#it made sense in my head and that's what counts

[acornsinmypocket]

This is really not just US thing. Almost two years ago when Israel was still dealing with just the extreme-fascist-right taking over the office I worked at was two streets away from one of the most active highway intersections for protests. I went to all the mid-day protests (and got full support from the workplace! The company owner actually closed the office on a couple more active days and made it quietly clear he won't count time off if it happened to co-inside with major protests.) but at some point work just had to be done... So there I sit, modeling some mechanism on my computer as I listen to the world burning outside the window. We'd join groups blocking the road and duck police horses over lunch break then go back to sending emails about the standard length of wood screw. And I honestly thought is would be the most surreal experience of my life, until the fucking war started. And the world finally relented and stopped for a couple weeks... but then it was a month in. People had groceries and diapers they had to buy. Two months. Rents were due and businesses had clients to provide for and people just had to get back to life. At six months the protests were looking almost like they did before. I remember talking to friends about our yearly LARP event in September and if we could -or would- run it. Everyone just said that honestly there's no point worrying about that because honestly if the war would still be going by then we'll have bigger things to worry about. Except 11 months did pass, and we did have bigger things to worry about, but we also had 300 players wanting to know if the event is running. We decided to run it, coordinating with the home front command for their approval and trying to give the nearly 100 kids who grew up in this event a sense that life isn't just war... So there I was late at night when the sirens started. In an open field. Watching as 300 people stopped everything and laid on the ground covering their heads. After ten minutes you're allowed to get up. After 20 minutes most people were done calling their families. it took another 30 minutes for most kids to get back to sleep.... and then we kept on larping, because what the fuck else was there to do beside somehow trying to keep on with life?

Quietly losing my mind over the fact that Elon Musk has straight up orchestrated a coup of our executive branch and like....I don't even know what, if any, system we have in place to fix this. Like... He's just taken control of the money and locked out the actual appointed officials. What the fuck.

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 20

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 19 | Series Masterlist | Part 21

Chapter Word Count: Over 4k

Chapter Summary: Things come to a head when Clark confronts you.

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, break-in, physical assault, threat and fear of sexual assault, choking, fighting, reference to stalking and violence, inner turmoil, angst, comfort, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and this chapter is a little heavy. Thank you again for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The chilling smile on Clark’s face made you grip your phone tighter. How did he get in, and how long had he been waiting for you? Looking around, you were painfully aware that you were alone in the building lobby with him. Maybe you could head back outside and call Bucky.

Or the police.

“What are you doing here?” you asked again.

“I just wanted to see you.” He removed his glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket. He stood taller, too. “Is that a problem?”

“If you want to see me, you can stop by the shop. You don't need to come here,” you pointed out. You had one stalker already and didn’t need to deal with another.

“But I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, taking one step closer. “You didn't come home last night, and I thought you’d be back a little earlier today.”

A roll of uneasiness moved through you. What the hell was he on about? “Who said I didn't come home last night?” you asked. And why did he expect you back at your building earlier? Unless…

He laughed, a cruel and bitter sound. “Don’t bullshit me. I know you were with him. And I know you went out with your friends today.” His smile was going to haunt you for days. “I'm sure you had a nice time, but you do look a little more alert than I expected.”

The unease quickly turned to dread. Bucky said he caught someone following you, but what if that guy wasn't the only one? Ray would've spotted Clark though if he followed you, right? “And how exactly do you know I was with my friends?” you asked, slowly backing away toward the door since he was blocking the elevator.

“I’m a journalist. It’s my job to get the inside scoop,” he joked. You weren't laughing.

“My life isn’t inside scoop and it isn't any of your business,” you said, making his smile fade away. “I think you should leave.”

His eye twitched. “But we just started talking.”

You took a deep breath. It was getting tiring being surrounded by men who didn’t listen. “Look, I’ve had a long day on top of a long week. If Bucky finds out-”

“Bucky,” he spat, like the name tasted horrible on his tongue. “You think he’s the only powerful man in this city? I have a powerful friend, too.”

You froze. “Does your friend happen to be Helmut Zemo?” you asked, trying not to show how afraid you were. Did he know him? Work for him?

“Why don't we grab that coffee and I can tell you more about it?” he asked, reaching for your arm.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” you said, glancing behind you. You wished Bucky or Ray was there. One of them would be there soon, right?

“Looking for your little bodyguard friend?” he smirked like he knew something you didn't. “I don't think he’ll make it with a flat tire and all.”

Your heart leapt to your throat. “How did you-”

“Couldn't risk anyone interfering. You can thank the limo driver for that,” he said, darting around and blocking the main door when you tried to walk out. “Why do you look so scared? There's nothing to be scared of. We’re just going to talk.”

You had every reason to be frightened. You didn’t know what Clark’s intentions were, but you sensed enough that they weren’t good and he didn’t want to just have a conversation. Bucky for all of his sins wouldn’t raise a hand to you, but Clark? Zemo? You could really get hurt.

“I’m sorry, but I think you should go.”

“Do you even want to be with Bucky or are you just afraid of him?” You jumped when he grabbed your arm. “Or is it because he’s rich? You think he’ll spoil you if you spread your legs for him?”

The sudden onslaught of vitriol made you shake. “Let me go. Please.”

He ignored your wince when his fingers dug in. “He doesn't deserve you. He isn't good for you, but I am. Just let me help you,” he argued, trying to grab your phone with his other hand. “I have a car waiting out back. Just come with me and we’ll figure this out.”

“There's nothing to figure out and I don’t need your ‘help’,” you said, yanking your arm back. “Just go and leave me alone!”

“Leave you alone? You sound just like Lois,” he bitterly whispered. His ex. You remembered the name. “Either come with me or I’ll-”

You dashed to the building staircase, not waiting for him to finish his threat. It felt reminiscent of a scary movie, running up the stairs and spelling out your doom instead of running out the front door. But you’d be okay. You could call for help once you got to your apartment.

“Get back here!”

Your legs ached as you ran faster, but the adrenaline and the heavy sound of his footsteps helped you push through it. It wasn't long until you got to your floor and you didn't look back as you got your keys out. “Come on,” you whimpered, your hand shaking as you unlocked your door. You sensed Clark right behind you, but you slammed and locked the door before he could get in.

“Open the door!” he shouted, the door shaking as he slammed his fist against it.

“Go away!” you begged, swiping at your phone screen. “Please…”

The sound of your door being kicked in nearly made your heart burst from your chest. You spun around to find Clark just outside, his breathing heavy as he narrowed his eyes at you. Scrambling back as he stormed inside, you opened your mouth and did something you never thought you'd do since Bucky entered your life.

“Bucky, help!” you cried, hoping that whatever cameras Bucky had in your place had sound. “Help me, please!”

You tried to rush to your room, but Clark was faster. Stronger. He pulled you back so fast and so hard by your wrist that you fell backwards to the floor. Pain shot through your body and you felt like you couldn't draw your next breath when Clark’s shadow fell over you. Tears stung your eyes, your body temporarily paralyzed as he kicked your phone away.

“Look what you made me do,” he sighed, crouching over you. “Lois ran from me, too.”

“What…”

“She was stubborn. Headstrong. We had a big fight and, well…” He shook his head. “But you were always so kind to me, and I thought you’d make it all better.”

The night you came home and found Bucky waiting for you frightened you, but it paled in comparison to the pure terror you felt when Clark crouched over you. There was something dark and twisted in his eyes as he looked you over. Any trace of the nice guy you were used to seeing in the shop was nowhere to be found.

“Bucky,” you breathed, some of the pain subsiding as you tried to roll away. “P-Please, help me.”

Clark’s face twisted into a murderous scowl when he rolled you onto your back again and clamped a hand over your mouth. “Stop saying his name. Stop fighting me. I don't want to hurt you.”

Your eyes widened, barely able to breathe through your nose. Cark already hurt you. Pain bloomed everywhere he touched. There were sure to be marks or something with how hard he pressed against your mouth.

“You just need to understand,” he whispered.

You tensed up when his hand touched your thigh. You didn't know if it was to pry your legs open or to try to carry you out, but you wouldn't let him have you. And if he was going to have you, you wouldn't give it to him easily. So you struggled as much as you could and managed to move his hand away just enough for you to bite down.

He cried out and pulled his hand back, looking as shocked as you felt. “Why are you behaving like a petulant child? I’m trying to help you. Why don't you see that?!”

“Clark, you're hurting me. Please, stop.” Tears streamed down your cheeks when he wrapped a hand around your throat. “Bucky, HELP ME!” you tried to scream, the fingers around your neck cutting off your words along with your air supply.

Images flashed in your mind when you clawed at his hand. Putting together your first arrangement at your childhood home. Grabbing your favorite treat from the cafe. Finding a good book at Marc’s shop. The day Mrs. Crandle hired you. Laughing with your girlfriends. And waking up beside Bucky that morning, a soft smile on his face. Something you didn't expect to think about.

Were you going to die?

“Shut. Up.” he snarled, loosening his grip just a little. “Just let me-”

Neither of you saw the figure behind him until he was pulled off you and shoved across the room. It happened so fast you couldn't tell if it was Bucky or not. You held your throat as you coughed and greedily gulped the air, the sound of scuffling and objects breaking urging you to move away. Sitting up, you were vaguely aware of more footsteps entering your apartment, but couldn't see who they were. You just wanted to crawl into a hole and hide.

You didn't want anyone else to hurt you.

Before you could get out of the room, a large, imposing body suddenly cradled you against it and gently held you when you tried to fight back. Blinking your tears away, you realized the man had blue eyes, but it wasn't Bucky or Ray. You didn't recognize him at all. Was he a new tenant?

“W-Who…”

“It’s okay,” the man assured you, quickly assessing you as the shouting and fighting continued. He brushed a finger along a rip in your cardigan. When did Clark do that? “Are you hurt?”

“I don't know,” you whimpered. Your wrist throbbed from where Clark gripped it, and so did your throat.

The fighting only lasted a few more seconds, the sound of heavy breathing filling your apartment before you heard, “Kotyonok?”

“She’s right here.” The man holding you let you go, but stayed close. “She’s safe.”

Safe. You weren't safe. You would never be safe again in this lifetime, would you?

“B... Bucky?” your voice cracked. You trembled and you thought you were crying, too, but you couldn't be sure. It wasn't until you blinked and felt a pair of almost familiar arms around you that your vision began to become more clear again. “You're here?”

“It’s me. I'm here,” he tried to soothe you, tenderly wiping your tears away. His hair was a mess and his clothes were disheveled, a far cry from the put together man you were used to seeing. “I’ve got you.”

Glancing across the room, you spotted Clark laying on the ground with Ray and Steve standing over him. You let out a broken sob when you took in the rest of the scene. Your potted plants and vases were broken, your little trinkets and frames shattered, and everything felt terrifying. It was supposed to be your home and it was once again invaded and forever tainted.

“Steve, bring him to the club. Shut it down. No one touches him until I get there.” Bucky’s metal arm curled around you and lifted you before you could protest that you were too heavy, the heat radiating from him soothing you. “Ray, deal with any neighbors who saw or heard anything. No cops.”

“You sure you don't need me to drive you?” Ray asked, concern etched all over his face when he looked at you. He looked both hurt and furious.

“I’m sure. Just get to the club after you deal with the neighbors.”

Something covered your body. Was it a blanket? A jacket? “What do you need from me?” the stranger asked.

“Get the car. Take us home,” Bucky ordered, carrying you away.

You didn't lift your head as Bucky carried you to the elevator. Did your neighbors hear the commotion? “He was waiting for me. H… He kicked my door in.” You sniffled, your body shaking uncontrollably. “He grabbed me and…”

“He won't touch you again. Ever,” he whispered. He was holding his anger at bay. You could feel it.

“I told him to go,” you explained, seeing the clench in his jaw. “I didn't… I’m sorry…”

Bucky gently shushed you. “You don't need to apologize. This isn't your fault. And I’m taking you home and no one is going to lay a finger on you ever again.”

You nodded, but some voice in the back of your head said you caused this somehow. It may have been the shock you felt since you rationally knew you hadn't done anything. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Bucky paused to look at you. “You don't need to thank me.”

“But you saved me,” you said. Him and the man you didn't recognize. “If you hadn't…” Your stomach rolled as you trailed off, not wanting to imagine the worst.

He held you closer. “If you call for me, I’ll be there.”

How did he get there so quickly? And Ray? “How did you know something was… I mean…” You sniffled again. “Did you hear me?”

Bucky tensed up. “Steve and I weren't too far from your place, and I got an alert as soon as your door opened. I knew something was wrong because Ray wasn’t here yet and you were still supposed to be in the limo,” he said, stepping out of the elevator and heading right to the car. “I dispatched Curtis immediately and we were close behind. Ray ran to get here.”

Your brows pinched. “Curtis?” you asked. Was that the man you didn't recognize?

“He works for me. I’ve had him keep an eye on you. You weren't supposed to meet him…” He swallowed and looked down at you. “Like this.”

Another man watching you. When exactly were you supposed to meet him? “So you heard me call for you?” you asked.

He swallowed again and nodded. “Yes.”

Never in a million years did you think you’d call out to him for help. You didn't consider that the cameras would ever be anything more than an obsessive way for him to have control over you, but it may have saved you today. And you couldn't imagine what you looked like as he looked over you. Your makeup ruined, shaking like a leaf.

“Try not to move too much,” he urged when you shifted in his arms. “I’m going to have my doctor look you over to make sure nothing’s broken and… to make sure you're okay.”

“Okay.” Your face scrunched up before you began to cry again. You were hurt and so confused. Nothing made sense and you couldn't even go home. “Why did Clark-”

Bucky let out a low growl and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Never say his name again.”

You hid your face in his neck, wetting his skin with your tears. “I was so scared.”

He slowly breathed out. “I was, too,” he admitted in a whisper. “But I’ve got you now.”

Bucky had you, but your tears didn't stop flowing and it didn't change what happened.

“I’m so sorry, Kotyonok,” Bucky whispered brokenly. He wasn't a helpless man by any means, but you were certain your sobs made him feel hopeless at the moment. “I can't fix what he did, but I’ll make him pay. He’ll fucking pay. I promise.”

You slumped against Bucky, exhausted from everything that transpired. You had no doubt he'd destroy Clark for hurting you. You just wished he never put his hands on you to begin with.

The partition lowered, but you kept your face hidden in Bucky's neck. “Nick got the driver,” Curtis announced.

“Make sure he’s brought to the club,” Bucky said, rubbing your back. “I need him to tell me exactly why he let you out of the limo before I beat him within an inch of his life.”

“He did it… The driver.” You sounded like you hadn't used your voice in days. “He did something to Ray's car.”

You hadn't been able to process what Clark said earlier, but you could now and it all made sense. The driver was at the winery the entire time you were and he would've had plenty of opportunities to mess with one of Ray's tires. Knowing that Ray wouldn't get to your building like normal, he let you get out of the limo and go into your building where Clark was waiting.

Clark also said you were more alert than he expected. Maybe you weren't paranoid by thinking something happened to the drinks. If you drank as much as your friends, you may have been more out of it and wouldn't have been able to put up any sort of fight against Clark.

Bucky tilted your head up and wiped a stray tear away. “He’ll pay, too,” he promised, not even questioning if what you said was true. He took you at your word. “There’s something else, isn't there?” he asked, grabbing a water from beside him and bringing it to your lips.

“He didn't confirm it, but…” You took a drink, the cool liquid making your throat feel a little better. “I think Zemo had something to do with this.”

Bucky’s mouth was set in a grim line and fury burned behind his eyes, but he softened his gaze for you. “Zemo knows you're my future wife. If he knowingly allowed someone to put their hands on you…” His metal fingers curled, but he pressed another gentle kiss to your forehead. “Did Jensen get that file like I asked?”

“He did,” Curtis confirmed, looking in the rearview mirror.

“Make sure he’s there, too,” he said, keeping his eyes on you. “Let's get you inside.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself lying in a guest bedroom with a blanket draped over you. Bucky didn't leave your side as he made a couple of calls, but you didn't pay attention to who he was talking to as you stared at the ceiling. You weren't sure if shock was wearing off or sinking in.

“Kotyonok? Dr. Cho’s almost here,” Bucky said, worried when you didn't look at him. “I can run you a bath after she looks you over and give you something for any pain you’re feeling. Or you can just rest.”

You made some sort of humming noise. Today was a day in your life that should've been fun, a day to remember a nice outing with your friends. The memories were tainted now, just like your home. It hurt so much. And you couldn't even message your friends because how would you start to explain what happened?

“What can I do?” he asked. He sounded desperate. This was something out of his control.

“I have to work tomorrow,” you said, testing your wrist and ignoring his question. Work was normal. You needed normalcy. “I have to…”

“What? No, you’re not working tomorrow. Mrs. Crandle will understand,” he said, taking your hand and pressing his lips to your wrist. You went rigid for a moment before you relaxed. He wouldn't hurt you. “You need to rest and stay here.”

You sniffled. What were you going to say if you called in? That a customer attacked you? “My stuff…” you said. There were things at your apartment you wanted, needed.

“Tell me what you want and I’ll make sure it's brought here. It isn't safe for you to go back there.”

“How long do I have to stay here?” you asked. Would you be a prisoner now as a means to keep you safe? He had every excuse in the world now to do so since his home was safer than yours ever was.

“We need to discuss some fail-safes, like getting you a panic button.”

“Kind of surprised you didn't make me carry one from the start,” you commented.

“You've been a bit skittish because of how I went about everything. If I gave you a panic button, it may have scared you into never leaving your place and I couldn't do that to you.”

He had a point, but you wouldn't say so. “But you could install cameras and have men like Ray and Curtis watch me?”

“Because I know I put you in danger, which is a reason why I did those things and why I wanted you here for good. I also wanted you here for selfish reasons, but your safety is the top priority,” he smiled sadly.

You almost laughed. He preached over and over about your safety and it turned out he was right in some way. “Looks like you got your wish,” you said, trying not to tear up again. “You’re moving me in before the month’s out.”

He looked stricken. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” he whispered.

You studied him with a careful eye. Part of you thought in the beginning that he was twisted enough to arrange a setup so he could step in and play the hero, but he would never do something like that to you. He’d never let anyone else touch you if he could help it. And he couldn't fake the pain in his eyes. It hurt him that you were hurt.

