadable expression on his sharp-featured face. You hated how your eyes kept drifting toward him.

When you finally made it back to Gryffindor Tower, he didn’t wait at the portrait hole for James to say goodnight to Lily.

You followed a few steps later. You felt your chest tightening. guilt was gnawing at the edge of your thoughts.

You hadn’t meant to be so cruel to him.

You’d meant to stand up for yourself. You always had a hard line for people like him — boys who flirted like it was a game, who thought you were there to fall for them. But for some reason, it hadn’t felt satisfying to put him in his place.

It felt like you’d broken something you didn’t know was there to begin with.

–

That night, after everyone trickled back into their dorms in uncomfortable silence, you found James lingering near the stairs to the boys’ dormitory with Lily.

“Sirius already went up,” he said when you stopped in front of him, jacket folded neatly over your arm.

You didn’t look up, just held it out. “Can you give this to him?”

James nodded, something gentle and unreadable in his expression. He didn’t say anything. Just took it from you carefully and disappeared up the stairs.

You follow pursuit in the girls side. Lily followed not too far behind. You ignore the chatter of Marlene and Dorcas as you walk into the room, your mind replaying the words over and over, trying to find some reason for caring so much.

'It means nothing.'

'If I wanted to do anything more, I would’ve done it already.'

'Would’ve done it already? And pray tell, Black, what makes you think I’d let you do anything with me?'

You flopped onto your bed face-first, the mattress creaking beneath you as you groaned into your pillow. What had gotten into you?

You weren’t supposed to care.

Not about bloody Sirius Black.

“She’s sulking,” Marlene’s voice came through the air like a siren, equal parts smug and concerned. “I can feel it.”

“I’m not sulking." you mumbled into the pillow.

Lily sighed, walking over to her bed and fell back onto her own bed, the frame creaking. “You absolutely are."

She turned to look at the other two girls. "She told Sirius off in front of all of the boys. He was being himself and... you know how that goes."

“Leave her alone,” Dorcas said lightly from her spot at the window. “She’s humiliated.”

You groaned. “Why are all of you like this?”

“Because we care,” Marlene sang, throwing herself onto your bed and nearly bouncing you off the mattress. “Also, because you stood up to Sirius Black in front of half of the pub, and I will be talking about it until I die.”

It wasn’t even that big a deal,” you muttered.

Dorcas flopped beside you, tugging the pillow away from your face. “It kind of was. He never gets called out."

"How did the conversation even go?" Marlene asked curiously, and without a second thought you started to explain. All the way from him giving you his jacket to the moment he left.

"Then he left. Said it was 'late'. We all followed."

Marlene laughed. “He acted like you should be grateful for the privilege of being flirted with by him. I would’ve hexed him for that one-liner alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “Okay, thank you, Marls, but this doesn’t actually make me feel better.”

Dorcas gave you a small smile. “You know, he didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, so now we’re defending him?” Marlene scoffed.

“No,” Dorcas said firmly. “I’m just saying—he didn’t sound like he was trying to humiliate her. He was trying to cover.”

“…Poorly,” Lily added, nodding. “But yeah. I don’t think he meant to hurt you. I think he’s just an idiot.”

You let out a long breath and turned onto your back, staring up at the canopy of your bed. “Yeah. Well. I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“No,” Dorcas agreed. “But maybe you should apologize.”

Marlene scoffed. “Apologize? For what? Not throwing yourself at him? That man needs to be humbled more often.”

“He already was, Marls,” Lily said with a grin. “Trust me. He’s probably lying in bed right now staring at the ceiling, contemplating his existence.”

You closed your eyes, cringing. “Great. So we’re both having a crisis.”

You sighed loud and dramatically. Why do you feel so bad for him now?

Then Dorcas sat up straighter. “Okay. I’ve got it.”

“Oh no,” Marlene muttered.

Dorcas ignored her. “A letter.”

You cracked an eye open. “A what?”

“A letter,” she repeated. “Nothing dramatic. Just a short apology. Something honest, and non-flirty, and perfectly vague.”

Marlene was already shaking her head. “That’s so boring.” She rolls onto her side with arm propping her head up.

It’s mature,” Dorcas countered. “And it gives her control over the narrative again. You don’t have to grovel. Just acknowledge that it was a weird moment and you didn’t mean to snap. No harm done.”

You blinked at her. “That’s… actually not a terrible idea.”

-

It was half-past midnight now.

You were all on the floor, backs against your bed frame, your duvet pooled behind you and a battlefield of crumpled parchment scattered across the rug.

“I can’t believe this is my life,” you muttered, glaring at your latest attempt.

It read:

Sirius,

Sorry for snapping at you. I’m not usually that Aggressive? Defensive? Loud? Whatever.

Didn’t mean to ruin the night. Thanks for the jacket.

– Love, Y/N

You flopped back against the floor with a groan. “He’s going to think I’m obsessed with him!" You whine.

“You are not obsessed with him,” Dorcas said calmly, grabbing a fresh piece of parchment. “You’re just being decent.”

“I called him full of himself and said I’d never touch him with a ten-foot broomstick.”

“Well…” Marlene shrugged. “He was being a prat.”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point,” Lily cut in gently, “is that you want him to know you’re not actually angry. Right?”

You nodded.

“Then just say that. Forget the formal stuff. Just be you.”

You swallow thickly and blink a few times, mulling over your thoughts. Did you really want to be you for Sirius? You didn't even know the boy well-

oh.

Perfect.

You pick up your quill and begin to write:

Sirius,

I think I overreacted.

You made a dumb joke, and I let it get to me in a way that surprised both of us.