“I really am thankful that you showed up tonight,” you said.

“I go where you go,” he swore, curling up beside you. “Always.”

He’d follow you into hell if you asked him to do so. “Will you please do me a favor?” you asked.

“Anything,” he replied.

“Cl… He mentioned his ex-girlfriend. Lois,” you said. “Can you make sure she’s okay?”

You weren't certain if Clark attacked you on Zemo’s orders or if it had nothing to do with Zemo at all, but you were afraid for Lois. As obsessive as Bucky was, it was a saving grace tonight that you had someone looking out for you. Not an excuse, but a silver lining.

“You're hurt and you're thinking of someone else?” he asked in awe.

You bristled for no good reason at all. “You don't have to worry about me. I’m fine.” You inhaled and exhaled, trying to compartmentalize again. If you could just go to sleep and pretend everything was normal, that you were just a florist with an average life… “I’m fine.”

Bucky shook his head. “You're not fine.”

“Of course I’m not fine! Nothing is fine!” you snapped. He didn't flinch. Didn't move. “I was followed! I was attacked! I…”

You were living in a nightmare.

Your chest heaved before Bucky put your face in his chest. The dam built up inside you, all the turmoil and stress you tried desperately to keep from surfacing, finally broke and overflowed. Your fingers curled in his shirt and it all came out in heart wrenching sobs, as if a piece of you died. You cried until your head hurt and your throat felt raw. Until you didn't think you had any tears left to cry.

He held you through it all, being the calm in your emotional storm, your source of comfort instead of your tormentor. “It isn't fair,” you cried. It wasn't fair what you were going through, but life was never fair.

“It isn't,” he agreed, not letting you go when you stopped crying. “But I’ll make them pay and we’ll get through this together.”

“Together?”

“Together,” he whispered.

You had to believe he was telling the truth, that things would look up and you’d heal from the pain. You'd either hold your head high or Bucky would hold your head up for you. Like everything else in your life recently, you had no other choice but to grin and bear it. And no matter what, Bucky would be by your side through it all.

Because everything led back to him, the threads of fate weaved together by his very hands.

And breathe, lovelies. This was a heavy chapter for me to write, and I just want to give Kotyonok all the love and comfort and wine and money and everything. What is Bucky going to do to Clark? Do we think Zemo will be pleased when he finds out what Clark did? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[azsazz]

Destination Unknown (Part 2)

Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Reqs: destination-unknown I still cannot let this one go, the best thing I’ve ever read on this app 😭 I wish he would choose us in another part // Writing this to notify you about the urgent need for pt2 of the following Rhys fics: waiting for the creation of Destination unknown

Warnings: N/A

Word Count:

(Part 1)

Notes: It's been over 2 years since part 1 😅 If any of the OG's are here, you're troopers! ily 💙 breaking my own heart with this one too

_________________________________________

“The girl that saved us. She’s my mate.” The words rattle in your head again and again and a-godsdamned-gain.

The crinkle of the paper in your hands draws your attention to the present. You sigh, dropping the paper to the familiar deep cherry desk. The one that you’ve been sitting at for the last fifty years while the man you loved was trapped by a vicious witch under the mountain.

This place—Rhysand’s office within the House of Wind—had once been your place of solace. Your beacon of hope. You and the High Lord of the Night Court had spent a healthy amount of time in this room of the house, first as his second in command, and then as his lover. It had been one of the places you swore you could still feel him when he was prisoner beneath her reign.

You had taken over like any second would, made sure that Velaris stayed hidden and safe. There weren’t many executive decisions to be made in the last fifty years, menial things like the agreement to build a new wing of the Rainbow, making sure that the city could still deal and trade without being snuffed out.

Now, this office serves as a reminder. A reminder of what you lost. The male that you gave your heart to, the same one who’d survived the horrors of Amarantha’s reign, made it back to the Night Court safely, with another woman’s name on his lips.

Feyre, he’d admitted, violet eyes wide and haunted with not only the horrors he so desperately tried to lock away, but with shock and surprise. He found his mate, the voice in your head rings again.

As much as it tears your heart to shreds, Rhysand deserves nothing more. You’ve always had an inkling that you weren’t his mate. He’d occasionally make offhanded comments about dreams he had, visions, he’d sometimes call them. Listening to the horrors he’d been through, surrounded by the rest of his Inner Circle, those sights had made sense.

It’s been two weeks since Rhysand has been back. Recovering. Mor had taken it upon herself as caregiver to her cousin. Cassian and Azriel visited the High Lord in his wing of the house often. Amren, too. The side you couldn’t bring yourself to pay visit to.

He’s asked for you. You can’t count the number of times Mor has barged into this very office—the one you rarely leave these days—and demanded that you come see him. That you’re hurting him worse by staying away. Now that Rhysand is back, that Amarantha is gone for good and the city no longer has to hide, there are things to do, cities to check in on, damage that needs to be assessed, and courts that need correspondence.

It's given you an escape. You can’t muster up the confidence to go visit Rhysand just as he can’t do the same to visit you. You’re terrified of what he’ll say, the very thing you’ve been trying to wrap your head around since the night of his return. To accept the inevitable.

That he’s no longer yours.

You smooth the wrinkled paper out on the desk, trying to refocus. It’s late. A gentle breeze sweeps in through the balcony doors, a chill that skitters down your back. The stars and moon shine brightly in the sky, and for a moment, you envy their light, their happiness. It seems that they’re even brighter since the return of the High Lord.

You can’t help that your mind wanders. To her. You wonder what she looks like, how she acts. She must be confident, strong-willed. She must be beautiful. You hope more than anything that she’s kind. She must be, for a human to give her life to save the Fae, the same ones that have abandoned the human-realm for their own selfish reasons.

In a way, it makes sense. Of course, the female who could take down someone as powerful as Amarantha would be Rhys’ mate.

There’s a soft knock on the study room door. One that makes you freeze. It’s not Mor, because she wouldn’t have knocked, she would have stormed into the room, he bouncy, blonde hair swishing behind her shoulders and a fire in her eyes. The both of you have leaned on each other for fifty years, you consider her one of your closest friends. But not even she could convince you to see Rhysand.

You’ve tried, too. Tried to make it to that side of the house, to where, admittedly, you’d slept in his bed the entirety of his time away. When you could sleep, that is. Surrounded by the night-chilled scent of him, lingering on the pillows.

The abrupt change from not sleeping there at all has been taxing.

You stand when the door cracks, busy yourself with the papers scattered around the desk. They’re organized perfectly, but you leaf through them again. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, not even when he enters the room fully and the doors snicks behind him.

Your name is a mummer. Relief? Maybe. Sorrow. Yes. The. Sound makes your throat tighten. You never thought you’d hear your name on his lips again.

The papers in your hands crinkle again.

You don’t know what to say. Your throat is clogged with emotion and your heartbeat is a racing mess. Your knees are seconds from giving out. Your fingers are trembling. You’re not ready for this, not ready to face him again.

You can feel those violet eyes on you like you have a thousand times before. Can feel the way he’s drinking you in. Or maybe he’s comparing you to how you looked the night he left, the same disheveled hair but for a much different reason. You’re sure you look worse with the dark circles under your eyes and the way your shoulders sag like there’s a hundred pounds draped across them.

Suddenly, you feel underdressed. You should have cleaned up your appearance, taken a shower, ran a brush through your hair.

Tears sting your eyes when your sabotaging mind tells you that it no longer matters.

You stack the papers together and tap them on the desk. “I’ve kept everything as much of the same as I could.” It’s difficult to admit, but talking about what’s been going on in the City of Starlight is a safe topic. Surely, he will want to know, will want to visit soon, show that he’s still the strong and in charge High Lord he was. “You’ll read about it in my reports.”

You say it like you’re ready to resign your position. You’d hate it if you could no longer help the city that you’ve loved and spent the last fifty years managing. Your heart breaks a little in your chest.

You’ve spent every moment since Rhysand’s come home writing the report. Spent every day of the last fifty years writing it, to be honest. In case there was a day that he’d come back. You haven’t left out a single detail.

The past two weeks have been spent refining it, removing some of the more inappropriate stories and comments now that he’s found his other half.

He says your name again, louder this time. You can hear the hurt in his tone, but he doesn’t move closer.

You continue to brush him off. Your head is spinning and you can barely breathe. You don’t know what to do. It feels as if the two of you are strangers. “Now that you’re back, I need to check on all of the other cities and camps within the Court,” your voice is tired. You don’t know what to think. He’s back, and he has a mate. Someone he’s destined to fall in love with. It hurts. “I’ve sent missives. I’m headed out in the morning.”

“Please,” he begs, and the emotion in his voice gives you pause. Makes your heart break. You know it isn’t easy, to be so vulnerable after having to be so strong for half a century. Tears sting your eyes. The tips of Rhysand’s shoes enter your line of vision. “Please, look at me.”

You shake your head and swallow thickly. If you look at him, see the devastation in his eyes, worse, the hope for his mate, it will destroy you. You know it will.

“Autumn has written, too,” you continue, but your voice trembles so much you’re not sure you can continue. You can gallivant all around the continent, but it won’t change the fact that the male you love is back, and has a mate. Eventually, you’ll come home, and when you do, maybe she’ll be here, maybe they’ll be joyous and in love and— “They’re asking for resources, to help rebuild.”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. An unknown force drives him around the edge of the desk, and before you know it the papers in your hands are hitting the wood and you’re facing him, your chin tilting up by his gentle hands.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes and you clamp them shut before they latch onto those violet pools you know so well. You don’t want to see the heartbreak in them. You don’t want to see the remorse. You can’t. You’re not ready to give him up, because he’s all that. You’ve ever loved and—

“Please,” he says brokenly, so helplessly that you can’t help yourself.

You peek open your eyes.

And Rhysand looks utterly crushed.

His own eyes are filled with tears. Fingers trembling as his thumbs stroke your cheeks, catching the unstoppable rivers.

He looks almost exactly like he had the night he left. Older, somehow. His violet eyes aren’t lit with excitement and arousal, but burnt out with the horrors of what he’s been through. You can’t even imagine what happened to him in those fifty years, but you know Rhysand well enough to know that he would have done anything to protect his people, to help in any way that he could.

There are no words to be exchanged. You and him have always been like this, on the same page. You know exactly what he’s thinking, and you know exactly what he is.

You sob into him as he presses his mouth against yours. You cling to his arms, digging your nails into his skin. It’s a desperate kiss, too harsh and your teeth clack together in a disjointed plea. It feels nothing like you know. It feels final.

Like this is the last taste of him you’re ever going to get.

“Darling,” his voice breaks when you part. In this moment, you know. That this is all real. Rhysand is back. He’s back and he has a mate.

“I know Rhys,” your words are a wet whisper, and the smile that you try to force onto your face wobbles and falls. You clutch his arms tightly. You don’t want to let go but you know that you have to. “I know.”

[anashins]

Can u write a enemies to fuckers Jaehyun smutty smut? 🤭

Pairing: Jaehyun x You

Genre: romance, smut

Warnings: The smut is rougher and there is cheating involved

Word Count: 2,2k

Summary: In university, Jaehyun and you did everything to sabotage each other after a turbulent on-and-off relationship. Six years later, you meet again at your friends' wedding and need to decide whether to make amends or play this game all over again.

A/N: Hiii! This is inspired by "Tell Me Lies" and both are just very toxic. I enjoyed writing this very much though!! :)

“What is he doing here?”

“I’m sorry, I should have told you…”

It has been six years since you had last seen Jaehyun, and your university friends’ wedding was the very last setting you had wanted to meet him in again. If anything, you had hoped to never see Jeong Jaehyun again in your life.

Hadn’t you…?

“I just thought,” your friend, the bride, continued, “after all these years, you could be a little… friendlier with each other. After all, he’s still my husband’s best friend. Be honest, would you have come if you knew?”

No, you wouldn’t have. But you decided to let it slip since it was her special day and took your friend’s hand into yours. “You know I would do anything to support you today.”

Anything… just not this, you ended the sentence in your head, but stayed silent. 

She knew, though. And just like you, she let it slip.

Of course, nobody could understand what you had to endure under Jaehyun’s temper during your time in university. In your first week, you had already hooked up and eventually dated for two months. Everything after that was a blur of an on-and-off whirlwind that was dominated by a lot of screaming, crying and cheating. 

And eventually, you had failed your finals because of Jaehyun’s sabotaging actions for getting a little too flirty with the tutor. Shortly after that, he had enlisted and you had never heard from him again.

Except for the times you had looked him up on social media, and lately, more than ever before, possibly, because you had hoped that this scenario would take place after all.

… that you would meet him exactly here again.

Your friend went on to greet the other guests that were entering the venue, and you suddenly didn’t know what to do, the half full champagne glass nearly shaking in your hands. You sensed his presence with a bit of distance right behind you, sensed his gaze on your back.

Taking a deep breather in, you slowly turned around.

You have grown ever since. You were better than the person you had been in your early twenties, stumbling all over someone’s feelings and getting yourself belittled at the same time. You were mature and not even comparable to the almost-teenager from back then anymore.

You hoped Jaehyun was too.

“Hello,” he said with the familiar, low voice that made your heart jump a beat again. “Long time no see.”

Jaehyun in a suit and with slicked back hair has always been your weakness. 

You were damned.

____

You bit into Jaehyun’s hand, hard. 

But the only sound he let out was a low growl of endured pain before he shoved his palm harder against your mouth to make you stop moaning so loudly. The back of your head hit the wall in the process and a sting of pain crossed that area, but you didn’t pay much attention to it.

“Yes, you sound pretty hot when you shut up,” he murmured into your ear.

Jaehyun’s eyes then narrowed, but the look inside them was unwavering when he lowered his head and kissed the side of your neck, not afraid to use his teeth while doing so. The way they grazed over your sensitive skin was aggressive and tender at the same time. It didn’t make sense. Nothing with him ever did.

No one knew you two had secretly sneaked into one of the rooms at the wedding residency only half an hour after you had met again. How had it gone from a simple “Hello, long time no see” to “Moan again and I will shove something into your mouth to make you stop”?

You didn’t know. But Jaehyun pushing his fingers deep inside between your legs right now made you forget his threat. Instead of moaning this time though, you swallowed down every noise. You, too, didn’t want to risk everyone getting wind of the way you had folded in his arms. Again.

After all the vile things you had done to each other, hooking up again should not be on your list. But after all these vile things too, what had never changed was your nearly unbearable attraction to each other. And in the span of six years, a lot of pent up desire had to be let out. 

Jaehyun tugged your panties aside so that his fingers had better access to their target area, causing your knees to weaken in the process. Your underwear was completely soaked, the dress you had carefully picked out for this special occasion was probably not in a much better shape. But at this moment, that was one of your least concerns.

You had your arms wrapped around Jaehyun’s neck, holding onto him as you tried to hook one thigh around his waist. He adapted to your change and you sank your teeth into his shoulder which you had freed of his shirt shortly before. Still knowing your angles and preferences, he put one arm under your leg and let you grind into his groin.

“The moment I saw you in this dress, I thought I had never encountered a more beautiful woman,” Jaehyun then said before he retreated his frenched fingers and slowly placed your leg back on the floor. “But I also thought that I needed to get rid of that dress as soon as possible.”

Bringing your face then close to his, he cupped your cheeks as you looked at him through half-lidded eyes, lips partially open as they had gotten so dry from all the quiet moaning. Jaehyun kissed you with a wicked  grin, his fingers on your back finding its way to the zipper of your dress in an instant. 

It hadn’t taken him long to have you sprawled out on the bed right in front of him. Your dress was hanging loosely around your waist with your upper body being entirely exposed, yet the fabric of the skirt blocked you from seeing what Jaehyun was actually doing right now, head deep between your thighs.

But what you knew from the feeling of his tongue draping over your sensitive folds, licking and sucking like all the times he had done in university quietly underneath the sheets, he made you come undone in this guestroom, legs kicking around so that he had to hold you in place with his hands grabbing onto your bum. Not only once, but twice. 

Your muscles still shook when Jaehyun arose, wiping the back of his hand over his glistening lips, then letting his tongue collect the remnants of your juices from his face. Chest heaving up and down irregularly, you were trying your best to come down from your heights while Jaehyun was kneeling in front of you and ripped the condom open with his teeth. 

You didn’t question the fact that he had been carrying it around in his suit all this time. Perhaps, you also didn’t want to know his intention from the very beginning, or with whom, as you were aware he was single right as of now.

Jaehyun helped you take off the dress fully before he put on the condom and settled on top of you. For the first time that day, you saw… what? Only fondness mirrored in his eyes? And only that, nothing more? As if that was possible. You loathed each other, still. 

“How dare you look at me that way,” you whispered and stretched out your hand to touch his cheek. “After all the vile things we’ve done to each other.”

Jaehyun nestled into your palm, then took your hand and kissed your fingers. “Don’t let me being nice get into your head. It’s a one time thing.”

A corner of your lip tilted up to a wicked smile. “For sure. Because I will never forget you sabotaging my finals.”

“And I will never forget you sabotaging my relationship.” Jaehyun then shifted your fingers with one swift motion and pinned your hand against the mattress, holding you tightly by your wrists now. “But now I will make you forget your fiancé even exists.” 

Your fiancé…

… never took you like Jaehyun used to. And sometimes you had wished he would, because no one you had shared a bed with after encountering him had even come close to what Jaehyun was capable of.

As before, he started off on top, slow and sensual, and his strokes deep and intimate. You could feel every inch of his body, your legs hooked around his waist and your arms folded behind his neck. His moans filled your ear and you got off on it, imitating his noises. It was your favorite position with him, because only then you thought you were really close, one unity. And sometimes, when he kissed you, it felt like you were being transported back to that fateful night many years ago. 

Jaehyun didn’t make you cum again in the first position, but when you were on all fours with your back turned to him, you had a hard time keeping your body steady as he somehow hit all the right spots from this angle, his hands on your glutes determining the pace. Slapping sounds nearly louder than your suppressed moans filled the room, but at that point, you didn’t really care at all.