I don’t usually snap like that. You didn’t deserve it.

Thank you for the jacket. It was kind of you, even if the delivery afterward needed…work.

We don’t really know each other. But maybe we could.

If you want. ♡

– Y/N

You stared at it for a long moment.

Marlene leaned over and, without asking, drew a tiny heart in the bottom right corner. She didn’t say a word. None of them did.

Then Dorcas took it, read it, nodded once, and folded it carefully.

“I'll go give it to James,” Lily said. “No big moment. No drama. Just…a letter.”

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay.”

As soon as you start to overthink Lily was on the way out to the boys dorms.

"wait- she's going to think I like him! Shit, I shouldn't have said I wanted to get to know him- to desperate. I'm not desperate-"

"It's fine, Y/N" Lily calls before the door shuts completely and you fall back, running your hands over your face.

What did you just get yourself into?

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Failure…

Part 8 of the Uncaged series

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

A/N: I’m not dead! Seriously guys, thanks for your patience, I’ve been in such a writer’s funk lately, and hopefully I’ll be getting stuff out more regularly.

A/N2: this chapter is from Sam’s (and later Dean’s) POV, I’m changing it up for a little bit to get another perspective. It’ll be back to reader’s POV next chapter

I shouldn’t have left her alone.

It was the first coherent thought to cross Sam’s mind after he found you, and with the thought came a wave of regret and shame. When he’d first spotted you, all the breath left his body, and despite his heaving chest, he couldn’t seem to get any oxygen. You were lying in a pool of your own blood, Dean’s hunting knife sticking out of your chest, and Sam couldn’t tell if you were breathing.

Then you lot out a soft moan of pain, and Sam could breathe again. The sound didn’t disturb him as much as it should have—he was used to it, after all; and at least it meant you were alive.

“Y/N, hey, cmon open your eyes,” he pleaded, the knees of his jeans soaking in your blood as he knelt beside you. “You’re gonna be ok, you’re gonna be just fine.”

“That’s wishful thinking.” This time, the devil’s voice didn’t make Sam flinch, as it normally did. Instead it set his teeth on edge and made him clench his fists.

“What did you do to her?”

“Me?” The devil looked mock-hurt. “She did it to herself, don’t blame me.”

“What did you say to her?!” Sam’s voice echoed in the small room, but his yelling didn’t faze Lucifer. “I know you made her do it!”

“Oh no,” Lucifer chuckled, gesturing down at you. “You did.”

Sam glanced down to see your eyes half open and unfocused. When he looked back up, Lucifer was gone.

Sammy grunted in frustration, then shook his head. Now wasn’t the time to argue with the devil in his mind—you needed help, and fast.

“It’s ok,” Sam soothed as he lifted you into his arms. “It’s gonna be ok, I’m gonna get you help.”

…

He hadn’t told Dean yet. He didn’t know how.

Dean was out of commission for a mere matter of hours, and Sam might’ve already gotten you killed. Some big brother he was.

Sam had been sitting by the side of your bed for half an hour, listening to the steady beeping of your heart monitor as if each tone was another reason to live. He watched your body move up and down in uneven, shaky breaths, each one looking like it might be your last.

And he still hadn’t told Dean.

But what was he supposed to say?

“I just left her for a few minutes.”?

“I thought she’d be ok.”?

“I didn’t know it was that bad.”?

He should’ve known. He’d spent so much time with you, suffering with you, that he should’ve known. Sam let the guilt wash over him all over again as he watched you.

You looked so unnatural, it unnerved Sam; you never slept like this, flat as a board with your hands stiffly at your sides. You were always curled in on yourself, a defensive position that you’d gotten in the habit of during your time in the cage. When you could—when Lucifer let you—you’d been curled up against Sam, and he’d held onto you the same way you held onto him; like the last hope in an existence worse than death.

But you didn’t hold onto him now. Your stiff, cold form made Sam feel farther from you than he had ever felt.

“You did this.” Lucifer’s words didn’t startle Sam, because the devil was only repeating what Sam was already thinking. “You shot her, and ever since she’s been convinced this is fake.”

“Go away,” Sam mumbled, unable to get up the energy to say anything else.

The devil ignored him and continued. “She didn’t want to stab herself.”

That got Sam’s attention, and lifted his gaze to see Lucifer pouting mockingly. How had Lucifer gotten you to do something like that?

“Oh she was so scared,” Lucifer cooed. “But she did it anyway, because she wanted to get back to the real Sammy. The one she knew in the cage who would never hurt her.”

Sam’s eyes drifted back to you. He’d promised in the cage that he’d never be the one to hurt you. He’d failed—he’d broken everything. Lucifer seemed to agree.

“Even if she does wake up, she’s never gonna look at you like that again; that look of complete trust. You broke it—you broke her.”

What was Sam supposed to say to that? The devil was right, and he knew it. So what was he supposed to do now?

“Sam?” Dean’s voice came crashing through Sam’s mind like a brick through a window. That single word shattered Sam’s illusion that he was alone. It should’ve comforted him.

Instead it doubled his guilt.

“What happened?” Dean demanded, rushing to your side. Dean offered no explanation as to how he found you, and Sam didn’t ask. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that he had brought both you and Dean here under the same last name alias, so the nurse must’ve told Dean where to find you. Not that it mattered; Dean knew, that was all that mattered. Dean knew how badly Sam had screwed up as a brother.

“When I got back, she…she was…” Sammy tried to explain, but the devil was too distracting.

“She had her guts hanging out?” Lucifer offered. “She was half dead on the floor? C’mon Sam, big brother asked you a question, and there’s a bunch of good answers.”