“Jae-hyun, plea-se…” you begged when you had already collapsed onto the mattress, only your bottom remaining in that position with Jaehyun’s help who was unwavering with his strokes, hitting you from the back over and over again. “I- want to-”

“Your opinion doesn’t matter,” he interrupted you. “Tell me that only I can make you cum like that and beg again.”

It was one of his favorite mind games, to twist and turn your words to his liking. But when he finally got an “Only you can make me cum like this, please let me cum” out of your mouth, you were gripping the sheets underneath you and screamed into the fabric until your lips were dry and your legs spasmed.

Not much later, you were sitting on Jaehyun’s lap, his length sheathed deep inside you with his arms slowly running up and down your sweaty back, chest to chest. You kissed his ear, then the side of his neck, then his shoulder where you had left an impressive bite mark. This time, it was Jaehyun who was trembling beneath and inside you, eyes closed to chase after his own release. 

You hopped up and down his cock while holding onto his shoulders, the wetness making it hard for you to keep him inside sometimes as you knew he only got off the faster you went, so whenever he accidentally slipped out, Jaehyun got a well deserved breather that he used to kiss you - a little too long, a little too intimate. 

He still came very fast into the condom, and you both collapsed onto the bed. Jaehyun had never been much of a cuddler, and you, despite always having been the opposite, had adjusted to his style. 

But somehow, after this encounter, he was holding you in his arms and his fingers stroked your cheek - a little too long, a little too comfortable. Your head was lying on his chest, and you were able to listen to his heartbeat. It was a little too loud and beat a little too out of rhythm.

“I’m sorry I sabotaged your finals back then,” Jaehyun then confessed. 

“I’m sorry I sabotaged your relationship.” You snickered. “There are probably a lot of things we should be sorry for.”

“I know. But for right right now, this is enough, isn’t it?”

“Mhhm.”

And quietly, holding each other, you made up after years of vengeance and grudges.

Just like that.

___

Sometime later, you got ready in the adjacent bathroom while Jaehyun got dressed outside. 

You slipped back into your dress and smoothed the creases. There were a few stains that you sprinkled with water to clean a bit and just hoped that nobody would spot them. Your hair though… maybe you could ask the bride’s hairdresser to readjust your chosen style and put the blame on too tight bobby pins you needed to get rid of.

You took a deep breath in and opened the door in hopes you would find Jaehyun outside, ready to make up some kind of story for you and talk about who would leave first. But when you exited the bathroom, the room was empty…

… safe from your fiancé standing next to the messy bed, the remains of your contraception on the floor next to it.

You went pale.

“I got a message from your phone a few minutes ago to come here as fast as possible,” he stated dryly. “But I guess it was not sent by you.”

You had always been a creature of habit, same passwords and code combinations everywhere… for many years already. And Jaehyun knew.

“Damn you, Jeong Jaehyun.”

Two could play this game, even six years later.

You had not changed at all.

[starsinthesky5]

What was Joe’s reaction to hearing call it what you want for the first time?

call it what you want (yail’s version) || joe burrow x reader

description: the ask pretty much sums it up!!

a/n: this is so fun for me im screaming

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none. just my sickeningly adorable babies

taglist: (ask to be added): @joeyfranchise @joeyburrrow @joeyb1989 @softburrow @yelenasbraid @burrowbarbie @lovelyburrow @starkeyswomen @grittysbiggestfan @lilfreakjez @fourburrow @definitelynotdomanique

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

joe was absolutely wrecked. like i'm talking tears pooling in his eyes by the end of it, a rosy blush on his cheeks, and his heart nearly beating out of his chest and onto the floor in front of him.

i mean, his heart was already racing by the time she strummed the first few chords. he didn’t know what to expect, but he was already completely captivated by the way she looked so normal sitting on the floor of his living room—her messy hair in a bun, wearing one of his oversized hoodies LSU hoodies, and a pair of sweatpants that had seen better days. they were sitting there together, legs tangled together, the low light of the room casting a warm glow over them. she had her guitar in hand, her eyes glancing at him with a mix of affection and a little bit of nervousness.

he could tell she was about to share something important with him, and his heart fluttered with anticipation. this was the very first song she had written & recorded for her newest album, and the very first song joe had heard from her since they had been together. sure he had heard her sing to him on plenty of occasions--late at night before bed, in the car, while cooking, in the shower--but he had never heard one of her newest songs.

everything about this moment was special, from how relaxed the setting was to how she was about to serenade joe with the most lovey love song she had ever written while a late november storm raged outside. her favorite weather, with her favorite person, just as she was about to sing her favorite song to date.

when she started singing, the first line, “my castle crumbled overnight,” hit him in straight in the gut. her voice was soft, melodic as always, and maybe even a little shaky. as if the mere mention of her past was enough to tug at the seams of wounds he had worked so tirelessly to stitch back together, threatening to crack what he had so gently mended.

"i brought a knife to a gunfight, they took the crown, but it's alright. all the liars are calling me one, nobody's heard from me for months, i'm doing better than I ever was,,"

he knew exactly what she meant with the opening verse; the lyrics were a metaphor for how her entire world had collapsed in the blink of an eye...how they broke her in her most vulnerable state. she disappeared once the walls started to cave in, leaving no trace of her being behind as she hid in those dark clouds that she was running from. she had been stripped bare, torn apart by the same people who once sang her praises, left to piece herself back together in silence. they had taken everything—her peace, her trust, her sense of self, her love—and twisted it into something unrecognizable.

but then came him.

the man who loved her even when she didn't even know what love was anymore. who loved everything she came with--the baggage, the scars--and never once made her feel like she was something broken, something discarded.

and so the next verse was the one that really got him.

"'cause my baby's fit like a daydream, walkin' with his head down, i'm the one he's walkin' to. so call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to. my baby's fly like a jet stream, high above the whole scene, loves me like I'm brand new. so call it what you want, yeah, call it what you want to,".

those words hit him hard, and for a moment, he just sat there, letting them sink in, his blue eyes darkening, pupils blown wide as he stared at her, completely entranced.

this was so him. she was singing about him—about the way he was, the way he came into her life like a calm breeze, so nonchalant and steady. it was his whole vibe. walking with his head down, so easygoing, never one to stir up drama or chaos because he was above that. he wasn’t the loud, attention-grabbing type. he just…was. and somehow, in the midst of everything that had been going on in her life, he had quietly, steadily become her everything.

in the next verse, these lyrics stuck out to him.

"all the drama queens taking swings, all the jokers dressin' up as kings, they fade to nothin' when I look at him,".

to her, none of that noise mattered when she was with him. the world could be burning, people could be scheming, twisting her name into something ugly, but when she looked at him? it all faded to nothing. because joe wasn’t just someone she loved--he was the only thing in her world that ever felt real, steady, untouchable.

he exhaled a shaky breath, his eyes locked on her like she was the only thing in existence. because to him, she was.

then she sang,

"and i know i make the same mistakes every time bridges burn, i never learn, at least i did one thing right i did one thing right i’m laughin’ with my lover, makin’ forts under covers trust him like a brother, yeah, you know i did one thing right starry eyes sparkin’ up my darkest night,".

joe felt his chest tighten, his heart pounding even harder as he took in every word. his fingers curled slightly against his knee, overwhelmed by the weight of what she was saying--what she was telling him.

she had been through hell. had made mistakes, had trusted the wrong people, had watched everything she had built crumble in front of her. but somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, she had found him. chosen him.

he thought about every late night they had spent tangled in sheets, whispering secrets under the glow of a bedside lamp. about the stupid inside jokes, the way she could make him laugh until his stomach hurt, the way he held her through the nights when the past still clawed at her like an open wound.

"at least i did one thing right,".

god. if she only knew how much that meant to him.

his eyes were burning now, and he had to blink a few times to keep himself from completely falling apart. because he was the one thing she was sure of. he was the light in her darkest night.

and as she strummed the last few chords before continuing on to the bridge, he mouthed it to her, barely even realizing he was doing it--

"i love you."

her fingers faltered against the strings for just a second. her breath hitched as she stopped singing for a second. and then she smiled, so soft and so full of love that he swore he could feel it in his bones.

as she continued on to the bridge of the song, fingers strumming the guitar with practiced ease, the lyrics felt like they were speaking directly to him yet again.

"i want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck, chain 'round my neck, not because he owns me, but 'cause he really knows me. which is more than they can say, i recall late november, holdin' my breath, slowly I said, "you don't need to save me, but would you run away with me?". yes,".

as she sang those words, joe's eyes instinctively dropped to the delicate chain around her neck—the one that held his initial, resting right against her heart. he had seen her wear it every day, had traced his fingers over it absentmindedly when they lay in bed, but hearing her sing about it, about him, made his chest ache in the best way.

"not because he owns me, but 'cause he really knows me."

that stuck out to him the most.

his jaw clenched slightly, emotion swelling in his throat. god, she got him. she really got him. he had never been the loudest person in the room, never one to stake his claim or demand attention. and yet, she had made it clear--he didn’t have to. he wasn’t with her to prove something to the world. he was with her because he knew her, because he saw her for exactly who she was, and somehow, that was enough.

"which is more than they can say."

he knew what she meant--how so many people had claimed to know her, to love her, but none of them ever really had. not the way he did. not the way she let him in.

and then came the part that ruined him.

"i recall late november, holdin’ my breath, slowly i said, 'you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?'".

he could picture it so clearly—the early days, when she was still hesitant, still finding her way back to herself. how she had looked at him one night, the weight of everything pressing on her, and asked, "would you run away with me?"--half a joke, half a plea.

and he had said yes. without hesitation. every time.

because he hadn’t saved her. he never wanted to save her. he just wanted to be there, to hold her hand as she saved herself.

and sitting here now, listening to her sing those words back to him, for him--he realized she knew that. she had always known.

his throat tightened, his eyes stung, but he didn’t care. because as soon as the last note hung in the air, he reached for her, cupping her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against her cheek as he whispered, voice thick with emotion--"i would run anywhere with you,".

she saw the blush rise on his cheeks, the way his eyes were slowly softening from realization and brimming with tears. she nearly started crying on her own. but not from sadness, but rather out of love. he loved her so much, loved her in a way she had never experienced.

as the last note faded into the quiet hum of their living room, she let out a slow breath, her fingers still resting on the strings of her guitar. she was almost afraid to look up at him, to see just how deeply the song had affected him. but she didn’t have to look—she could feel it.

joe was silent, completely still except for the steady rise and fall of his chest. when she finally lifted her eyes to meet his, what she saw made her heart stutter. his lips were slightly parted, his blue eyes glassy, swirling with emotions so intense she could feel them in the air between them.

“baby,” he finally whispered, shaking his head like he didn’t even know where to begin. he reached for her immediately, gently taking the guitar from her hands and setting it aside before pulling her into his lap. his arms wrapped around her so tightly it was like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go.

she melted into him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck as he buried his fingers in her hair, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“you wrote that about me?” his voice was barely above a whisper, like he still couldn’t believe it.

she smiled against his skin, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. “of course i did. every word,”.

he exhaled shakily, pulling back just enough to cup her face in his hands. his thumbs brushed over her cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle as he looked at her like she had just given him the entire universe.

“you don’t know what that does to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “hearing you sing about me like that. hearing how you see me, how much you—," he cut himself off, swallowing hard before pressing his forehead against hers. “god, i love you,".

her heart swelled, her hands finding his wrists as she leaned into his warmth. “i love you too,” she whispered, closing her eyes as he kissed her—soft and slow, like he had all the time in the world to show her just how much he meant it.

when he pulled away, he rested his nose against hers, his fingers trailing down to toy with the chain around her neck. he rubbed the small pendant between his fingers, his expression impossibly tender. “you really wear this for me?”

she nodded, her fingers curling in the fabric of his hoodie. “yeah. because you really know me. and well, it is your initial, goofball,”.

joe let out a soft, disbelieving laugh before shaking his head. “you’re gonna kill me, sweetheart. you know that?”.

she giggled, and he kissed her again, this time all over—her forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose. “my sweet girl,” he murmured between kisses, “my perfect, perfect girl. this song was amazing. you are fucking amazing. thank you for feeling comfortable enough to share this with me,”.

she blushed, burying herself further into his arms, and he just held her, rocking them slightly as if to remind her—she was safe. she was his. and he wasn’t going anywhere.

[magical-reid]

Between the Lines (Part 1)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Genre: Slow Burn

Warning: This was originally going to be one part so I hope there's no weird cuts

Time Line: Season 4 Timeline (but Eddie gets a happy ending!)

Summary: When Eddie Munson pulls you out of your shell, neither of you expect it to mean everything—until Hawkins turns against him, and you’re the only one still by his side. Through the chaos of the Upside Down, near-misses, and a battle for survival, Eddie realizes he can’t lose you—and this time, he’s never letting go.

Word Count: 5.4K

Hawkins High’s cafeteria was a battlefield. Jocks and cheerleaders occupied the best real estate, their laughter bouncing off the walls, while the outcasts huddled in their usual places, dodging judgmental stares. You, however, had perfected the art of blending in—head down, nose in a book, quietly existing on the fringes where no one paid much attention.

Or at least, that’s how it used to be, until Eddie Munson had noticed you.

It started small. A few glances from across the room, his dark eyes flicking toward you whenever he was in the middle of an exaggerated monologue for Hellfire Club. Then came the nods in the hallway, casual, like he was acknowledging an old friend instead of someone who barely spoke.

You weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you sat behind him in English, quietly scribbling notes while he ignored assignments in favor of doodling song lyrics in the margins of his notebook. Maybe he saw you watching his campaign speeches in the cafeteria, not judging like the others but listening, even if you never had the courage to join.

Or maybe Eddie Munson was just the kind of person who noticed people that the rest of the world ignored.

“Y/N, right?”

Your brain short-circuited. Eddie was standing in front of you, talking to you.

You had been preparing to leave the library when he appeared like some chaotic apparition, rings glinting as he drummed his fingers on the table. The question was casual, like he wasn’t shattering your entire routine by acknowledging your existence.

“Uh—yeah.” Your voice came out quieter than you wanted, and you mentally kicked yourself.

Eddie grinned like you’d just said something hilarious. “Knew it. I don’t forget a face.”

That wasn’t true. You’d heard him confidently call Dustin “Darwin” once and insist Steve Harrington’s name was actually “Stan.” But you let it slide, because your brain was still stuck on the fact that Eddie Munson was talking to you.

“You’re in Ms. O’Donnell’s class with me,” he continued, rocking on his heels. “You always look like you wanna be anywhere else.”

You did. English was a nightmare when participation counted, and your voice never seemed to work properly when put on the spot. But you hadn’t realized Eddie noticed.

“I, uh—I like the books,” you admitted, gripping the strap of your bag. “Just… not the talking part.”

Eddie’s smile softened. “Yeah, that tracks.” He cocked his head, studying you in a way that made your stomach flip. “So, if you’re into books, what’s stopping you from joining Hellfire?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I see you watching,” Eddie said, smirking as he leaned in conspiratorially. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You’re always listening when I’m giving my grand, Shakespearean-level speeches in the cafeteria.”

Your face burned. Had you been that obvious?

Eddie’s grin widened at your reaction. “So, you like stories. You like fantasy. That tells me you’d probably love Dungeons & Dragons.” He paused, then added dramatically, “And yet, you never come sit with us. Tragic, really.”

You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, struggling to find words that wouldn’t make you sound ridiculous. You had thought about it. More than once. But joining Hellfire meant attention, meant speaking up, meant being looked at. And that terrified you.

Eddie seemed to sense your hesitation because his voice turned softer, teasing but not unkind. “Tell you what—I won’t force you. But if you ever get tired of being a background character, there’s a seat at the table for you.”

You swallowed hard.

A part of you wanted to say no, to retreat back into the safety of anonymity. But another part—the part that secretly loved fantasy worlds and the idea of being part of something—held onto Eddie’s words a little too tightly.

Because Eddie Munson had noticed you.

And maybe… just maybe… you wanted to be noticed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You thought maybe Eddie would forget.

People talked all the time—offhand invitations, casual offers that didn’t really mean anything. You figured that’s what his words had been in the library. A moment of whimsy, a fleeting thought from someone who didn’t actually expect you to take him up on it.

But Eddie Munson wasn’t most people.

So when Friday rolled around, when Hellfire Club took over the cafeteria for their weekly game, Eddie saw you.

You were sitting in your usual spot, book open but unread, fingers fidgeting with the worn edge of the page. You could hear them—the boisterous laughter, the dramatic voices, the excitement of a world unfolding in dice rolls and storytelling.

And then, his voice.

“Still in the background, huh?”

Your stomach flipped before you even looked up. Eddie was standing in front of you again, hands braced on the table, a smirk tugging at his lips.

You blinked, unsure what to say. You hadn’t expected him to follow up.

“Not even a little curious?” he pressed, tilting his head, his curls falling into his face.

You hesitated. Of course you were curious. But curiosity meant risk—meant walking into a world where you couldn’t just blend in, where you’d have to speak, to engage.

Eddie, as if sensing your internal debate, softened his approach. “Alright, new deal. No commitment, no pressure. Just come watch. Sit at the table, listen in. You don’t have to say a word.”

Your fingers tightened around your book.

It was a trap. A cleverly disguised one, because you knew Eddie wanted you to speak, to participate. But the offer was tempting. No pressure. Just watching.

You exhaled. “Just watching?”

Eddie grinned. “Scout’s honor.”

You seriously doubted Eddie Munson had ever been a Scout, but still…

You nodded.

His eyes lit up like you’d just agreed to marry him. “Hell yeah, okay—come on.”

Before you could second-guess yourself, Eddie grabbed your wrist, tugging you toward the Hellfire table. His rings were cold against your skin, his grip firm but not forceful, like he half-expected you to change your mind and run.

You didn’t.

Instead, you let him pull you into the chaos.

Dustin, Mike, Jeff, Gareth—faces you recognized but had never spoken to—glanced up in mild surprise as Eddie dragged you into a seat beside him. “Alright, gentlemen, we have a guest,” he announced, spreading his arms like he’d just unveiled a great prize.

Dustin looked delighted. “You recruited someone?”

“Not recruited,” Eddie corrected, slinging an arm over the back of your chair. You tensed at the proximity, and he must have noticed because his voice dropped into something softer. “Just watching tonight.”