“Sam, come on!” Dean insisted. “What’s going on?”

“It was Lucifer,” Sam finally answered.

“Really? The devil made her do it? Sam, you have more creativity than that.”

“I don’t know how, but he made her do it,” Sam continued. “I think she—“

Your soft groan cut Sam short, and both brothers turned their attention to you. But you didn’t wake up.

“What did the doctor say?” Dean’s voice was heavy and quiet.

“That they’ve done all they can. Now it’s up to her. All we can do is wait for her to wake up.”

“And me and her are having such a great time together in dream land,” Lucifer piped in.

Sam flinched, and at the devil’s words a deep pit lodged in his stomach.

He knew all too well what you could be going through right now.

…

Sam found himself in a familiar position when Dean went for talk to the doctor; alone with you and Lucifer.

“Just like old times,” Lucifer crowed. “Well, except we’re missing Michael. But of course he never was one for livening up the party.”

It was true. In fact, most of the time Sam forgot Michael was even there. He had always sat in a far corner of the cage, silent or maybe muttering to himself, and Lucifer didn’t seem to want to bother with him.

“And of course, this one is a lot less talkative,” Lucifer went on, reaching for your still form. It was a ridiculous thing to say—Lucifer knew he had nearly completely silenced you long ago, and if you were awake, you’d have been too petrified to speak.

“Don’t touch her!” Sam snapped, but Lucifer just smirked at him. Sam tried to think of something to distract the devil. “I thought you were in her head anyway.” It worked.

“I’m multitasking.” Lucifer moved his hand away from you and tapped his forehead. “You should know me well enough to know that I can torture you both at the same time.”

Then Lucifer’s eyes were locked onto Sam’s, and Sam couldn’t look away. He felt like a fly, trapped in a spider’s web; unable to do anything but stare at the predator, and wait for the end.

“The doc said talking to her and giving her some familiar sounds might wake her up.” Dean’s return shattered Sam’s focus, and in a blink the devil was gone. For now.

“Uh, ok—so uh, just talk to her?” Sam asked.

“I was thinking we might try some familiar sounds first; you know, play her favorite song or something,” Dean suggested. Leave it to Dean to make trying to wake you up awkward; Sam should’ve known Dean wouldn’t feel comfortable just talking to your unconscious body.

“Ok. Favorite song. Sounds good.”

…

They’d played your favorite song at least a dozen times, with nothing to show for it. They’d even played your entire playlist three times, thinking maybe other familiar songs might do something. But you remained mostly unmoving.

Sam could swear that the more they played your favorite song, the more you started to twitch. But you didn’t seem to be stirring, you seemed to be in pain, so Sam couldn’t be sure if it was just Lucifer making him see that.

“Did you see that?” Dean exclaimed after playing the song for the thirteenth time. “She just moved!”

Sam watched as your face pinched and your arm twitched, but it didn’t look right. Dean was practically buzzing with excitement, but Sam couldn’t help but think of the times you’d made those faces; in those times when you’d fallen asleep in the cage and Lucifer was torturing you before you could wake up.

“Dean, something’s wrong,” Sam said, but Dean was too distracted to listen.

“It’s working!”

“Ohhh it’s working alright.” Lucifer was suddenly at your side, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “In fact, this little soundtrack is just the touch I needed.”

“What do you mean?” Sam demanded, but Lucifer just grinned at him. “Dean, turn it off! Turn the song off!”

“What?” Dean was frowning at Sam, but Sam ignored the question and snatched the phone from his brother, stopping the music.

“Hey, it was just getting good,” Lucifer whined. Sam ignored him and Dean’s protests and turned his attention to you.

You’d stopped twitching, but your lips were still curled in a grimace.

“It’s ok,” Sam whispered, reaching for your hand. “It’s ok, I’m here.”

“Like that’s reassuring,” Lucifer scoffed. “You’re the reason she’s here. You kept talking about how pain makes me go away, and now look where that’s got her.”

“Sam, what’s going on?” Dean snapped. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Lucifer, he—“ Sam swallowed. “He said something about being in her head. He wanted the music to keep going. I don’t—I don’t know what he was doing with it, but it couldn’t have been anything good.”

“You’re right about that,” Lucifer spoke up. “But it’s not like turning that music off keeps me from hurting her. She’s still—“

A cacophony of beeping from the heart monitor attached to you startled the brothers.

“What is that?” Dean demanded. “Why is it doing that?”

“I don’t—I don’t—“

“Oh that’s just a little indicator of what’s going on up here,” Lucifer tapped your forehead with his finger. “It’s really starting to get good.”

…

Dean was lost.

He didn’t know the first step toward helping you. That used to be what he was best at; taking care of his little siblings. But not anymore. He felt like someone had dropped him blindfolded in the bunker, and he was trying to walk around, but everything was in the wrong place; he felt like he didn’t know his own home anymore.

You were supposed to be his home—you and Sam—but he couldn’t even tell when you were hurting. Lucifer had used Dean’s own attempts to wake you up to torture you, and Dean hadn’t even been able to see it. Sam was proving again and again that he knew every inch of you, and Dean didn’t know you at all anymore.

But he couldn’t let that stop him. Especially not now, with your heart monitor going off the charts, and Sam being preoccupied trying to get the devil in his head to tell him what was wrong with you. Now it was Dean’s turn to step in, even if he didn’t know the way.

“Look, kid.” Dean’s voice broke, and he cleared his throat, glancing around subconsciously. “I guess you can hear me, I don’t know. I know I have no idea what you went through in the cage with Sammy, and I got no clue what you’re going through now. Maybe it feels like you’re back there all over again. But you’re not, you hear me? It’s not the same.”

The grimace had left your face, but the heart monitor was still going nuts.

“Back then, you thought you’d never get out, so you had nothing to fight for. But you do now, understand? You’ve got something to fight for. You’ve got me and Sammy, and we’re waiting for you over here. It’s not the cage, kid; this is your mind, and you gotta take control of it. You gotta wake up.”

The monitor continued to jump around, and Sam continued to talk to an enemy that Dean couldn’t see.

“You gotta wake up—because I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you don’t.”

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[doodle-pops]

Sweet Medicine

Ecthelion x modern human!reader

A/N: This had originally started off as a small fic and then it festered into more words before I could stop it. Oopsie

Warnings: fluff, modern human reader in middle earth, humour

Words: 2.3k

Synopsis: You tricked Ecthelion into following your make-up human remedy to cure your fever.

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You felt like you were in a sauna. The linens had been changed twice already, yet the heat still clung to you like a second skin. Sweat dampened your brow, matting your hair to your neck as you lay curled beneath the lighter sheets they’d switched to once they realised how furiously your body had begun to burn up. You didn’t remember getting back to your room—only that the last thing you saw in the kitchen was the blurred edge of a table, and then the sound of shouting before the world had tipped.

Now, the room was spinning faintly when you opened your eyes, and above you was the stone ceiling of the room appearing too bright even in twilight. Groaning at the flooding sensation of that light, you grimaced and licked you lips, only to realise that your mouth tasted stale. Your lips were cracked, and your joints were aching with a dull, simmering pressure. Breathing felt like a reluctant task you were performing for someone else. You swore an elephant was tap dancing on your chest.

And sitting beside your bed, still as a statue but with silvery-grey eyes as focused as a falcon’s, was Ecthelion.

He wasn’t shirtless and sweaty this time. Instead, he wore a layered silver-blue robes, softened around the shoulders and sleeves; thr sleeves slightly pushed up to his elbows in a way that was too casual for the head of the household. His long ebony hair was drawn back in a single plait, and his fingers were curled lightly around a cloth he had clearly been using to dab at your face. Quickly darting your eyes around, you noticed there was a bowl of water on the small table beside him, no longer steaming, with a few herbs you vaguely recognised as things Lord Galdor had once mentioned during a short medical alert for injuries in the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” you groggily croaked.

“I am not moving until your fever breaks,” he announced as though he knew that you would sneak away the moment he turned his back or departed, leaving you under professional support—because you would and had before. “You’ve frightened everyone.”

“I’m fine,” you reassured casually, trying to turn in your spot. Unfortunately, the motion caused more harm than good as it made your stomach lurch. “Just overworked. Been on my feet for three days. Galdor wanted a feast.”

“Galdor,” he corrected, “wanted venison stew and grilled peaches. Not his cook fainting into the basin of boiled lentils and smoked beef.”

You would’ve laughed if it hadn’t felt like your chest had been stuffed with hot cotton. Worse, your limbs didn’t want to obey you. The ache decided to crawled down your spine, and better yet, blinking started to feel like it took effort. You weren’t used to being sick in this world—rarely caught anything, and when you did, it was usually solved with an hour’s rest and a few drinks of miruvor. This was something else entirely.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you gently reminded again, letting your head flop to the side where the pillow was cool. “You’ve probably got angry murder geese and a fancy diamond fountain to supervise.”

“My swans can survive without me…not sure about this new fountain you speak of, but I can whip something up,” he replied with the faintest arch of one dark brow and a twitch of his lips. “However, I was not going to let the most interesting person in Gondolin die of their mortal affliction like…fatigue.”

A smile pulled lazily at your mouth. “So I’m interesting now?”

“You’ve always been interesting. I simply tried to keep my thoughts to myself.” He wrung out the cloth in the water again, leaned forward, and brushed it across your forehead with careful pressure. His touch was surprisingly gentle for someone who could slice a boulder in half with his sword. “But you make that very difficult.”

“Mmm. Sorry,” you murmured sleepily. “I didn’t mean to collapse dramatically just so you’d come flirt with me.”

He froze momentarily, doing his best not to panic internally at the very true accusations. “This isn’t flirting. This is disaster control.”

“Same difference.”

Shifting your body under the sheets, leg twitching with some half-dreamt memory of the kitchen ovens, you were beginning to feel warm. Too hot. And yet your fingers were cold, your skin prickled uncomfortably beneath the gown someone must have helped you out of your uniform into. You hated feeling like this—so useless, pinned down by your own body while someone like Ecthelion, graceful and composed, hovered like some shining guardian waiting for you to slip away into death.

“Would you like water?” he asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Or more of the willowbark?”

Grimacing, y shook your head weakly. “Oh god! No more bark, please. Makes me feel like I’m high on cloud nine.”

Opening his mouth to question your unusual phrase, he shook his head and considered it the fever talking. “It is a sedative. It would make one feel drowsy.”

“Hey, I thought elves weren’t supposed to know much about human sickness.”

“I asked Glorfindel.”

“Glorfindel!—” If you had the ability to sit up, you would. Instead, you opted for staring at him concerned. “—You’re putting my life in his hands? His solution to everything is wine and a very sharp sword.”

“And yet he’s still more knowledgeable than I am by advising me to ensure you remained in bed.” He leaned back, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. “Your species is incredibly inconvenient, you realise. You work yourself to the bone, you refuse to eat enough, you forget to sleep, and then you fall into bed with a fever like a wilting flower.”

“You sound like my mother,” you sighed.