The others accepted this without question, diving back into their game, and you found yourself quietly observing as their campaign unfolded. The excitement, the stakes, the way Eddie controlled the room with his voice alone.

And maybe, just maybe, you started to see what he saw.

Because for the first time in a long time, you weren’t just watching from the outside. You were there, included, and Eddie Munson had made sure of it.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You hadn’t meant to come back.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

But the next Friday, when Hellfire Club met again, you found yourself hovering just outside the cafeteria doors, heart hammering, fingers twisting in the fabric of your sweater. You weren’t sure why you were hesitating.

Eddie had invited you. No—more than that. He had wanted you there. And nothing bad had happened last time. No one had forced you to speak. No one had laughed at you.

So why were you so nervous?

You were debating whether to turn around and flee when—

“Well, well, well. Look who’s lurking.”

Your stomach flipped. You knew that voice.

Eddie.

He was leaning in the doorway like he’d been waiting for you, dark eyes filled with mischief, lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk—too warm for that.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

Eddie chuckled. “Y’know, for someone who’s really good at making herself invisible, you are terrible at sneaking.”

You huffed, heat creeping up your neck. “I wasn’t sneaking.”

His grin widened, like he was delighted to hear you defend yourself. “No? What were you doing then?”

You hesitated. “…Thinking about coming in.”

He tilted his head. “And what’s stopping you?”

You bit your lip. Everything. The usual anxieties, the weight of being seen, the fear of looking ridiculous. But saying that out loud felt impossible.

Eddie, as if sensing your internal war, took a step closer. Not enough to be overwhelming—just enough that his voice dropped into something softer, something meant just for you.

“You don’t have to be scared,” he said, his tone light but real. “It’s just a game. Just us nerds sitting around a table, rolling some dice. No stakes. No pressure.”

You wanted to believe that.

And yet—

“You’ll sit next to me again,” Eddie added, like it wasn’t a question but a promise. “I’ll help you if you want. And if it sucks, I’ll personally walk you out and never bother you about it again.”

Your heart clenched.

It was such an Eddie thing to say. Loud and dramatic and yet… sincere. Because he meant it.

And somehow, that was what made you move.

You swallowed hard, then nodded.

Eddie lit up like you’d just made his entire week. “That’s what I’m talking about. Come on, shy girl, time to throw you into the fire.”

He didn’t grab your wrist this time. Just walked beside you, slow enough that you could change your mind if you wanted.

You didn’t.

The guys greeted you like last time—Dustin practically beaming, Mike offering a nod, the others grinning like they had already accepted you as part of the background.

You liked that.

You sat down next to Eddie, your pulse still racing, fingers tightening around the hem of your sweater. The energy around the table was different tonight—higher stakes, more tension.

“Perfect timing,” Eddie declared as he sat down beside you. “We’re entering the final stretch of tonight’s campaign. And you—” he tapped a ringed finger on the table in front of you “—are going to roll for us.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “One roll. No character sheet, no stats—just luck. Our fearless warrior here—” he gestured to Dustin “—is in a tight spot. He needs backup. So, we’ll leave his fate in the hands of the newcomer.”

Your palms started sweating. Everyone was watching. Waiting.

Eddie saw your hesitation and leaned in, voice just above a whisper. “You got this. Just pick up the die and let fate decide.”

You took a shaky breath. Then, before you could overthink it, you reached out and grabbed the twenty-sided die in front of you. It was cool in your palm, heavier than you expected.

You let it roll.

It bounced across the table, spinning, spinning—

Then landed.

A natural twenty.

The table exploded.

Dustin shot to his feet. “Are you kidding me? That was a critical hit!”

Mike groaned, throwing his hands up. “She’s got beginner’s luck!”

Even Jeff and Gareth were laughing, clapping their hands as Eddie threw his head back, cackling like a maniac. “Oh-ho-ho, I knew it! I knew you had it in you!”

You blinked at the die, then at Eddie. “…That was good, right?”

Eddie grinned so wide it was blinding. “Good? That was legendary.”

And for the first time that night—maybe even the first time ever—you felt it, the feeling like you belonged.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Something was wrong.

You felt it before you understood it—an unspoken shift in the air, like the entire town of Hawkins had been holding its breath. It started small. Missing posters appearing overnight, whispers of kids seeing things that weren’t there, an electricity in the air that made your skin prickle.

Then Chrissy Cunningham died.

And Eddie Munson disappeared.

You heard the rumors before you heard the truth.

Murder. Occult rituals. Hellfire Club being a satanic cult. The kind of garbage Hawkins thrived on, spinning stories to explain away the things it couldn’t understand.

But you knew Eddie.

You knew the boy who noticed people when no one else did, who made space for you at his table without asking for anything in return. The boy who smirked at your shyness but never mocked it, who pulled you into the fire without letting you burn.

And there was no way Eddie Munson was a murderer.

Which was why, when Dustin Henderson pulled you aside between classes, frantic and breathless, you didn’t hesitate.

“You trust Eddie, right?” he asked, gripping your arm, eyes darting around like someone might be listening.

“Of course,” you said, heart pounding. “Where is he?”

Dustin hesitated. Then, after a sharp exhale, he said, “Come with me.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Eddie was hiding in Reefer Rick’s boathouse.

Dustin, Lucas, and Max had already found him, but now it was a waiting game—figuring out what the hell was happening, what had killed Chrissy, and how to keep Eddie from getting thrown in jail for something he didn’t do.

You barely had time to process before you were climbing through a boatyard window, heart in your throat, stepping into the darkened boathouse where Eddie was pacing like a caged animal.

He looked different. Smaller, somehow. His usual bravado was missing, his eyes wide and darting like he was waiting for someone to kick down the door and drag him away.

But the moment he saw you, he froze.

“…Shy girl?”

Your chest ached at how raw his voice sounded. “Hey, Eddie.”

He blinked like he wasn’t sure if you were real. “What—why—?”

You stepped closer before you could second-guess yourself. “Dustin told me what happened. I don’t believe any of it.”

Eddie let out a shaky breath. His shoulders slumped, just slightly, like he’d been bracing for you to look at him differently.

“You should,” he said, voice hollow. “You didn’t see what I saw.”

He told you then.

About Chrissy. About the impossible, horrific way she died. About the thing that had killed her—something wrong, something that shouldn’t exist.

And you believed him.

Because this was Hawkins. And in Hawkins, monsters were real.

You sat down beside him, slow and careful, like approaching a spooked animal. He looked exhausted—shaken down to his bones.

“You’re not alone, Eddie,” you said softly. “We’re going to figure this out.”

Eddie let out a wet, breathy laugh. “Shit. Never thought you’d be the one telling me that.”

You smiled, just a little. “Guess you’re rubbing off on me.”

He looked at you then. Really looked at you. And for the first time since you walked in, something in his eyes steadied.

He swallowed hard. “…That a bad thing?”

Your pulse jumped.

You weren’t sure how to answer, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like running away.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t leave, maybe you should have. Maybe it would’ve been safer to let the others handle this, to go home and pretend that Eddie Munson wasn’t sitting next to you in the dark, shaking from something that had shattered his entire world.

But you stayed.

You weren’t sure if it was because of the way he looked at you—wide-eyed and uncertain, like he was afraid you might vanish—or because, for once, you weren’t afraid to be seen.

Eddie had spent weeks pulling you out of your shell. Maybe it was your turn.

Outside, the others were whispering, trying to piece together what was happening to Hawkins. But in here, in this dimly lit boathouse where the air smelled like damp wood and old cigarettes, it was just you and Eddie.

He ran a hand through his tangled curls, exhaling sharply. “So, uh. What’s the verdict?”

You frowned. “On what?”

“Me,” he said, glancing at you sideways. His voice was forced light, a poor attempt at humor. “You sticking around because you believe me, or because you think I need a babysitter?”

Your chest ached at the way he said it. Like he was bracing for you to say the wrong thing.

So you answered carefully.

“I’m here because I want to be.”

Eddie went still.

His fingers curled against his knee, the rings glinting in the dim light. You had never seen him like this before—quiet. Uncertain. Eddie Munson filled spaces with his voice, his energy. But now, he just sat there, studying you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you.

“That’s new,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You swallowed hard. “What is?”

“You,” he said, tilting his head. “Not running. Not hiding.”

You hesitated. “You never let me.”

Eddie’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to say something, but for once, he didn’t. He just… watched you.

A strange, fragile thing settled between you. Something delicate, something that hadn’t been there before.

But before either of you could break it—

Thud.

You both jolted.

The noise came from the lake outside, something heavy moving through the water.

Dustin’s voice cut through the quiet. “Shit—guys, something’s out there.”

Eddie tensed beside you. His hand brushed yours—instinctive, unthinking—but it sent a jolt up your spine all the same.

You barely had time to process it before the world turned upside down.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The first thing you felt was Eddie’s hand gripping yours.

It wasn’t a hesitant touch, wasn’t careful—it was instinct, a desperate hold on to me as something big, something wrong, churned beneath the surface of the lake outside.

The others were scrambling, Dustin pulling at the tarp-covered windows, Max whispering a frantic what the hell was that? But all you could focus on was Eddie.

His fingers were locked around yours, cold from fear and the damp air, his rings pressing into your skin. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was holding onto you like that.

And you weren’t sure you wanted to let go.

Then the water exploded.

Jason Carver’s idiot friend—Patrick—had been out there, chasing after the other jocks. But now he was—lifted—yanked into the air like a puppet on invisible strings. His limbs snapped, his jaw wrenched open in a silent scream, and his eyes—

They caved in.

It was Chrissy all over again.

The second Patrick hit the water, Eddie yanked you back, shoving you behind him like he was the one protecting you. It was a ridiculous thought—what could either of you do against something like that?—but it made your throat tighten all the same.

Dustin swore. Lucas was shouting. And Eddie— Eddie was shaking.

His breathing had gone shallow, his entire body locked up. He looked like he was about to fall apart, like the walls were closing in on him.

And without thinking, without overanalyzing, you reached for him.

“Hey,” you whispered. Your fingers brushed his sleeve, just barely, but his head snapped toward you like you’d pulled him out of a dream.

His eyes found yours. Wild, frantic.

But yours were steady.

“You’re not alone,” you told him, voice firm despite the way your pulse was hammering. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

For a second, he just stared at you.

Then, slowly, his breathing evened out. His fingers flexed like he wanted to hold onto you again, but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded.

And that was enough.

Dustin’s voice cut through the tension. “We need to go.”

Eddie didn’t hesitate. He grabbed your wrist—not as frantic as before, but still firm, like he was making sure you were real—and pulled you toward the door.

And as the six of you ran into the night, you realized something:

This wasn’t just Eddie pulling you out of the shadows anymore.

This time, you were pulling him back, too.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t stop running until your lungs burned.

Dustin led the way, weaving through the trees like he’d done this a hundred times before, Max and Lucas close behind. But you barely noticed them—your entire world had shrunk to the feel of Eddie’s fingers wrapped around your wrist, his grip still tight like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers.

He only let go when you reached the edge of the forest, doubling over to catch his breath. His hands found his knees, his wild curls falling into his face, his breath coming out in short, frantic bursts.

You wanted to say something—to do something—but before you could, Dustin spoke.

“We need to get Eddie somewhere safe,” he said, glancing over his shoulder like he expected half of Hawkins to come crashing through the trees. “It’s only a matter of time before the cops start combing the woods.”

Eddie let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Great. Just what I need. Another reason for the whole damn town to be out for my blood.”

Lucas frowned. “We could take him to my house. My parents aren’t home.”

Max shook her head. “Too risky. Carver and his goons probably already checked there.”

Dustin’s face lit up. “Steve’s house. His parents are home, but they’re clueless. He’s got a big basement—perfect for laying low.”

Eddie groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Harrington? Seriously?”

Dustin crossed his arms. “Dude, do you have better options?”

Eddie opened his mouth, then closed it. He had nothing.

You hesitated. You’d been quiet this whole time, still rattled by what had happened at the lake, but you couldn’t ignore the tension rolling off of Eddie in waves. He was still breathing too fast, still shifting like he was barely holding himself together.

And something about it hurt.

“…He shouldn’t be alone,” you said softly.

Eddie’s head snapped toward you.

You felt all four pairs of eyes on you, but you ignored them. Instead, you focused on Eddie, who was watching you like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You swallowed hard, then pushed forward. “I mean—it’s just, you’ve been alone this whole time, right? Running. Hiding. And now you don’t have to.” Your fingers twisted in your sweater. “If we’re laying low, I can stay with you. Just until we figure things out.”

Eddie blinked, mouth slightly open, like his brain was buffering.

Dustin grinned. “That’s actually a great idea.”

Eddie made a strangled noise. “I—what—are you guys just making plans for me now?”

Lucas shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Max smirked. “Welcome to the club, Munson.”

Eddie threw his hands up in exasperation, muttering something under his breath, but when his eyes flicked back to you, something in them softened.

You weren’t sure if it was the way you’d said he shouldn’t be alone or the fact that you’d offered to stay, but something shifted between you.

And despite everything—despite the fear, the danger, the unknown—he gave a short, tired nod.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But if Harrington tries to make me use his shampoo, I’m out.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Steve Harrington’s basement was nicer than you expected.

It wasn’t dingy or unfinished like Eddie’s trailer—there was carpet, old furniture, and a couch that looked way too expensive to be shoved in a basement. But the best part? It was hidden.

Which meant Eddie could finally breathe.

You sat on the couch, knees pulled up to your chest as the others argued upstairs. Something about supplies, about Nancy and Robin meeting up with them later. You weren’t really listening.

Because Eddie was pacing again.

His fingers twitched at his sides, his rings catching the dim light. He’d been quiet ever since you got here, chewing his thumbnail, his movements jittery and restless.

You exhaled. “Eddie.”

He didn’t stop. “This is insane. I’m hiding in Steve Harrington’s basement. This is actually my life right now.”

You hesitated. “It won’t be forever.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “You sure about that?”

No. You weren’t sure about anything.

But you hated seeing him like this.

So you did something you never would’ve done weeks ago.

You reached out and grabbed his hand.

Eddie froze.

His skin was warm, the metal of his rings cold against your fingers. You hadn’t really thought about it, hadn’t planned it—just acted on instinct, pulling him back to you the same way he had done for you.

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and startled.

You swallowed hard. “You’re not alone, Eddie.”

His breath hitched.

For a second, neither of you moved. Your fingers were still curled around his, but you didn’t pull away. And neither did he.

Then—slowly, carefully—his grip tightened.

Just barely. Just enough to hold on.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God. You really don’t scare easy, huh?”

You huffed a soft laugh. “I do. Just not around you.”

Eddie went still.

Something shifted. The air between you thickened, the weight of your words hanging there, unspoken but understood.

His fingers flexed against yours.

And then—

The basement door swung open.

You jumped, yanking your hand back as Steve clomped down the stairs, arms full of blankets. “Alright, Munson, you’re officially our problem now. Make yourself comfortable.”

Eddie didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stood there, watching you like he was seeing you for the first time.

And something in your chest ached.

Because you both knew that something had changed.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You didn’t sleep.

Eddie didn’t, either.

The basement was quiet now—Dustin, Lucas, and Max had left, Steve had finally gone to bed, and the house above you was still. The only light came from a dim lamp in the corner, barely illuminating the space between you and Eddie.

He was sitting on the floor near the couch, leaning back against it, one knee bent, fingers twisting at his rings. You were curled up on the cushions, pretending to read a book you’d found on Steve’s shelf.

You weren’t actually reading it.

Because Eddie was acting weird.

Not loud, not animated, not filling the silence like usual. He was… watching you. Not constantly, not in an obvious way, but in these small, flickering glances, like he was trying to figure something out.

And it was killing you.

Finally, you broke the silence. “You’re staring.”

Eddie startled slightly, caught in the act. “Uh—what? No, I’m not.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat, shifting. “Okay, maybe I was. But only ‘cause I’m still trying to wrap my head around something.”

You hesitated. “What?”

His fingers drummed against his knee. He didn’t answer right away, like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say it out loud.

Then, finally—soft, careful—

“You stayed.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You could’ve left,” he said, watching you intently now. “Back at the boathouse. When you found out what I’d seen, what was happening—you could’ve run. Hell, most people would’ve. But you didn’t.”

Your throat tightened. “Neither did you.”

Eddie huffed a quiet laugh. “I didn’t really have a choice, sweetheart.”

The nickname sent something warm through you, but you ignored it. “That’s not true,” you said, voice softer now. “You could’ve run from us. Stayed hidden. But you didn’t. You let me find you.”

Eddie’s expression flickered. Like that hadn’t occurred to him.

Silence stretched between you. The air was thick, heavy with something unspoken.

Then, he exhaled.

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “This is weird, right? Like—weird weird?”

You frowned. “What is weird?”

He hesitated. Then—“Us.”

Your breath caught.

Eddie must’ve seen something in your face because he backtracked immediately, hands flailing. “Not weird bad! Just—not what I expected? Like, I thought I had you figured out—shy, quiet, probably wanted nothing to do with a guy like me—and then boom, you’re here, riding this whole nightmare out with me, and I’m just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s messing with my head.”

Your heart was pounding.

Because you felt it too.

This thing between you. The way it had shifted, deepened. The way Eddie was looking at you now—not just like you were a surprise, but like he was seeing you differently.

Like he didn’t want you to be just another quiet observer in his life.

Like he wanted more.

You swallowed hard. “Eddie.”

He went very still.

You could feel the air shift again, thick and warm, something dangerous curling between you.

If you said something now, if you acknowledged it—

The line would be crossed.

But before you could open your mouth—

The phone upstairs rang.

Eddie jumped like he’d been electrocuted.

Then, almost immediately, he was on his feet, shaking off whatever had just happened like it hadn’t stolen the breath from both of you. “That’s probably Henderson. We should—uh—we should see what’s up.”

And just like that, the moment was gone.

But as Eddie jogged up the stairs, leaving you standing there, hands curled into fists—

You knew that this wasn’t just in your head, and you knew that Eddie felt it too. And sooner or later, one of you would have to stop running from it.