“You had the healers in this house running in circles for the first hour. They had no idea what to do. I started thinking you had some incurable mortal affliction.”

“Just overworked,” you lightly reminded again, trying to move and regretting it immediately. “Tell Galdor to let me sleep more next time.”

“He has already been informed. Somewhat loudly.”

You turned your head toward him, blinking through the sweat. “You yelled at Lord Galdor?”

“I didn’t yell,” he corrected politely. “I lectured. Sternly.”

The image of it made you smile weakly against the pillow. Ecthelion, tall and formal, walking into Galdor’s kitchen with all his might just to scold a lord unintentionally for working his cook to the bone, and then staying—still here, hours later, watching you like a hawk as if you might disappear the second he turned his head. You probably you have.

“You don’t have to keep watching me,” you suggested. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it. You mortals have a very dramatic way of collapsing without warning.”

“Still mad about the stew?”

“I’m mad about the state of you.”

His thoughtfulness made you soften. “You care?”

He looked briefly startled, like the words had escaped him by accident. And yet, his expression shuttered immediately, as he politely looked away to hide his face. “I do.”

A pregnant pause hovered in the room before another drop of sweat slid down your temple, prompting you to let out a low groan and reached weakly for the sheets, trying to shove them off with your trembling fingers. “It’s too hot. Can’t—can’t sleep like this.”

“You’re burning,” he said. “You need to stay covered to sweat it out.”

“For the love of all things good, I don’t need to combust.”

He sighed, and then pushed his chair closer to the bed, rolling the sleeves of his robe even higher as he leaned over to adjust the pillow beneath your shoulders. Once he was finished, he dipped the cloth into the water again, and then wiped your neck, gently pressing at the overheated skin.

“Why are your hands so cold?” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded as you stared at his wrist, trying to hold back a violent shudder and clearly failing.

“Because I haven’t been sick,” he murmured humourless. “Nor do my people tend to run temperatures unless we’re active or in the sun.”

“Tch. You’re so rude to me, Thel. I’m not dying.”

“That is not what your skin is saying.”

“Fine, then. If you want to cure me, then kiss me.”

The cloth stilled against your throat.

“What?”

Blinking up at him with a straight face and cracked lips, you met his eyes. “It’s an old fashion remedy from back in my world for temperature regulation. A kiss.”

Ecthelion looked at you as if you’d just said that you were the Dark Lord incarnated. “What nonsense is that?”

“It’s a human thing,” you stated faintly. “Secret healing technique that I believe works best with elf-lords after deeper…research.”

“You’re delirious.”

“True,” you agreed, leaning in slightly closer to him. “But it’s real. Helps equalise body heat by absorbing the cooler temperature, magic and...saliva or something. It’s science.”

“You’re using your illness as an advantage and too seriously,” he protested, but there was a blush and tightness around his mouth that suggested he was trying not to smile.

“Take the fever away,” you whispered dramatically, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Save me from the boiling curse, oh my noble lord.”

“I should uh…fetch more cold water.”

“Don’t leave me! I’ll die before you come back.”

You were clearly out here questioning his sanity. He didn’t know whether to walk away and hope that it was the fever doing to talking, however, the opportunity might never return unless he worked up the courage. Giving a long-suffering sigh, then dipped the cloth again and pressed it back to your collarbone with something bordering a glare.

“You are insane.”

“I am dying, as you claim.”

“You’re not dying, you’re melodramatic.”

Pouting at his response, you eyes close again, letting the pressure of the cloth moved to your jaw, then your cheek, lingered there a moment longer than necessary. His fingers were much more careful compared to a moment ago. It was clear to state that his gaze had wandered as he contemplated.

Feeling the lingering against your cheek, you opened your eyes, to meet his gaze on you, but softer—less rigid like something in him had begun to fold. He didn’t realise it yet, but he was leaning in closer, his hair slipping from behind his ear to form a small blind.

“You really are overheated,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“Mmm. Too bad no one’s kissing me,” you taunted. “Ever heard of the phrase ‘A kiss from a handsome lord, keeps illnesses away?’”

His gaze tenderly flicked up to yours, eyes softening around the edges and making you realise just how beautiful his eyes were when indecisive. You could see it now—he was actually considering it. His brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a flat line, but the decision was making itself somewhere behind his eyes. Your fever must have been sky-high to think that Ecthelion of the Fountain was actually entertaining the idea of—

And then his hand, the one that had been holding the cloth, shifted to your jaw. Those cool fingers, that held swords and fought for victories, cradled your cheek. His thumb brushed beneath your eye, the gesture slow, contemplative and urging you not to look away. Gingerly, he leaned in just a fraction, and the air between you stilled.

“This is ridiculous,” he murmured.

“Not denying it works.”

“Just to be clear,” he whispered with an unreadable expression, “if I kiss you, it’s to cure you.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Captain.”

He didn’t even bother rolling his eyes at your comment and instead, leaned in.

His lips were cool, unexpectedly soft, and incredibly still at first—like he was giving you the chance to pull away. But when you didn’t, when your fingers reached weakly up and curled into the sleeve of his robe, he pressed closer. His lips were careful and undeniably tender—a far cry from the fevered mess of clashing mouths but something more…purposeful. His hand cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing beneath your jaw as he deepened the kiss slightly—just enough to steal your breath. And as if it was a mind trick, the heat of your fever melted under him for one brief moment. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were steady.

You breathed. “I’m still hot.”

“That is not my fault.”

“Should try again. For science’s sake.”

“Do you not have a sense of decorum?”

“Says the person who listened to my foolishness and kissed me.”

He quickly cleared his throat, sitting back a little and appearing flustered. “Do not think I make a habit of kissing semi-conscious humans.”

“I’m not unconscious.”

“Barely counts.”

You smiled again, even as your vision blurred. “You’ve got good hands for a warrior.”

“I have excellent hands. I simply rarely use them for wet cloth and feverish cheeks.”

“You’re better than most doctors I’ve had.”

“I should hope so. I am many times their age and ten times as intelligent.”

Saying nothing, you let your head fall back to the pillow while your body continued to ache. The fever still hummed beneath your skin, but there was something oddly comforting about the sensation now. The agonising ache in your joints and muscles were reduced—something about your kiss was extra magically with whatever elf-enhancements he added.

Peering at him through your lashes, his eyes were still on you. Even when you were semi-conscious, apparently, you half-wondered what else he’d done for you. As your thoughts began to fade into another drowsy fog, you heard him shift beside the bed, the chair creaking slightly under his weight. Another cloth dipped into the bowl.

“I’m going to sit with you,” he said quietly, like a promise, “until you’re better.”

“Why don’t you give me another kiss instead?”

“Firstly, get better.”

“Sounds like you really like me,” you slurred.

He didn’t answer.

But the cloth was cool on your brow, and his hand never left yours.

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[nayrawrites]

Wanda Maximoff x Fem Oc

Title: Three Simple Knocks

Summary:

Wanda unexpectedly gets a new roommate, and doesn’t know that the stranger isn’t who she claims to be. Secretly, the woman is there to give Wanda Maximoff the happy ending she deserves

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female OC

Status: Ongoing

Words: 23k+

Tags: strangers to lovers, roommates, slowburn, soulmates

Ao3:

Wattpad:

Chapter 1: A Stranger

The weirdest things happen on the most ordinary days.

And it was one of those ordinary days when the witch heard a knock on her untouched door. Just three simple consecutive thuds on dusty wood. The sound of it was so unknown to her, it took a while until she was capable of placing it.

The visitor waited patiently, as Wanda made her way to the door in caution, her steps hesitant. She'd never really liked visitors and she liked the unannounced kind even less.

It could've been anyone from S.W.O.R.D. or maybe even a former colleague from her time as an Avenger — though that was unlikely, given how little of them were left, and how even less of them cared to think about her.

She turned the knob and opened the door. However, she was not greeted by either of those options —at least not to her knowledge. Instead, she was facing a beautiful woman in simple attire. Quite young, or maybe that assumption was just the effects of the vibrant energy she exuded.

"Can I help you?"

"Hey, yeah, it's me," silence. The smile she was sporting grew more awkward. the longer the silence stretched. "I'm Lucy." she clarified.

Wanda raised an eyebrow in confusion, as she scrutinized the woman in front of her. But there was no way Wanda knew the stranger.

"What do you want?", no matter how friendly the almost forced smile was, Wanda was not going to let it fool her.

"Oh, didn't Clint tell you? He said I could crash here." Only now did the witch notice the yellow backpack almost slipping down from one of the shoulders and the slightly bigger suitcase leaning against the wall of the house.

"Kinda figured he'd have sorted that out with you first...", she trailed off.

Her stern resolve falters slightly at the mention of him. Though that only added to the prominent confusion.

"Clint Barton, guy with an arrow, hearing aid?" The woman nodded hastily at the description. If the situation had been different, the uncanny resemblance to a bobblehead would've been pretty amusing. But the situation wasn't different and ever since her last fiasco, Wanda had to be on guard.

"Why would he say you could crash here?"

Ever since the funeral, Clint and her hadn't really stayed in touch. She didn't mind. She knew the loss they had both suffered and she also knew that he would use up all his time to be with his family. Five years was a lot to catch up on. She would have done the same.

After the events of the Westview Anomaly, he had texted her.

It'll be okay.

That was all it said and quite frankly, it was enough for her to break down. She assumed, he most likely waited for her to call him, not wanting to pressure her into confiding in him, but the call never came. It's not like she didn't try but no matter how long her thumb hovered over the call button, she couldn't ever actually make herself take that leap. She was too ashamed. And she was too afraid he'd think that sentiment was deserved.

So maybe it wasn't too far fetched for him to send someone. Perhaps this was his way of calling her.

"Well, I'm new here and don't really have...anything actually," she chuckled awkwardly, "Clint found out through a mutual friend and said you'd have some space." Lucy explained.

"You sure he didn't mention me?"

The witch resisted massaging her temple at the womans babbling and just motioned for her to come inside. This required a cup of tea, or five.

"I think I'd have remembered, if he did." She watched Lucy grab her belongings and rush through the door with a small smile on her face. One step closer to the goal, she supposed.

As Wanda closed the door behind Lucy, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket and gestured with her hand to another door further down the house.

"I gotta make a call. Just- stay.", at this point, she could've told her to fetch a stick or walk in a circle too, but she just shook her head and left the room.

Now that she was alone, her back slumped against the door, she took a second to herself and just breathed. She wasn't sure, if she needed that second because she was just blindsided with that strange woman or because she knew, she had to contact Clint now.

Most likely the latter.

Her finger hovered over the call button yet again, and she hated it. Hated her hesitance.

God, just do it.

So she finally did, her phone now resting against her ear, as she waited. Wanda always disliked the beeping of a ringing phone and the anticipation during it. She just wanted to get it over with. The call, however, almost immediately went to voicemail. She tried dialing his phone number two more times but it was of no use.

Sighing in defeat, the redhead went back to the living room, where she left Lucy.

The woman in question was busy inspecting the coat rack, her luggage tossed next to the front door.

"Nice red jacket," she commented, before turning around to face Wanda.