Part 2

[gay-dorito-dust]

Dorito my beloved, would u ever consider writing a Jason x reader blurb where reader has a bad day and in an attempt to cheer them up he either brings home their fav ice cream or frozen treat or takes them out to somewhere like cold stone creamery for ice cream, and then after a successful cheering up reader kisses him on the cheek and then he tells because COLD… it feels weird to send an ask I’ve never done it before so sorry if it comes off weird? Anyways I love your writing and I’m always pleased to see u pop up on my feed :)!

Oh what I wouldn’t give to have this man comfort me on the shitty days.

Jason knew that as of recent there was storm cloud hanging over you. You looked as horrible and you felt horrible and given how little you talked about it, the distant look in your eyes or how all you wanted to do was retreat to your room and go to sleep said it all for him. He understood that not everyday was going to be a good one but recently it seemed as though you had more of a shitty week then anything else, and you just didn’t want him to know about it, but unfortunately for you Jason was far more observant when it comes to you than most give him credit for.

And he knew just what might help ease that feeling of nothingness, of the numbness and perpetual exhaustion that riddled you right now.

‘Sweetheart?’ Jason popped his head through the doorway, spotting your unmoving form on your shared bed, taking this as his cue as he entered the bedroom to sit on the bed as close to you to you as he could. ‘I got you a little something that I know might cheer you up, even it’s a little bit.’

‘What?’ Your say shortly, already feeling as though saying any more would only drain you even further then you already were to begin with.

‘Ice cream.’ Jason replied as he sets aside quite a decent sized tub of honeycomb ice cream on the bedside table before moving to make himself comfortable in bed next to you, making sure to keep some distance between the two of you unless you asked for him to close the distance. You managed to muster out a weak ‘thank you’ to Jason as you sat yourself up against the headboard of the bed, reaching out to grab the tub of ice cream to your lap, not noticing that Jason had a tub of ice cream himself until you looked over at him shovelling spoonfuls into his mouth; which made his cheeks puff out much like that of a chipmunk.

Jason tended to be somewhat of a messy eater and it lead to quite humorous situations where you were left wiping sauce from his lips, crumbs from his cheeks and left over ice cream that had somehow missed his mouth. You might not have been feeling all that great of a week but you knew you could always count on Jason to remember things you’ve said in passing, and use it to his advantage to make you feel better despite whether or not he himself wasn’t feeling too up to it; it was something about him that you loved deeply and couldn’t help but admire.

Your sour moods, depressive states and moments of sadness never lasted long when you were with Jason as he always brought a sense of comfort, a sense of understanding when he coddled you against his chest while whispering sweet nothings against your forehead. He was your comfort, your strength and your guiding light all in one and you would forever be grateful for everything he’s ever done for you, even if you didn’t have the strength to do so but you’d always make up for it by letting him know that his hard work payed off by one simple act; smiling.

So as you continued to watch Jason inhale half of his ice cream, not waiting long enough to finish swallowing before shovelling in more of the cold sweet treat, and in a way that you worried that he would give himself major brain freeze. However you were more focused on just hoe full his cheeks were getting and the mess he was leaving all across his face, some part off you felt as though this was all an intentional shoe just to make you feel better, but another part of you appreciated that Jason was more then willing to look a little goofy and be a little silly if it meant making you forget everything that has left you wanting to wallow in eternal isolation.

You could feel the weight lift from your chest and the fog clear form your head slowly as you started to smile, only to let out a soft chuckle which caught on Jason’s ear as he stopped his shovelling to look at you with soft, attentive eyes. ‘What is it? Is there something on my face?’ He asked through a mouthful of ice cream as he began to touch his face with his hand, something that only proved in smearing ice cream further across his cheeks, which only added to the humour of it all as your cheeks were more or less hurting from how large your smile had become.

‘Yes, a lot of it if you don’t stop doing that!’ You replied as you reached over to swat away his hand in order to wipe the ice cream that had started to dry on his cheeks even, only pulling away when you were satisfied with your work. ‘There, that’s better you don’t look like a messy chipmunk now, just a full one.’ You teased as you kissed that very same cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your chilled lips from the ice cream as you smiled before pulling away, not forgetting the beautiful way his breath hitched the moment your lips met his warm skin. ‘Thank you.’

‘Whatever for gorgeous?’ Jason asks as he looked at you adoringly, happy to see you be at least somewhat better now. In truth his cheeks were starting to hurt from how much melting ice cream he was stuffing in them full, not that he’d ever tell you that as all he wanted was to offer you some light in your darkest times, much like how you did for him when he was in the same predicament you’re in now.

‘For being you, for making me feel better, for being here with me and most importantly being my anything and everything.’ You say to him as you set aside your now empty tub of ice cream to cuddle into his side, resting your head against his chest with his arms moving to keep you tethered to him, though not that you were complaining as you felt his lips cascade gently semi-chilled kisses across your face, forehead and nose.

‘You don’t ever have to thank me for anything darling.’ Jason whispered to you as he noses the side of your head, kissing it. ‘I’m just come here with one thing in mind and one thing only, to make my sweetheart smile again like they should be always.’ He adds as he hold you tighter against him, smiling to himself in victory that he had helped ease the conflict within your mind, even for a little while but Jason was more then willing to keep up the fight until you get better again to stand up on your own.

[kiwriteswords]

The light reflects the chain on your neck [Aaron Hotchner x Birthday!Reader]

Masterlist (updated!!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 700|| AN: It's my birthday weekend, so I wanted to share a few ficlets of Reader and Hotch inspired by that. These will be fully self-indulgent, so I apologize! Tags/Warnings: female reader, reader's birthday, gift giving, BAU!Reader, building romance, fluff. Summary: You wouldn't have picked Hotch to be the gift-giving, birthday-celebrating guy--but for you, he is.

The bullpen was quiet--quieter than it had been in days. The case had been a long one, stretching over state lines, exhausting every last ounce of patience and energy you had.

But it was done. The unsub was caught, the victims’ families had answers, and the team had finally made it back to Quantico, some retreating home while others finished reports under the dim office lighting.

You stayed behind, not ready to leave just yet. There was something about the stillness of the office after hours that felt grounding, like the adrenaline still coursing through your system needed time to settle before you could convince yourself to sleep.

Hotch was still here, of course. He always was. His office light glowed faintly through the blinds, casting long shadows across the walls. He had come downstairs at some point, returning from whatever final briefing he had to endure, and now he was across from you, leaning against the edge of your desk with that ever-present sense of quiet authority.

His tie was slightly loosened, and his sleeves rolled up past his forearms--telltale signs that even he was tired.

“You should go home,” he said, voice low in the near-empty bullpen.

You smirked, raising a brow as you leaned back in your chair. “You first.”

He huffed a quiet breath, amused but not entirely disagreeing. Instead of responding, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box, setting it down on your desk with the kind of deliberate movement that made your stomach flip.

Your brows furrowed. “What’s this?”

Hotch met your gaze, expression unreadable but tinged with something softer. “Your birthday was two days ago.”

You blinked. With everything that had happened, you had barely thought about it. The case had swallowed up the week, leaving little room for anything outside of work and exhaustion.

“You remembered?”

He gave you a look--one that suggested he found the question absurd.

You hesitated only briefly before taking the box, fingers carefully peeling away the paper. 

“Aaron Hotchner,” you paused at the wrapping paper, raising a brow, “you got me a present?”

His expression was unreadable, save for the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Yes, that’s generally what people do for birthdays.”

A quiet laugh left you, shaking your head as you continued to unwrap the gift. “I didn’t think you did birthday gifts.”

“I don’t.” He hesitated, then added, “Not usually.”

The weight of those words settled over you, heavier than they should have been.

You pried it open with delicate fingers, breath catching at what was inside. Nestled neatly in a small velvet pouch was a locket. Simple, elegant, something you could wear every day without it drawing attention.

Your fingers traced over the smooth surface, its weight both unfamiliar and achingly familiar all at once. “I had one like this when I was a kid,” you murmured. “But I never knew what to put inside it.”

Hotch remained quiet, watching you with that quiet intensity of his.

You carefully pried the locket open. Inside, on one side, was a small photograph of the team--one of those rare moments where you were all together, laughing, existing beyond the chaos of your work. On the other side, a second photo.

Just you and him.

It wasn’t staged. Wasn’t forced. Just a candid moment from an outing you didn’t even remember, the two of you standing side by side in quiet conversation, the familiarity between you obvious even in a still frame.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the warmth creeping into your chest. “I can’t believe you remembered this photo.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t waver. “I remember everything when it comes to you.”

The words settled somewhere deep, somewhere you weren’t sure you were ready to acknowledge yet.

You weren’t sure a man had ever bought you jewelry before. Something about it… jewelry--it felt so…so intimate. 

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you traced the edge of the locket. “You know, you’re dangerously close to ruining your reputation.”

His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile you’d get from him in the middle of the office. “So I’ve been told.”

Silence stretched between you--not awkward, but weighted with something unspoken. Something neither of you had put into words, not yet.

You glanced at him, something caught between gratitude and something else--something deeper. “Thank you, Hotch.”

He nodded once, then pushed off your desk, his voice softer than usual. “Come on.”

You pocketed the locket carefully, grabbing your bag before following him toward the elevator.

For the first time in a long time, the idea of going home didn’t feel so lonely.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry @superlegend216  

[undressrehearsal]

a bite of luxury

part 2

summary: it's been a week since you and ellie's date. you weren't ignoring her - but you were also too afraid of what she might be. so when she shows up to your apartment, you have pretty mixed feelings

tags: sugarmommy!ellie, rich!ellie, vampire!ellie, lot of talk about blood, oral(r!receiving), fingering(r! receiving), afab reader, ellie's a bit stalker-y tbh, smallest bit of bloodplay (what do u expect), slightest bit of praise kink, this shit is filthy tbh

word count: ~9k

a/n: listen i'm sorry I work 50 hr weeks and i'm writing a book so it takes me FOREVER to write shit but i hope y'all like this one cause i love it. if you wanna be added to my tag list just lmk!

part 1

You hadn't talked to Ellie in nearly a week. 

It wasn’t that you were ignoring her. It was just that any time she texted you you could do nothing but stare at the letters for several minutes hoping they’d make sense before you finally shut your phone off. She had called you once, the day after your date, but you just let it ring in your hand until it finally fell silent, convincing yourself that it was only because you were hungover and didn’t feel like talking to anybody. (She, of course, left you a voicemail telling you how much she enjoyed your date and that Riley wanted to meet you.) 

You weren't ignoring her. 

You were just avoiding her. 

Which was different, right? 

That night, when Ellie came back into the sitting room with two glasses of water, she had found you standing by the mantle, looking for all the world like a frightened animal. When you had heard her coming, you had set the frame down as though it had burned you, putting it back into its spot on the mantle, face down. Perhaps it was better like that. If you had to look at the sepia face staring up at you and the very real, unchanged face smiling at you in the warmth of this house, you weren't sure how you'd react. 

You weren't sure what your face held, but whatever it was made Ellie's steps slow. She came to a stop several feet away, looking at you warily. “Everything okay?” 

You had only nodded and politely asked her to take you home. 

She didn’t argue, and you couldn’t decide if you preferred that over the alternative. She opened the car door for you, closing it gently once you were settled. You didn't say much on the drive home - your head was still swimming with wine and confusion and the heat still pooling between your legs. Ellie tried making conversation, asking you about your plans for the week and if you wanted to meet up again sometime, but your heart wasn’t in it; it was a million miles and two-hundred years away. You could only give her one-word replies, running your hands over the expensive leather seats to ground yourself. 

She walked you to the door of your apartment complex. You didn’t kiss her, only said goodnight and went inside, leaving her standing out in the cold. Although you weren’t sure if she could actually feel it. 

You weren’t sure what she was. 

The logical part of your brain tried to convince you that it wasn’t anything, that you had just been drunk and tired and way too turned on to think straight. You tried to tell yourself it hadn’t been Ellie in that picture - that it was an ancestor that looked disturbingly similar - that it was just a stage photo taken to look like it was from the 1800s - that you weren’t crazy. But some part of you - some primal instinct that prickled at your skin and raised the hair on the back of your neck - knew that you were full of shit and wouldn’t let you forget it. 

You knew what you saw. It was no trick of the light, no staged photo. Ellie had - impossibly, inexplicably - been at that house in 1816. 

You sat in the quiet of your apartment, only the light of the full moon and your laptop’s blue screen illuminating your bedroom. You couldn't even hear the normal traffic that blared from the street all hours of the night. The only thing you could hear - the only sound penetrating this deafening, suffocating silence - was your own heartbeat. 

You felt so stupid - crazy, really - but you typed the words anyway: What can live forever?

That wasn't entirely helpful. Google fed you an article about jellyfish - Turritopsis dohrnii, the “immortal jellyfish”. The only creature on Earth that was biologically immortal. You rubbed at your aching eyes - you hadn't been sleeping well - and tried again. 

Can humans live forever? 

That didn't really help either. Now you got articles about cryogenic freezing and uploading your consciousness into a computer - you were pretty sure the former hadn't even been a thing in the 1800s, and as for the latter, you definitely didn't think Ellie was a computer. A computer couldn’t kiss like that, couldn’t grip your hair and press promises into the hollow of your throat, cold fingers skimming over your skin-

You groaned, pressing your knuckles into your eyes. That kind of train of thought was exactly why it had become increasingly difficult to avoid Ellie. You couldn’t count the number of times in the past few days that your thumb had hovered over her name on your phone, your wired, sleep-deprived heart unable to resist a mystery. But this wasn’t some fucking Agatha Christie novel, and you definitely weren’t the main character. This was real life, and until you knew what Ellie was and what she could do - other than have eternal beauty, apparently - your instinct told you not to trust her. 

You felt insanely stupid - illogical and delusional and a million other synonyms - but the cheesy scene in that teenage-brain rot vampire movie came to mind: You’re pale white and ice cold. Maybe it wasn’t the most outlandish idea, when you really thought about it; it was no more outlandish than Ellie being at that house when it was built in 1816. Besides, maybe it added up: Her fingers had felt like ice on your cheek. She never blushed, not even after you had made out - a fact that had left you self-conscious before but would make a lot more sense. You couldn't deny that you had felt a strong, unnatural pull to her. And the metallic smell that seemed to cling to her beneath her perfume….

So, feeling like a cheap impersonator of Kristen Stewart, you typed in vampires. 

The page was still buffering, your shitty, cheap internet taking its sweet time as always, when there was a sharp knock on your apartment door. 

You jumped so hard your laptop slipped from the bed and fell to the floor with a sickening thud. You flinched, hoping it was just a broken screen you could live with. You got up, stepping around the fallen soldier, and left the blissful darkness of your bedroom, flicking the light on in your living room. But when you opened the front door, you wanted nothing more than to slam it shut again. 

Ellie stood in the dingy hallway, the worn leather jacket finally making an appearance over her shoulders. Her hair stood at odd ends, as though she had been tugging at it. Yet, even looking haggard in a torn jacket, she looked just as good as she had amongst the stars. 

And here you were, standing in your messy apartment in your favorite pajamas, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. 

Somehow, Ellie was the one that looked sheepish; she couldn't quite meet your eyes, scratching the back of her head and fidgeting with the hem of her jacket. Before your survival instincts could convince you to close the door, she said, in the softest voice imaginable, “Hi.” 

And you could no longer bring yourself to close the door in her adorable fucking face.

When you didn't respond, Ellie nodded, seemingly to herself, rocking on her heels awkwardly. She spoke to her shoes when she said, “Sorry, I know this is probably really fucking weird.” 

“That's an understatement,” you said, surprising yourself with a laugh. You almost felt bad when she flinched.

Frankly, you probably should have closed the door and locked it behind you. You had only gone on one date with Ellie, and she was suddenly showing up to your apartment in the middle of the night. You had practically ghosted her for several days now, and for some reason she had come crawling back to you like a dog. Yeah, it was beyond weird - creepy, almost. And yet…. 

Ellie shifted, fidgeting, biting her lip so hard it looked like she might draw blood (could she bleed?). “You just…. After our date, you seemed really upset and I've been worried about you.” She spoke in a rush, as though the words were racing to leave her tongue. “I-I don't know if it's something I did, but if it is - I want to make it up to you. Whatever it is, I'm sorry. I-” She hesitated, finally looking up at you through her lashes. “And, honestly, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.” 

You pulled the blanket tighter around you to try to hide your pajamas - an oversized t-shirt from some anime you hadn't watched in years and a pair of shorts so short you couldn't possibly wear them anywhere other than your own room. You leaned against the doorframe, trying your damnedest to look nonchalant - to look like your heart wasn't trying to escape your chest - and said, “What are you doing here?” 

Your heart did some kind of embarrassing acrobatic routine at her words. You tried to keep your voice steady, as though your cheeks weren't obviously burning: “You didn't do anything. I just….” 

I saw a picture of you looking just as young and beautiful in 1816 and freaked out and honestly I don't know what you are or if you're dangerous and I'm scared to find out but I also can't deny that I haven't stopped thinking about you either. 

Yeah, you couldn't say that. 

Instead, you said, like a coward,, “I've just been busy, honestly.” 

Tension drained from Ellie, her jaw visibly unclenching, that cute pinch between her brows smoothing. A relieved smile tugged at her lips. 

“Okay,” she said, a little too breathlessly. She cleared her throat and tried again: “Okay. That's-That's good. Um….” She looked around, taking in your dim apartment behind you before her eyes landed on you again. She noticed, seemingly for the first time, that you were in your pajamas. An amused - almost fond - smile lit up her eyes. “You look a little busy right now. Do you… I can text you later, maybe? I'd love to go on another date. If you want to.” 

You sized her up, taking in the infamous jacket and the black t-shirt underneath. She blended in surprisingly well with your shabby apartment complex - down to the worn out converse. You shouldn't have invited her in. After everything, you'd be stupid to invite her into your apartment. You were just talking about how she might be dangerous, how you couldn't trust her…. 

So, you didn't invite her inside. You simply said, “I was actually just about to turn on a movie,” and walked away. You left the door open, a silent expectation for her to follow you inside. Without looking back, you said, “Do you want anything to drink?” 

When Ellie didn't respond, you turned back to find her still standing right outside the door. Her eyes were wide, looking like a deer watching a car barrel towards it, unable to move. She rocked back on her heels, blowing an awkward breath through pursed lips. “Can I, um- Can I come in?” 

You slowly turned to her, setting down the empty cup you had picked up. Taking a cautious step toward her, you said, “What do you mean?” 

Ellie laughed that rough, charming laugh, but it rang hollow. It would have been imperceptible to anyone who wasn't already looking for red flags. “I mean, it's rude to come in uninvited. I've never been to your place before, I don't want to - you know, overstep, I guess.” 

You squinted at her, alarm bells blaring in your ears. “You're not overstepping anything.” 

She pressed her lips together, impatience creeping into her shoulders. “So… Can I come in?” 

“Can you?” 

Ellie blinked at you. “What?” 

You took several steps towards her, stopping just inside the doorway - just where she couldn't reach you. There was some kind of panic behind her eyes, like a child that had been caught red-handed. Setting your shoulders, you repeated, “Can you?” 

She stumbled over her words, syllables tripping over her tongue: “I- it's rude to just barge into somebody's home-” 

“And I'm telling you it's not rude,” you interrupted. You held a hand out to her, careful to keep your fingers right inside the doorway. “So why can't you come in?” 

Ellie looked at your outstretched hand, her eyes wide and desperate. She reached out to you before drawing her hand back sharply, as though she had been burned. A low growl rose from her throat, and she snapped, “I just can't, okay?” 

Your eyebrows rose, your heart pounding against your ribcage. You should have been afraid - you were so close to the truth you could taste it - but you couldn't find the fear inside yourself. Instead, there was only the warm touch of relief. 

You took another step towards her, still carefully inside the doorway. You were so close you could smell that warm, metallic scent that clung to her. Knowing what it might be, it should have disgusted you; instead, you were buzzing with an overwhelming curiosity. A restlessness burned in your fingertips - inexplicably, you wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her. You wanted to feel the burn of her cold fingers against you. 

“Tell me what you are,” you murmured, unwilling to speak any louder for fear that you would shatter the barrier between you - the barrier protecting you.

“Hopefully more than a first date,” Ellie said, that hollow laugh trying to cut through the tension. When you only looked at her, she faltered, that mask cracking just a little more. Ellie's jaw worked, the muscle flexing. She said, slowly now, as though you were a frightened animal, “I'm just Ellie. I'm here because I missed you. I really want to come in and just watch a movie with you. Can I please come in?” A desperate whine tinted her words, sending an embarrassing flush to your cheeks. 

You grit your teeth, lifting your chin stubbornly. “I found that picture. The one of the house - the one dated back to 1816 when it was built. You were there.” If she had any, you imagined the blood would've drained from Ellie's face. “How were you there? How old are you, really? What are you?”

Ellie looked like she wanted to argue - her lips curled back in a snarl, her fists clenched at her sides. You should have been afraid - you should have been terrified - but really you were just craving the truth. 

Finally, she sighed, her shoulders dropping as all the fight seemed to leave her body at once. She scrubbed a hand across her face and said, “Look, nobody's ever…. Nobody's ever asked me that before. Nobody… nobody cared before. Nobody looked. The people I've met on Seeking only wanted sex and money - that's what I'm good at. But you….” She paused, lips opening and closing hesitantly. “I don't know why, but you're different. You obviously know something isn't normal here. So I'd really, really like to talk.” 

You hesitated, crossing your arms. “If I let you in here, how do I know you won't just… try to shut me up.” You couldn't phrase it any other way. 

“I'm not going to hurt you,” she said. She brought her hands up, fingers seeming to press at some invisible barrier that separated you. “Besides,” she added with a short, wicked flash of teeth (you had never noticed just how sharp her canines really were), “I'm not particularly worried about you spreading anything. Nobody would actually believe you.” 

You swallowed, her words sending a dangerous chill down your spine. She was right, of course. Who would believe somebody who started spreading rumors that some rich woman they met on a dating website was a bloodthirsty monster? 

Every ounce of your self-preservation instincts told you to close the door, to ignore the inhuman pull you felt towards her. It screamed at you that this was an awful idea that could only end in heartbreak, that you'd be far safer if you simply never spoke to this woman again. It was the natural instinct of prey. 

And yet, like an idiot, you said, “Fine. You can come in.” 

With the spell broken, Ellie stepped through the doorway with a relieved sigh. You took a hasty step back to let her through, but it didn't much matter. By coming through, she stepped right into your personal space, so close that you could feel her breath on your cheeks. It brought a rush of memories from the night at her house - you could practically feel the hard bookcase against your back, her lips pressing against your pulse, so shockingly hot compared to the rest of her. 

You muttered an apology - unsure just what you were apologizing for - and stepped aside. Gesturing to your living room, you said, “Make yourself comfortable,” before retreating to the kitchen. 

Truthfully, it wasn’t much of a retreat. Your apartment was small, no larger than Ellie’s bedroom, probably (you tried very hard to not think about Ellie’s bedroom). The sink was only a few extra steps away from your couch, but the shabby carpet changed abruptly into tile, so it was technically a different room. 

When you went to ask her again if she wanted anything to drink, your voice died in your throat. Does she drink? That thought alone caused your brain to short-circuit, some survival instinct forcing you to face reality and change the question to Does she drink water? 

You decided not to ask, instead filling up two glasses of water before squaring your shoulders, taking a deep breath, and going back into the living room. It was small, only enough space for a single sofa that had been gifted to you, a coffee table, a TV stand that you had found at a second-hand shop, and a small TV that you bought off of Facebook marketplace. It wasn’t much, but it was cozy. You had set up string lights on the ceiling, and you plugged them in before turning off the blaring overhead light, casting the room in a warm, hazy glow. 

Ellie had taken a seat on the sofa, hands fiddling absently in her lap. You set the glasses down on the coffee table before sitting on the opposite end of the sofa, as far away as you physically could. You pulled your legs up so they acted as a barrier between you. 

After several long, unbearably silent moments, Ellie blew out a breath, laughing awkwardly. She didn't look at you when she said, “You probably have questions.”

“No shit, I have questions.” It came out sharper than you intended, and you just hoped she couldn't bleed. “My first one being why the hell did you show up to my apartment in the middle of the night?” 

Ellie winced; you almost felt bad about it. “To be fair, it's only seven.” When you only scowled at her, she hastily continued, “I told you. I missed you. I… I was worried about you.” 

“Why?” you said, unable to prevent your voice from softening. “We only went on one date.” 

Ellie shrugged, looking as though she'd be blushing if she could. Her voice was small when she said, “I just… really like you, I guess.” 

And you decided to leave it at that. 

“What are you?” you asked instead.

She looked at you then, a twinkle in her eye. “I think you know that already.” 

“I want to hear you say it.” 

Ellie held your gaze; you felt as though you were paralyzed, your body frozen under the watchful eyes of a predator. “I have a lot of names. Nosferatu. Hominus Nocturna. Upyr. Leech. Blood breed.” Her teeth - fangs - flashed when she smiled. “Vampire. Pick your favorite.” 

You weren’t surprised - you had known, after all. But your hands shook where they rested on your knees, your palms suddenly sticky with sweat. Your heart hammered against your ribs and you wondered if she could hear it. You weren’t surprised, your body just hadn't gotten the memo. 

You nodded and cleared your throat. You reached for the glass just to have something to do with your hands. The cold water was a blissful distraction, giving you a moment of reprieve. When you set it back down, you hoped she didn’t see the way your fingers trembled. 

When you found your tongue again, you said, “What about the pictures?” When Ellie only furrowed her brow and cocked her head, you continued, “On your profile. And all the pictures you sent me. All the myths say that… vampires,” you choked on the word, “don’t show up in pictures. And mirrors,” you added, suddenly remembering the mirror in her foyer. You left the question hanging in the air, a tangible thing, until Ellie reached out to grab it. 

“That myth was written centuries again,” she said, amusement tinting her words. “Silver… silver’s basically my kryptonite, right? That one’s true. Mirrors used to be made with it, which is why it wouldn’t show a reflection. But now they’re mostly made of aluminum, I think - like the one you saw at my house. Photos are the same idea,” she continued, taking out her phone as though to demonstrate. She turned the camera on, turning it around so you could see her image on the screen. “Film cameras were made with silver too - a lot of film cameras still are. But for the most part, there’s none in phone cameras. I can send you all the selfies you want.” Her image in the camera grinned that devastatingly crooked grin before she clicked the phone off again, tucking it back into her pocket. 

Her mini history lesson left your head spinning. You shook it off and said, “Did you ask me out just to…?” You couldn’t bring yourself to finish that sentence. 

Elllie’s eyes widened in alarm. She turned her entire body to you, and you suddenly wanted to shrink away from her intense stare. Her words rushed past her lips, fighting to get out first: “No! Holy shit, no - it’s not like that, I swear. I asked you out because I liked you, okay?” 

You couldn’t stop the stupid smile that pulled at your lips. Cocking a brow, you teased, “Past tense?” 

Ellie fumbled for a moment, her lips opening and closing with no sound, before she finally huffed out an incredulous laugh, looking up at you from under her lashes. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

You ignored the warmth that spread in your chest. Clearing your throat, you said, “Do you… Do you turn people?” 

“I haven’t for a long time.” 

You weren’t sure if that brought you any comfort. 

You didn’t want to ask, but you needed to know: “How many… humans have you killed?” 

Ellie didn’t look at you when she said, “You don’t want to know the answer to that.” She paused before adding, “But if it’s any comfort, I haven’t done that in a long time either.” 

“So if you don’t turn people and you don’t kill them, what do you eat?” You regretted the question as soon as you asked it. 

“You can… feed on somebody without turning them. It takes practice to know how much to drink without hurting them. And I’ve had a lot of practice.” 

You decided to leave it at that. 

“If you’re not trying to… you know, feed… on me…,” the words felt impossibly big in your mouth, “then can you turn it off?” 

Ellie’s brow furrowed again. “Turn what off?” 

“You know, the,” you waved a hand over yourself, as if encompassing your entire being, “the weird, vampire allure you have. The intense… draw I feel when I’m near you.” 

When you looked up at her, Ellie had that playful spark in her eye again, her lips quirking. She was looking at you like you were the most interesting thing she had ever seen, something new and entrancing. “That’s a myth,” she murmured.

The soft, rough tone in her voice caused a shiver to race down your spine. You asked, dumbly, “What?” 

Ellie’s smile only widened. “There’s no weird, vampire allure. There’s nothing supernatural about that. That’s just how much you like me.” 

Your cheeks flushed, your skin aflame with something akin to embarrassment, but it was slightly softer, more pleasant. You nodded, and could only bring your lips to say, weakly, “Okay.”

But Ellie didn't seem keen on dropping it. She turned to face you fully, drawing her legs up onto the couch; it was small enough that you could feel her pants on your shin, the rough press of denim against your bare skin. “Hell no, you don't just get to brush past that. You really-” She licked her lips and you tried not to trace the path of her tongue with your eyes. 

She didn't have to finish the question. Besides, there'd be no point in hiding it. Maybe you didn't even want to.

You looked up at her, her intense expression making you want to sink into the floor. You made yourself nod, your tongue refusing to hold onto any words to describe it. 

Ellie leaned in closer, her eyes never leaving yours. You felt so incredibly small under her gaze. Something akin to hunger flashed in her eyes, the eagerness of a snake right before it strikes, yet the icy feeling of fear didn't run through your blood. No, something far warmer flooded your veins. 

Her voice dropped to a murmur, Ellie said, “Got any more questions, sweetheart?” 

You almost didn't ask. You shouldn't, really. It'd be like tempting fate, placing your head right into its enticing maw. But your curiosity tugged at you, impossible to ignore or deny, so you said, “Can I see them?”

You didn't want to elaborate - you didn't even have to. Ellie pulled her legs under her so she could lean closer, close enough for you to smell that sweetly metallic scent that made your head spin. Still, she gave you enough space to move away as she parted her lips, watching you carefully.

Her fangs glistened in the low light, the bulbs above you glinting off the pearly white surface. You weren't sure how you didn’t notice them before. You didn't want to say they were obvious, but they were definitely hard to miss. They extended just below her regular teeth, longer than a canine should have been, the tip wickedly sharp. 

You reached a hand out subconsciously, stopping just a few inches from her face. Your fingers curled, your fight or flight instincts warring with that same stubborn curiosity that you couldn’t seem to tamp down. You were not about to literally put your hand in the bear's mouth - but then Ellie met your eyes with a hunger that burned your cheeks, her still-parted lips curling up in amusement, and nodded. 

You felt her breath against your skin, hot and wet, as you moved closer, pressing just the tip of your finger against the point of a fang. 

You immediately drew your hand back, wincing at the sudden sting. The slightest touch had pricked your skin, the point deadly sharp. 

“Shit,” you hissed, watching as a bead of blood bloomed thick and red, tracing a line down your finger. You cursed again, popping the digit into your mouth in an attempt to stop the bleeding, the taste of metal coating your tongue. Pulling your finger from your mouth, you grimaced apologetically up at Ellie and said, laughing awkwardly, “Fuck, those things are sharp-” 

You didn’t get to finish your sentence; you hardly even had time to register the sudden, intense hunger etched on every line of Ellie's face. Her cold fingers wrapped around your wrist, her grip just shy of painful. Her other hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your face up to kiss you. 

It wasn't like what it had been at her house all those nights ago. There, in the low light of her sitting room, her kiss had been warm and slow, a gentle guidance that left you relaxed and pleasantly lightheaded, like the wine that had still blurred the edges of your vision. It had been a kiss that was really more of a question, one you hadn’t yet had the answer to. 

The way Ellie kissed you now felt like a demand. She leaned over you, releasing your wrist to brace herself on the armrest behind your shoulder, her body pressed in a cold line against yours, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. She wedged her knee between yours, the rough denim of her jeans scratching your bare thighs, and an involuntary shudder wracked through your body. Using the hand against your jaw, Ellie tilted your chin just right to press in harder, pressing her tongue against the seam of your lips. You gasped, parting your lips, a heady warmth pooling between your legs. You felt Ellie's tongue press into you in search of metal- 

It was too fast for you to process, but suddenly Ellie was back on the other side of the couch, gasping for air she didn't need. She had a hand over her mouth, refusing to look at you. 

“Fuck,” she cursed, muffled by her fingers. Her other hand clutched at the cushion beneath her, as though it were a restraint. “Shit, I'm sorry. That was totally - I shouldn't have - fuck.”

Your brain was dizzy with whiplash, your chest still fighting to regain the breath she had stolen from you. You were suddenly far too warm, missing the chill of her body against yours. Your hands that had somehow ended up fisted in the cushions ached when you released them; a small splotch of blood stained the fabric from your injured finger, staining your skin. 

Past the haze in your brain and the warmth that was impossible to ignore pooling between your legs, you could only make your mouth say, “What the fuck, Ellie?” 

It was like you had kicked a dog. Ellie - with her razor sharp teeth and predatory instincts - hung her head in shame, squeezing her eyes closed. She scrubbed a hand over her face and moved to stand, saying, “I'm so fucking sorry, I'll leave-” 

You reached out to grab her wrist, the cold biting into your fingers. For a moment it seemed like she was frozen, caught in ice, staring down at where your skin met hers. You could feel a pulse pounding in your fingers and you knew it wasn't hers. 

“Why the fuck,” you said before your own traitorous heart gave out on you, “did you stop?” 

You saw the question in Ellie’s eyes before she said it. You couldn't hear her ask it - if you did, the logical part of your brain might catch up to you and stop you. You tugged on her wrist, wrapping your other hand around the back of her neck to pull her back into you. 

The logical part of you - the part that fought to keep you alive - didn't matter right now. 

Ellie’s gasp was muffled as you pulled her down to kiss her again, grunting when she landed clumsily on top of you. There was a moment where you both froze, your lips locked, and you mentally prepared yourself for the awkwardness that would surely follow. 

Yet, surprisingly, it never came. Instead, Ellie giggled into your mouth and the taste of it was like the sweetest drug, coating your throat and giving you a euphoric high. She moved the arm you were still holding, twisting her wrist so she could slide her hand into yours, locking your fingers. Her other hand braced against the couch by your hip, supporting herself as she finally pulled away from you. She didn’t go far; you could see each speck of green and brown and gold in her eyes, could count her freckles like you had counted the stars as a child. 

Ellie was laughing, but there was no malice behind it. It was warm, far too warm for the silence that lived within her ribcage. You wondered if it would taste like the wine she had bought you - like wood and fire on your tongue, a sultry spice that was just a little out of your tax bracket. 

“What are you doing?” Ellie murmured, her breath catching in your lashes. 

You shrugged, feeling exposed under her intense gaze, sure she could hear the tremble in your breath. You shifted, leaning back on your elbows and looking up at her through your lashes. You tried - and failed - to sound nonchalant when you said, “We never finished what we started at your house.” 

Ellie furrowed her brow and you had the strongest urge to reach up and smooth it out. Confusion was a cute look on her. “Are you sure?” she said, looking at you like you might run away any moment. “I mean-“ 

You placed your finger on her bottom lip, her words coming to a stuttering stop. There was still blood smeared on your skin, a new bloom pooling from the wound, tracing its slow path down to your knuckle. Ellie froze, her trembling lips the only part that seemed capable of movement. You felt like you’d choke on your own held breath.

Ellie’s eyes were eclipsed, a barely contained hunger hiding in wait there. You had never before felt so much like watched prey, like a mouse taunting a cat, fascinated by its sharp teeth. Her voice was a low murmur, a heat you could feel against your skin and in your chest: “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know.” 

You hummed, tilting your head and dipping the tip of your finger between her parted lips. You felt her shudder, her mouth dropping open, and a flush crept up your neck, tingling in each of your fingertips. Ellie’s eyelids fluttered; she gripped your hand so tight it ached in your wrist. She was shaking under your hands, desperately trying to hold herself together even as she was coming apart at the seams. 

You waited until she opened her eyes, looking at you for some kind of relief. You pressed your finger to her tongue lightly, just enough for her to taste the fresh blood there, and said, “The best games always are.” 

That must have been all the confirmation Ellie needed. She wrapped her lips around your finger, her tongue warm and wet against your skin. You felt her moan, the purr of it against your hand, the vibration of it tracing a hot finger down your chest, settling low in your stomach. When she sucked, her throat bobbing, you felt it like electricity, as though her tongue were elsewhere. 