"Thanks, I guess."

She never actually got to give it back to Nat.

"Listen...Lucy, was it? You can't stay here." short but at least straight to the point.

Wow, she could've at least pretended to think about it, Lucy thought.

This was probably the first time she saw an expression that didn't include a smile on her face, her mouth parted and eyes widened instead.

"What? But Clint-"

"I can't reach him and he didn't ask. I don't know what he was thinking but this isn't a bed and breakfast. If what you're claiming is even true." The raise in her voice was more imminent by the end but Lucy didn't let that rattle her. It's not like she had any other options after all.

"It's true! Have I ever lied to you?", she protested.

"Well, no, but we also just met, so."

"Fair point." she sighed.

Lucy took a couple steps closer towards the uneasy woman, her hands lifted, to show that she came in peace. "Wanda, please. I-I could help out around the house, you know, I make a mean bowl of instant ramen. And it won't even be that long. Just until I find something else."

The pleading look was hard to resist but Wanda didn't know her and there was no way to confirm her story. Oh, how easy it would've been to just slip inside her mind for a second. Yet she knew she couldn't do that. She wouldn't, not after Westview. It was her own rule ever since. In no way would it ever redeem herself for all the pain she caused, but it was a start. Besides, it was already difficult enough focusing on her own mind.

Nevertheless, that meant she could only rely on whatever Lucy was claiming unil she got a hold of Clint.

Pinching the bridge of her nose with her fingers, she stepped closer to Lucy and looked at her. She could sense the awkwardness it caused in the woman but chose to ignore it, too busy with making a decision.

She examined her, starting from the dark hair, reaching barely past her shoulders, and trailed her eyes lower, ending at the minions socks on her feet.

If she ever looked back on this moment, she would probably admit that this was the reason for what she was about to say.

"Fine, you can stay."

A woman with a pair of minion socks couldn't possibly harm someone.

She really hoped she was right.

Lucy let out the breath she was holding and a bright grin adorned her face. She clasped her hands together in exuberant glee.

"Yay," a tad too much excitement, "you won't regret it, I promise."

And there was something —maybe a glint in her eye, that showed the determination and certainty behind that declaration.

Wanda almost believed it.

If you liked it, feel free to check out the whole ongoing fic

[heavenlikedream]

Best friend hueningkai x fem reader

Slight power bottom Reader? No protection

2,027 words

smut under cut, minors do not interact

After a night out with your friends, Kai insisted on giving you a ride home. You had always been really close with him. Attending highschool together, seeing each other during all your phases and your early youth years. Now being in college, you're grateful to be experiencing it with a close and familiar face. 

Tonight felt different though, Kai seemed like there was something on his mind the entire night. When he talked to you he couldn’t look you in the eyes, instead your lips. His body would tense up when you’d playfully hit him while laughing. 

Sitting in the passenger seat, deciding to break the thick air. “Is everything alright? You seemed like your mind was somewhere else tonight.” Kai gulped “Just a couple things on my mind. Nothing to worry about Y/N.” shooting a quick smile at you before focusing on the road ahead of him again. “You can always let me know Kai, I know you’re a lot smarter than me but if it’s about the upcoming exams-” “It’s fine really.” Another soft smile he gives you. 

The car approaches your apartment building “Come stay for the night, we can relax for a bit before classes tomorrow.” He couldn’t fight you on staying over, he would do anything for more time with you. It was pretty common for him to stay over, late study sessions and just hangouts of just you two. He started leaving extra clothes for him at your place for his convenience. Some days he’d catch you wearing one of his hoodies to school, it would drive insane that whole day. 

Entering your apartment, both of you headed to your room to get your clothes to change into. He loved how you always cleaned his clothes, letting them smell like you. He’d usually go home with it and jerk off to the smell of you. Biting into the fabric trying not to moan your name so loudly. He’s going to try really hard tonight to fight that urge.

He went to the bathroom to change while you changed in your room. He was really used to seeing you show skin, especially in your own home. That was until he saw you step out of your room with a thin tank top on. He was sitting on the couch waiting for you to join him. He quickly grabbed one of the plushies next to him to cover the growing tent in his sweats.

You join him on the couch, “Should we continue the show we were watching last time or start a movie?” you say looking at the tv. He can’t seem to focus with the way your tits just naturally sit, if the ac was any lower your nipples would harden up perfectly. “Let’s do the show we’re almost done with this season anyways.” Kai says, trying to contain his lust. You get more comfortable, sinking into the couch and letting your head rest against his chest.

He felt like you were toying with him, it’s been an hour now with your playful touches. Your hands stay rested on his thigh, shifting and playing with the drawstring of his sweats. His bulge has gone down only a little bit, it only gets harder every time he imagines your hands touching him where he needs you the most. It’s not until he notices you biting your lip that he says something about the situation. “Y/N there’s something I need to tell you.” his words come out in a whisper, scared of what might happen next. You sit up to look at him properly, noticing his red ears. Usually caused when he gets flustered and shy. “I knew something was up, okay tell me.” your hand goes up to softly pinch his ear. It was endearing but it turned him on..

“Just promise you won’t find me weird after I tell you..” he looks down. “What could you possibly say that would make me think that?” that same hand going down to his jaw, making him look at you. “You can tell me anything, I’ve told you almost all of my secrets.” Which is true, nothing goes past Kai, you always keep him updated with everything and he loves it. Loves knowing what’s going on in your daily life, more than others. 

“Well you know how friends usually touch each other when they’re horny, don’t they? I think I read that somewhere yeah yeah.” He said it in one quick breath. His body tensed up so quick he felt the air become thick. “Wait Kai, you need to be a lot slower, I barely understood a word you said. His hands shot up to cover his red face. All the blood in his dick rushed right back to his cheeks. “I’m just really turned on right now..” shifting his legs. “I just really want to come right now..” a whimper escapes his lips.

The way he looks did something to you, feeling your panties getting wet. You felt so shy at his words, bringing your knees to your chest trying to hide your face in them. “I mean I could help..” Your feelings rising up, you really felt like you played your cards right tonight.. “Just tell me what you want me to do.”

He whines at your words, “You’re turning me on.. You look so cute in that shirt, but I want it off…” Everything he was saying was so hot and it made it so much hotter with how pathetic and turned on he sounded. All his words were covered in lust. So you do what he wants. Taking your tank top off. Seeing your tits free from the fabric, your nipples hardening when met with the cool air. You climbed into his lap, letting your hands roam his waist. Soft moans and whines leaving him. “Kai, can I please touch you.” “Yes, yes please.” Your right hand reaches past his sweats, letting you feel him over his briefs. Feeling a small wet patch of precum. Your other hand lifting his shirt, letting him know you want it off. He does that just for you. 

Seeing his toned chest and bulky arms, you’d do anything to get headlocked by him right now. “How long have you wanted this?” Asking him with sultry meeting your words. He shakes his head, trying to deny this was even on his mind today. “Seriously,  you won’t get to cum if you’re not honest with me.” He whines, that really got to him. “Stop, you're not going to make me last long.” His hands go for your waist, helping you grind against him. He wants those shorts off next. “For years, I’d had a thing for you for years now. I go home and only cum to the thought of you.” His breath hitches as he feels your hand take his dick out from his sweats. Playing with the tip a little bit, watching the precum come out. Really wondering how much he can cum if this is how wet he is from just feeling him up. “Well if it’s worth anything.” Your fingers catch some of it, bringing them to your lips. Looking into his eyes. “I really like you too Kai, I was hoping you’d feel the same too.” Letting your precum filled fingers meet your tongue, dragging them down past your lips, getting a taste of him while having your spit collect in your hand. Reaching your hand back down to pump his dick. “Fuck, I do like you, I really do, kiss me please.” His hands go to hold the back of your head, pulling you into him. Wet and messy kiss was your first shared between the two of you. Kai was so hungry in his movements, his tongue begging to be inside your mouth. Whines and moans slipping out from both of you. 

Breaking the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting you two. “I need more.” He says looking at you with heavy lids. You shift a bit trying to take off your shorts. As you were about to throw your panties somewhere off to the side, he stopped you. “Can I keep these for when I go back?” You don’t know why that made you feel so shy, the thought of Kai using your used panties to get off. “Kai, you can just tell me when you want to have sex.” He pouts, “But what if my girlfriend is too busy.” He’s already claimed you to be his, he was so perfect. “I need some material please.” rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. “Okay but my boyfriend better remember to return them.” smiling at him softly as you shove them into the pocket of his sweats. Which he had pulled off by now.

He loved how you teased yourself by rubbing his tip against your folds, maybe it was because you got to hear him moaning at even the slightest friction. Your bodies just melted into each other so well. HIs hands are holding your hips, while you pull him into another deep kiss. Letting his dick go past your folds, feeling every inch of him in you. Moaning into his  mouth at the feeling. He was thich and a bit longer than average. He could break you with how you went in with no prep, just your wetness helping you. “Mmm feel so good Kai, wish you’d just tell me sooner.” He helped you take all of him, peppering kisses all long your shoulders to comfort you. As you kissed along his jawline. “Your pussy is so perfect.” He says as he feels you clench around him, receiving a cute quiet moan from you.

Once you finally took all of him in, you sat there for a bit. Hiding your face in his neck, “I’m gonna move now baby, okay?” You nod, helping you lift up your hips to bring them back down a bit harder. Soft moans leaving you as he helped find his rhythm. Looking down he saw the bulge, seeing his dick create a bump in your stomach. He pressed onto it, moaning at the feeling. “So deep Kai, f-feels so good.” “Mm yea? You like it don't you?” You moan in response. He felt so good inside you, “Harder please, wanna cum for you.”  One of his hands reached up to grab your tit. Massaging it in his hands, pinching your nipple making you squeal. 

Kai felt himself reaching his high. “Need you to cum with me, wanna feel you cum around me, can you do that for me baby?” nodding with urgency, you kiss him softer this time. Wanting to just feel his lips and taste him. He thrusted up harder into “Inside please, cum inside.” you beg. “Whatever you want, anything.” Holding you closer to him, “I’m gonna cum baby, are you ready for me.” “Yes, fuck yes Kai.” The way you said his name with desire. Couple hard thrust, your wet thighs meeting his sticky ones. You both came hard with pornographic moans. You bit into his shoulder to help you come down from the high. Making Kai whine at the slight pain. Rubbing your sides to help you with your shaking. Giving you kisses on your neck, soothing you through it.

Sitting there for a couple minutes in each other's arms. “Took you long enough.” you say trying to catch your breath. He smiles at you, god you wanna kiss him again. “I didn’t want to ruin anything between us.” you sat up to get a better look at him. He was still inside you so he winced at the feeling of you moving. “Well is this everything you hoped for?” planting a kiss on his lips. “Absolutely.” He returns the favor. “Please don’t move, I’m getting hard again..” he hides his face in between your breasts. “I wanna go again, see how long I can make you go for.” Smirking at him. 

Suddenly getting a hold of your body, getting you to lay on your back with him on top of you. “Let’s go for it.” You were both in for a long night