Ellie whined when you pulled your hand back, leaving a smear of blood on her bottom lip. Her eyes were half-lidded, her breath hard and fast against your cheeks, and you couldn't stop yourself from grabbing her hair and pulling her back into you. 

Her mouth tasted of metal - of you, your life. It should have been repulsive, tasting the thing that rushed beneath your skin on somebody's tongue, but it only sent a warm shudder through your body, pooling low in your stomach. Her fingers pressed into the dip at your hip, digging in enough to bruise. Ellie groaned when you pressed your tongue between her lips, chasing the taste of your own lifeblood. 

“Fuck, you taste good,” she moaned against your lips. She pressed you back against the cushions, slotting her thigh between your legs- 

You pulled back, panting. You tried to speak - you had something to say, but you couldn't quite remember it as you met Ellie's hungry eyes. She had you pinned, her thigh pressing just too lightly where you wanted her most, and every coherent thought you could have had dissolved into the air. 

“I, um,” you started, words failing you. Ellie tilted her head with a smug smirk, but something akin to concern flashed in her eyes, so you tried again. “I was just thinking - Wouldn't you rather do this somewhere… nicer?” You winced, unsure how else to word it. Your small, shabby apartment was definitely a step - several dozen steps - down from her fucking Victorian mansion. 

Ellie paused, looking around at the small space before you. Her eyes lingered on the small TV, a dying plant in the corner, the pictures of your family and friends hanging on the walls. She took it in slowly, as though there were more to consider than a living room the size of her closet, before finally looking back down at you. 

Shrugging, she said, “I think it's nice,” and leaned down to kiss you again. 

Without any further protest, you tangled your fingers in Ellie's hair, using the leverage to pull her closer. When she gasped at the sting of it, you couldn't stop the buck of your hips, grinding down against her thigh, whimpering at the friction of denim between your legs. Ellie pressed her thigh further into you, smiling against your lips when you moaned; you could feel each jolt of electricity through the thin fabric of your shorts. 

Ellie hummed, tracing her tongue in a hot line down your jaw. She pressed a hard kiss to the hinge of your jaw and murmured, voice rough in your ear, “I need to know how else you taste.” 

You groaned, arching up into her. You felt, with a cold realization, her teeth against your skin, her fangs pressing at the soft swell of your throat. She didn’t press in hard enough to harm you - hard enough to feed on you - but just hard enough for you to feel the sting of it. You tilted your head back, granting her better access, and felt her grin against you, a short huff of laughter in your ear. 

“God, it’s like you want me to.” Her voice was the purr of a cat playing with its food. She released her vice grip on your hip, instead gliding her hand over your stomach, fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt. You cursed, shivering from more than just her cold skin on yours. You wanted to swallow her accompanying moan. “It’d be so easy just to sink my teeth in right,” she pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your pulse, and you were sure she could feel it jump beneath her lips, “here.” 

Ellie’s hand glided up your stomach, rucking up your shirt. Goosebumps raised across your skin, exposed to the chilly air of your apartment. She was right - some reckless, animalistic part of you wanted to know what it’d feel like. Some part of you wanted her to sink her teeth into you and take whatever she wanted.

”Can I?” Ellie murmured, breaking you from your thoughts. She had your shirt fisted in her hand, looking at you with raw want, and it made your head spin. You only lifted your arms in response, helping her tug your shirt over your head. 

You cursed, shielding your body, a shiver racking through your shoulders. “Fuck, it’s cold,” you laughed, wrinkling your nose. “You’re not exactly helping either. You’re like a fucking-“ 

You almost said vampire and bit your tongue around another mindless laugh. 

Ellie leaned back to take you in, her eyes raking over your body; you felt strangely like you were exposed beneath a magnifying glass. She gently pulled your hands away from your body, raising them above your head so she could see you, bare and vulnerable before her. She grasped your wrists in one hand, pinning them to the armrest above your head. She traced the other hand across your chest, a trail of goosebumps following her touch. 

“This is my favorite part, you know.” She still refused to speak any louder than a murmur, a low growl, as though to speak any loud would break whatever spell she had over you. You groaned when cold fingers skated over your nipple, pulling a smile to her lips. “Seeing someone squirming under me. Seeing their want, feeling it written across their body.” She leaned down over you, her lips barely brushing against yours, and whispered, “I can hear the pounding of your heart.” She pinched your nipple between her fingers, pulling a choked gasp from your chest. “I can hear it skip every time I touch you.” 

You tried to lift your head, wanting desperately to catch her lips, but she was too fast. She released your wrists, but you left them where they were, not quite registering the sudden freedom because her tongue - so hot compared to the rest of her - licked a slow line over your nipple, her fingers still toying with the other. Your whole body jolted, your chest lifting to meet her waiting mouth, and you felt her smile against your skin. 

Lifting her head, Ellie gave your nipple a last teasing pinch before letting her hand glide down your body. You whimpered when her fingers dipped just below your waistband and you couldn't even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it, because she was looking at you again with those dark, hungry eyes and you suddenly wanted nothing more than to be devoured. Ellie ran her hand over your waistband, fingers coming to grip your hip so tightly you were sure you’d have bruises there in the morning, branded with her fingerprints. 

She cursed, fingers tightening around your hips, pulling at you impatiently. “Fuck, come here.” 

Ellie guided you to sit up, maneuvering you so you were sitting straight, your feet planted firmly on the floor. She crawled off the couch, kneeling on the floor before you, her hands gently but firmly coaxing your knees apart. Pressing a hand to your chest, Ellie pushed you back to relax against the cushions before she settled on the floor between your legs. Your heart was pounding against your rib cage, and it made you dizzy knowing that she could hear it like music. 

Humming, Ellie leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh, smiling when you shivered. Your brain was distracted by the heat in your stomach, so you almost didn’t realize she was talking again: “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Taking you home that night.” She pressed another kiss to your feverish skin, lips tracing higher up your thigh, her teeth grazing your skin enough to sting. “I can’t stop thinking about how you smelled - sinfully sweet. How you sounded, the flutter of your heart when I kissed you. The prettiest sounds spilled from your lips when I kissed your neck - you were practically begging me to bite you.” 

You gasped when she sank her teeth into the soft flesh of your thigh. She didn’t break your skin - didn’t drink from you - but when she pulled back you could see the red welt she had left behind. You hoped it would bruise by morning. 

“Stop talking,” you whined, reaching out to twist your fingers in her hair. She huffed a laugh against your skin when you tugged. “God, I didn’t know you’d be such a tease when I matched with you.” 

In response, Ellie brought a hand up to press her palm right between your legs. You gasped, the chill of her fingers through your thin shorts like a shot of electricity through you. Smiling, Elle grinded her palm against you, right where the fabric was the wettest. You had to bite your lip to stifle a moan. 

“I like to take my time,” Ellie said, raising an eyebrow at you. “I want to watch you come apart for me. And I will take,” she continued, pressing harder against you until you saw stars, “however long I want.” 

You cursed when she removed her hand, quickly replacing it with her mouth. Ellie pressed a kiss to the crease of your thigh, her tongue warm against the exposed skin. When you pulled at her hair, you could feel the vibration of her moans. She took the waistband of your shorts between her teeth, letting it snap back against your skin and chuckling when you jumped. 

“You smell so fucking good,” she said, voice muffled as she pressed a kiss right where you wanted her most. You tried to buck up into her, to chase the feeling of her mouth and her teeth, but she dug her fingers into the dip of your hipbones and held you in place. She breathed you in, and you could feel her warm breath fanning over you. Ellie groaned, so low it was nearly a growl, and said, “Fuck, I need to taste you.”

The only work you could make your mindless mouth say was Please as you lifted your hips, hastily helping Ellie shove your shorts and underwear down your legs. You had never before felt the rough fabric of your couch against your bare ass and you frankly weren’t sure how you felt about it, but that thought was promptly shoved from your mind because Ellie was hooking her arms under your legs, tugging you closer so your hips were right at the edge of the couch. You let your head fall back when she pressed a kiss to your pussy, just the barest brush of her lips. 

“Look at me,” Ellie said, her nails digging into your thighs. You lifted your head to look down at her, confused, and the sight of her kneeling between your legs made your stomach do an embarrassing flip. Your legs tried to close on instinct against the new wave of warmth between them, but Ellie’s hands hooked under your thighs kept them apart. 

Ellie looked up at you through her lashes, on her knees before you. Her eyes were impossibly dark, the green appearing nearly black. Her plush, pink lips were parted, short huffs of breath fanning against you - you couldn’t look away from those lips, imaging all the impossible things she could do to you. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” she murmured, holding your gaze - you couldn’t even think about looking away. “If you look away, I’ll stop. Understand?” She waited until you finally nodded - nothing more than a short jerk of your head - before she smiled. You barely heard her quiet “Good girl” before she pressed forward and licked a slow, hot line over you. 

Instinct wanted to let your head fall back again but, remembering her threat, you forced yourself to keep your eyes trained on Ellie, bearing witness to how she unraveled you. She held your hot gaze as she drew slow, torturous circles around your clit with her tongue, just barely brushing against where you needed her most. 

An embarrassing whine pulled at your throat as you tried desperately to press down against her mouth, but Ellie’s hands held you firmly in place. The only thing you could do was twist your fingers in her hair, tugging uselessly as you watched her take her goddamn time. She didn’t lie - she was going to take exactly as long as she wanted. 

“Oh, fuck.” You couldn't control the breathy moans spilling from your mouth when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a slow stripe up to your aching clit. Your fingers tightened in her hair, and you felt the vibration of her moan like a shot of electricity. Forgetting her demand entirely, you let your eyes flutter shut, your head falling back against the cushions. 

You whimpered pathetically when Ellie pulled away, the sudden loss of her mouth like a tangible ache. You raised your head, a complaint already on your tongue, but it died behind your teeth. Ellie looked up at you through her lashes, her hair slicked back from her forehead, and those perfectly parted lips shined wetly - slick with you. She untangled one hand from around your thigh, choosing instead to slide her fingers over your pussy. 

“Eyes on me, baby,” she said, and pressed two fingers inside you. 

You cursed, a high pitched moan hanging in the air before you. Your eyes wanted to roll back, but you blinked hard, forcing them to stay trained on Ellie. You couldn't bear the thought of her stopping again. 

Green eyes looked up at you from between your legs, shining dangerously. Pressing back in, she flicked her tongue over your clit before taking it into her mouth, your hips bucking when she sucked. You hooked your legs over her shoulders in a desperate attempt to pull her closer, your heels digging into her back; you used your grip on her hair to guide her exactly where you needed her, watching her eyes flutter as she groaned against you. 

Ellie curled her fingers inside you, rubbing circles over that soft spot that made you see stars. In some distant, hysteric part of your mind, you thought about how you were definitely being loud enough for your neighbors to hear you through your paper-thin walls, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care because she was pressing her tongue against your clit, her fingers inside of you moving to the same intoxicating beat. 

An overwhelming warmth was building up in your stomach, a heat that you were desperate to hang on to. You gripped Ellie’s hair, afraid she would pull away, because you couldn’t stop your eyes from rolling back, fluttering shut against the wave that crashed into you. She must have been feeling merciful, because she didn’t even slow when you let your head drop back, breathy moans just dripping from your lips like honey, slow and thick and impossibly sweet. You couldn’t think of anything past Ellie’s mouth and tongue and fingers, every sense you had honing in on the heat of her lips. You arched into her when you came, hips bucking against her mouth, chasing a high that would be all too easy to get addicted to. 

Ellie worked you through it, tracing gentle circles over your clit and drawing the sweetest whimpers from your lips. She didn’t stop until your vice grip on her hair finally released, your hips stilling as you slumped back against the cushions. She finally pulled away, leaning back against her heels, and when you looked down at her you nearly whimpered at the sight. Her hair was sticking up at odd angles from your incessant tugging, her lips swollen and shining. She licked her lips and you felt like you might die. 

“Fuck,” was all you could say, laughing weakly. You felt spent, your chest aching from the breath you couldn’t quite catch. 

Ellie hummed, tilting her head, that infuriating smirk back on her lips. She pushed herself up onto her knees, one hand snaking its way to your hip, and you realized the fingers on her other hand were still inside you. She held your gaze, raising her eyebrows as though looking for permission, before she slowly slid her fingers out of you, pausing for one maddening moment, before pressing them roughly back into you. 

“Fuck,” you said again, your back arching into her. Your fingers twisted in the cushions under you as though you needed something to hold onto. 

“God, look at you,” she murmured, pumping her fingers into you, hard and slow, pressing into the intoxicating spot inside you. “So fucking pretty. Your body’s practically begging for me.” 

Your mouth dropped open when her thumb found your clit, sliding over it in the same delicious rhythm of her fingers. You whimpered, body jolting when she leaned up just enough to take your nipple into her mouth, eyes crossing when she slammed into you harder. 

It didn’t take long for you to come again, your orgasm slamming into you with such force that sparks flashed in your eyes. You reached out to grip Ellie’s shoulder, nails digging into her skin as though to keep yourself grounded. You thought you cried her name, but you couldn’t be sure. 

She didn’t stop until you were twitching from the overstimulation, whimpering beneath her. Ellie released your nipple, pressing a gentle kiss to your breastbone as she slowly slid her fingers out of you. You clenched around the sudden emptiness, missing her fingers even though your pussy ached, overstimulated and spent. 

Ellie leaned back to look up at you, waiting until you met her blurry eyes before she slipped her fingers past her lips, sucking the digits into her mouth. Her eyes fluttered, tongue gathering every last drop of you. 

You groaned, watching as she slid her fingers slowly from her lips, before you grabbed her face and pulled her up into a kiss. You pressed your tongue past her lips, moaning at the sharp taste of you on her tongue. 

Ellie was laughing when she pulled away, taking your face in her hands. She looked up at you, those green eyes shining so brightly you felt like you had to look away. You held her gaze anyway, unwilling to look away from the sun. You weren’t sure what it meant - what any of this meant, really. You had let this strange girl into your apartment, knowing exactly what she was, and had let her unravel you on your gifted couch. You had gone on one date, and instead of finding somebody else to take home to her ridiculous Victorian home, she had sought you out. 

Honestly, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, she had said. 

You weren’t sure what any of it meant. But, honestly, you couldn’t bring yourself to care right now. 

“For the record,” Ellie said, pausing to press another long kiss to your lips; when she pulled away, she didn’t go far, her lips moving against yours, “that wasn’t any weird vampire allure either.” 

@macaroni676 @ellstronaut @elliewilliamsmiller0 @elliescoolerwife @letsreadsomesins-shallwe @peekayurple @liliflowers-blog @filtered-sunlight @hobbybound @kirammanss @elliespookie @starsfortaylor @ripelyswife @autisticintr0vert @g3latin @sunflarie @williamellieslilho @kl1q @livvieloveswomen

[clumsynymph]

𝙋𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙉𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩.

Synopsis : Your lover, plagued by thoughts, is afraid to fall asleep.

A short and soft Arlecchino x GN!Reader fanfiction.

a/n : This is my first attempt at such a short format, I can't tell if it brings as much comfort as I wanted it to bring but here it is in any case. May you have a pleasant reading ! Also, all of this emerged because I had a very specific image in mind while making a Playlist so here it is as well.

Word count : 609.

I do not consent for my work to be used in any way by AI.

Tendrils of dust danced around the room, illuminated by the Moon’s pale glow.

The Knave’s room, a stage on which the two of you thrived.

Her fingers were entangled with your hair, her gaze lingering on your sleeping form.

The events in Fontaine had taken quite the toll on her despite her unwillingness to admit such a thing. Yet, she couldn’t let her resolve falter. Project Stuzha was slowly coming to fruition; those accursed bureaucrats were probably jubilating. They were awaiting her and her children’s fall although they would never say it out loud. A sigh escaped her lips. Her free hand found its way on your back, softly rubbing circles on it in an attempt to ground herself.

How many restless nights has it been? How many would be enough? She was worried. Worried about the fate that might befall on the Children if she were to let her guard down. Worried that someday, you would lose all sense of self because of the erosion that was slowly but surely eating you away.

Yet, she would never admit to it.

Your head rested on her bare thighs, your form curled around hers, seeking her warmth. Arlecchino unknowingly started tracing the few scars littered around your back, oblivious that you were stirring away from sleep.

As her eyes drifted in the distance, seemingly seeking answers in the Moon’s shape, your hand reached her cheek, softly stroking it. For a second, you swore that she appeared startled. An unusual look and an unusual reaction.

“Arle… What is on your mind?”

Your unsteady, groggy voice, still heavy from slumber, reached her ears. She looked back at you, her hands stopping in their tracks.

“Everything is alright, Dear. You should go back to sleep.”

Although still somewhat disoriented because of your awakening, you could tell that she wasn’t telling the truth. To be fair, she hadn’t even answered your initial answer. Yet, there wasn’t much that could be done on your end. You knew that she preferred for others to know little about what was going on in her mind, in her life… to know little about her. This included you. You knew that you probably knew more about your lover than most but, despite that, she wanted to keep you in the dark about certain matters.

You weren’t exactly certain what could be done in order to sooth her seemingly cloudy mind. Tentatively, you got up and embraced her frame, guiding her head to your chest. Your hands found their way in her hair, stroking it, massaging her scalp. She remained unmoving for a little while, her eyes halfway opened, staring in the emptiness. Absentmindedly, her hands found solace on your back. Those hands, a testimony of her curse. There were times when - despite knowing deep down that it wouldn’t actually happen – she feared that the curse might engulf you as well.

You planted a kiss on the crown of her head.

“Would you like to lie down with me?”

Imposing sleep on her wasn’t necessarily a good option, especially since you weren’t sure exactly what made her so distressed, but you couldn’t bear seeing her this way while doing nothing. She hummed in response, and you guided her body against yours, cradling her in your embrace.

Your familiar scent, your mostly soft skin, your steady breath, your delicate touch…

Perhaps a couple of hours of sleep wouldn’t hurt in the end.

Her eyes, crossed by garnet, closed themselves for the first time in a long while.

For the first time in a long time, she has decided to succumb to the sweetest of temptations.

Your embrace.

Her lover.

You.

[writingdevil]

hello!! I hope this message finds you well,the idea of a smitten/broken/oppy polycule has been on my mind these past few days and i think itd be interesting to see you explore the dynamic of three people pleasers for vastly different reasons (one who does it for survival, one who does it for safety under a higher power, and one who wants to make everyone happy) and i think that them helping each other with their issues could be really sweet!! i personally kinda picture their dynamic to be something along the lines of um uh!!!

Oppurtunist: ah fuck we getting vulnerable

Broken: ah fuck we getting cared and loved for

Smitten: i love my bfs with issues <3 (claws pointed at his chest, preparing to rip his heart out again)

you dont have to do this if you dont want to!! i just i uh i um uh well uh *explodes*

(Wait, don't explode! I've been insane about this polycule ever since I got this request because I think it would be such an overwhelming amount of feelings, does that make sense? Smitten and Broken are happy to give their lives for love, or what they see as love, but Oppy would rather jump off a cliff than admit a single genuine emotion of his, but I think the other two would help bring that out in him. Anyways, enjoy!)

Let it be known that this entire situation came about because of dinner.

Now, Opportunist liked to consider himself a perceptive fellow, someone who could see all the weaknesses and blind spots that others didn't, which just gave him an opening to strike.

He will say, he hasn't necessarily found a reason to strike yet, but one could never be too prepared when it comes to other people and their unpredictable ways. So Opportunist liked to observe and take mental notes on his fellow flockmates, just to make sure that they could never surprise him or get the upper hand.

But there were two certain little birdies that had been taking up most of his attention.

Smitten and Broken.

Opportunist assumed that they would either be impossible to stand, or incredibly easy to befriend and use. In some strange way, it felt like both options had occurred.

In the time that they've learned to take control of their own lives and freedom, Opportunist had watched as they slowly realised that they had no princess to give their hearts to or be the purpose of their existence, and were consumed with grief.

Opportunist did his best to either steer clear of them, or offer them something in the hopes of placating them. Neither of them were particularly dangerous or useful in that state, so he just tried to be polite and respectful, because emotions like that were not his strong suit.

Thankfully though, they got better, and Opportunist hadn't realised how much he had missed the sound of Smitten's genuine, boisterous voice, or just the quiet presence of Broken that made the flock feel complete. Everything started to go back to normal.

But then Opportunist realised that Smitten and Broken hadn't just gotten closer. They had gotten together.

They would constantly be draped over one another, or giving each other loving gazes from across the room, and were even sharing a room, to Opportunist knowledge.

The actual idea of the two of them becoming a couple wasn't the thing that perplexed Opportunist. He's seen Paranoid sneak into Cold's room more times than he could count. That wasn't what Opportunist was hung up on.

It just-it kind of looked like two natural disasters coming together to fucking destroy the world, did it not?

Surely this relationship could only end in flames, but when he asked Hero if it was okay to let this slide, he just gave him a big, dumb smile and said that they were happy, and that was all that matters.

Whatever. Opportunist just tried to ignore the whole thing, even when it was hard to get the image of them kissing so softly out of his head-and he just wondered how much of their love was real.

One day, Opportunist went around the house, calling people for dinner. That was his job-he wasn't allowed to touch the food, but he can sure as hell be entrusted to get people to listen to him with the promise of food.

He hadn't exactly been thinking when he casually opened the door to Smitten's room.

"Smitten! Din-" Opportunist froze, one hand clutching the doorknob as he looked up, finding Smitten sitting at the edge of his bed, with a flushed Broken on his lap, with their arms around each other.

Oh, he had absolutely walked in on something.

"Sorry!" he squeaked out, but neither of them seemed to mind. Smitten waved one hand in the air while he used the other one to pull Broken closer, and Opportunist tried not to look at the movement too intensely.

"Nonsense, friend! You are quite alright," Smitten assured, and Opportunist chuckled nervously, taking a confident step into the room, noting how Broken was giving him a curious look.

"Well, I just came to say that dinner's ready, so you two lovebirds should probably come down soon." He saw the way they both glowed at the use of 'lovebirds' but didn't say anything.

Smitten planted a kiss on Broken's cheek, and Opportunist couldn't help but just stare at the action, until he realized that Broken was giving him a curious look.

He quickly looked away, spinning around as he said, "Well I'd better get to the others-"

"Is something wrong, Oppy?"

Opportunist froze, before frantically turning to face the couple again, with Smitten furrowing his brows in confusion at him, along with Broken still staring at him.

He waved a hand through the air and tried to act casual. "What? No, of course not! Everything's-" but then he paused, and his eyes lingered on the romantic hold they had in each other, and he couldn't fight the urge to ask, just this once.

He gripped the doorknob for support. "Actually, I do have a question-about you two."

Smitten smiled brightly, standing up while still holding Broken safely. "Of course, my kind friend, ask away! What part of our precious love story would you like to know?" Opportunist kept a pleasant smile on his face, even as Broken patted Smitten's shoulder and requested to be put down, which Smitten did without any hesitation.

"It's just-I suppose I wasn't expecting-this," Opportunist admitted, motioning to the two of them, "the two of you falling in love with each other."

"Oh, would you like me to tell you how it began? How our love first blossomed?"

"No," Opportunist was quick to stop Smitten there, taking a few steps into the room, attempting to remain interested but not too intrigued by their relationship. He shrugged, putting his arms behind his back as he said, "I guess it's just a little strange to me-being able to fall in love when it could hurt you so terribly." He took a tiny bit of sick enjoyment in watching Broken flinch at his words, but then Smitten was quick to grab his hand and whispered some reassurances in his ear.

Once he was sure his partner was okay, Smitten took a bold step before him, and Opportunist's breath hitched at the pure passion and determination in his eyes. His voice was firm yet not harsh as he said, "Love is a powerful force my friend, and I promise you that if you treat it with respect, it gives you that back tenfold." There was a heaviness in Smitten's words, one that even Opportunist could tell was coming from a sore place in Smitten's heart.

But he didn't want to delve deeper into that, for reasons he couldn't explain, so instead he just made a show of grimacing at the two of them, and casually threw out, "I just don't see the point of it, really." Opportunist tried to leave again, to escape this conversation that was continuing to make him feel nervous for some reason, until Smitten's voice cut through the tension.

"Let's make a deal, then."

Opportunist froze, then sent a look of confused interest over his shoulder. "What?"

Smitten glanced at Broken, who nodded his head in permission with a small smile on his face, and Smitten looked back at Opportunist, a dark intensity in his eyes that Opportunist's knees buckled at.

"Let's make a deal. You spend one week with us, as part of our relationship, and we'll prove to you that love is a beautiful, worthwhile thing." It wasn't exactly the love itself that Opportunist had a problem with, but who was falling in love, but he couldn't say that. So he spun back around confidently and asked, "You think a week is enough time to convince me?"

Smitten arched a brow as he looked him up and down. "With you, my fellow? More than enough."

Opportunist was so blinded by mortification that he didn't even think before shaking on it.

Day One

Opportunist was determined to get through this week by acting as aloof towards their affections as possible. He was going to come out of this deal the victor, to prove that some loves weren't meant to be. He wasn't sure why he needed to prove it so badly, but he just did.

Thankfully, on the first day, Smitten and Broken just took him on a peaceful walk. They did insist on holding both of his hands, but Opportunist managed to push the warmth of their touches away long enough to hold a conversation with them.

He was definitely going to win this.

Day Two

They didn't do anything particularly exciting, except for lounge about and talk all day, taking turns preening each other. The act of pretending to not care about this whole thing grew harder when they wouldn't leave his side, but the feel of Smitten so delicately preening his precious feathers, did help loosen him up-even to the point of falling asleep around them.

That didn't mean anything. Everyone grew a little sleepy during preening, that didn't mean anything about Smitten or Broken, or that Opportunist actually felt safe around them. No way.

He still had everything under control.

Day Three

This was when things started to go downhill for him.

Opportunist had been sharing a bed with the couple, because when they expressed concern over not wanting him to be uncomfortable, Opportunist just dug his heels in further and said that he was completely fine with it-a lie, which was his first mistake.

Opportunist doesn't remember much about his nightmare-but there was just heat surrounding him on all sides, and there were cuts in his palms, and when he looked up he saw her. He wanted her to go away but she was stuck and she was stuck because of him. He did this. He caused this.

He was evil he was evil he was evil-

"Oppy?"

Opportunist gasped as he woke up, body wracked with shaking as he laid between Smitten and Broken, frantically blinking to peer into the darkness of the bedroom.

"Oppy, are you okay?" That was Broken, whispering softly to him. He was staring up at him with concern all over his face, his hand itching to reach out, but it never touched Opportunist.

Opportunist couldn't do anything but stare at Broken for a few tense minutes, his brain trying to come to terms that he wasn't in danger, and that his dreams couldn't hurt him right now.

Every one of them got nightmares, but Opportunist made sure to never let that show in front of the others, that his mind and his choices tortured him just like everyone else. He handled his nightmares in his own company, by panting and quietly crying into his pillow, so that nobody could hear him breaking down.

He hadn't had a nightmare in ages, so he hadn't been concerned about that-but life just loved to screw him over.

He gripped the sheets underneath him as Broken continued to look at him with that pity, that tenderness that meant he saw Opportunist as weak and pathetic, so he had to ignore how badly his body shook right now, and he attempted to smile at Broken.

The smile was wobbly and it hurt his face to stretch his skin like that when he was physically holding back a breakdown at the same time, but he pushed through, and tried to keep his tone light and friendly as he said, "I'm fine, Broken," hoping his voice didn't break halfway through. "I'm a-absolutely okay right n-now." Oh god, was he stuttering?

He could feel tears pooling in his eyes, but he frantically blinked them away before Broken could see. "N-Nothing's wro-"

But then he felt soft hands cupping his face, and Broken was pressing up against him, and Opportunist could feel his heart beating against his own rapid one.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from Broken as he whispered to him, "You don't have to keep all the hurt inside you, y'know?" Broken ran his thumbs over Opportunist's cheeks, and he suddenly felt like everything within him was bursting to be let out, all the good and rotten parts that he tried to ignore most of the time, an impenetrable wall that he was convinced would hold.

But a stupid nightmare and a sympathetic little birdie were quickly changing that.

Broken glanced down at his chest, right where his heart was pounding furiously, and he said, "It's okay to let yourself feel bad, Oppy," but he said with such a heaviness, like Broken understood having his life being one performance-and he guessed worshipping counted as a performance. But it was the fact that he knew and he was telling Opportunist that he understood him, that it was okay to let those feelings that you hate out-that made his face crumble as sobs consumed his whole body.

Hot tears cascaded down his face as he sobbed as quietly as he could, and Broken hugged him close, and he found himself practically clutching Broken against him, too scared to be alone anymore.

Broken whispered reassurances to him and rubbed his back, and from behind Opportunist, he heard Smitten-who had been fast asleep up until now-twist around with a soft noise of concern in the back of his throat. He turned around and threw an arm around Opportunist, sliding up against his back and pressing his face against his neck, and Opportunist might have cried harder from how nice it all felt, to not have to perform in this moment.

He wasn't sure how long he cried for, but he does remember having a much easier time sleeping with Broken and Smitten cuddling him.

Day Four

After the chaos that was last night, Opportunist wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his own room and fade away from reality under the comfort and safety of his own blankets.

He told himself that he didn't want to see Broken and Smitten, because he knew they'd want to talk about it, and Opportunist would much rather die than do that.

But to his surprise, when the lovebirds eventually found him, they didn't ask about his nightmare at all. In fact, they were sat around the kitchen table with a deck of cards, asking if he wanted to play with them.

He-doesn't get asked to play games a lot.

It was actually quite fun, even if Smitten wasn't very good at it. But Broken was unexpectedly very good at cards, and Opportunist even found that he lost a round to him once.

The embarrassment and heaviness from last night was slowly leaving his body, and was being replaced with a warmth in his chest-but that surely meant nothing, right?

Day Five

Opportunist had actually found the time to be alone-or more accurately, Broken had finally decided that he could be trusted to not break down in tears.

Opportunist knew that them playing cards with him was just a way to make him feel better after his nightmare, and while he appreciated it, he felt like he needed to repay them somehow.

Usually, his first reasoning for this would be so that they couldn't use their acts of kindness against him in some way, but today, he just felt like showing his thanks to them. Which was weird for him, but he didn't look too deep into it.

So he spent the whole morning thinking of how to show his appreciation, and what he came up with wasn't exactly original or jaw dropping, but Opportunist wasn't exactly a romantic guy.

Once he had his gift, he then spent the rest of the day worrying if they'll like it, if it was even good enough for them, and if he should just forget it-

"Opportunist, my dear!"

Opportunist yelped as he spun around, keeping his arms securely behind his back.

He had just been leisurely walking around their garden, when Smitten suddenly surprised him. He watched as Smitten arched a brow in curiosity, tilting his head slightly as he looked down at his hidden arms, and for good measure, Opportunist wrapped his wings around his arms as well.

"Smitten! Hi! How are you? What is it?" God, he's never sounded so nervous before. Why? It was just Smitten.

But the way Smitten beamed at him made his breath hitch, and when he took a step forward, Opportunist found it difficult to not take a step back, that he felt like keeping his distance would keep his head clear right now.

"Well, I haven't seen you all day, and I was starting to get worried." Opportunist's face fell in surprise. "Wait, really?"

Smitten nodded firmly. "Of course, Broken was beginning to get lonely without you."

Confusion and warmth started to mix in Opportunist's head, and he wasn't sure if he could think straight like this. "But-But he has you, shouldn't that be enough?"

Smitten then smiled at him in a way as if he knew something that Opportunist didn't, and instead asked, "What's behind your back?"

Opportunist felt his feathers betray him by fluffing up in that moment, and he looked down at the ground in embarrassment as he muttered, "Just-something for you."

Smitten gasped. "For me? Darling, you shouldn't have!" Opportunist had to try extremely hard not to think about how nice it had felt to be called darling, and the amount of heat and butterflies rising within him was beginning to be too much to bear, so Opportunist just squeezed his eyes shut and stuck his arms out in front of him. "Here!"

There was silence, until Opportunist felt Smitten take the gift out of his hands, and then he opened his eyes.

Smitten was staring down at the bouquet of red roses in awe and wonder, and Opportunist was quick to explain, "I-I remember roses being your favourite, but I wasn't sure about Broken. I just wanted to give you both something to say thank you-for helping that night."

He tried to look at anywhere that wasn't Smitten's face, but his eyes were always drawn back to how sweet he was looking at the flowers. Then that sweetness was directed at him as Smitten said, "Thank you so much, my dear." But then he stepped closer to him, leaning his head to the side in order to give him a peck on the cheek, and Opportunist panicked, quickly stumbling back a step as he blurted out, "I need to ask you a question!"

Smitten paused, and Opportunist wasn't sure why he had said that, only that they were getting into dangerous territory that they needed to back away from, but he might as well ask at this point.

"But the question might-hurt you," Opportunist nervously added, but Smitten just nodded in permission, a more calm and serious look on his face.

Opportunist couldn't find it within him to ask this question with confidence, so his voice came out soft and uncertain as he asked, "How do you know that what you have with Broken is-real?" He took a deep breath, and continued, "How do you know that the two of you aren't just using each other to fill the hole that she left? How can you be so sure that this time, you won't hurt each other?"

Opportunist found enough courage to look Smitten in the eye, and was surprised to not find him brimming with rage at the thought of his love being anything less than pure. He was staring down at the flowers with a bittersweet expression, and then he shrugged, an action that seemed weird on Smitten.

"I suppose," he began, "that I may have-struggled to adapt without the princess, and that my love for her wasn't always-good." It seemed like Smitten was having trouble articulating himself, as if a part of him was still ashamed at what he had done.

"But Broken understood how I felt, to a degree, and there was a comfort in that, that we both understood how the other was feeling, that we weren't alone. It wasn't just Broken, you know. The others tried to help fill the hole in our hearts, until I realised that the hole wasn't from me missing the princess."

"Really?" Smitten chuckled, and finally looked up at him, taking another confident step forward, and this time Opportunist couldn't find the strength to back away. Smitten smiled lovingly at him, and whispered, "It was from not expressing my love to everything I adored." Then he pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, and Opportunist's knees trembled.

He's not so sure what to think anymore.

Day Six

They were in bed again, and Opportunist was lying down with Broken laying on top of him, and Smitten sitting up to his right, reading a story to them.

Broken hadn't been feeling the best, so they decided to stay in and keep him company, and Opportunist busied himself with rubbing a hand up and down his back for comfort.

Everything was quiet and peaceful, but Opportunist's brain felt like it had melted into nothing, like he had no thoughts other than love.

He thought that Smitten and Broken's relationship would be doomed to fail, but their capacity for love only seemed to make them stronger. They weren't going to fall back into that darkness, not when they had someone pulling them back from it.

Broken squirmed above him, and Opportunist looked down, watching as Broken sighed as he rested against his chest.

Broken wasn't as depressing as Opportunist initially thought. He was actually incredibly perceptive of how others were feeling when his head was clear, and Opportunist found a comfort in knowing that he wouldn't be turned away for breaking down in front of Broken.

Broken felt his staring, and lifted his head to stare back at him, and Opportunist could feel his heart pounding against his chest, and so could Broken probably.

Broken's voice was an almost silent whisper as he asked, "Do you want to kiss me?" Opportunist's mind went blank as he nodded, and Broken smiled, and then they were both leaning in to kiss each other.

It felt good. It felt soft, and it felt safe.

"Finally." Then there was Smitten, and the sound of the book being tossed, before Opportunist felt hands cupping his face, and he was brought into the hungry mouth of Smitten.

Smitten was passion, and he set every inch of Opportunist aflame, so strong that he mind was struggling to keep up with him. But it felt real. It felt like love, from the both of them.

Opportunist wasn't even mad that he really didn't last the week.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Eeeeeeeeee yet another amazing chapter, Brummie! 🖤

862 days, 11 hours and 25 minutes

He'd been counting the minutes since they'd been separated! 🥺 This sweet man. You did such a great job depicting the panic he was feeling at her being there.

Oh, Freddie, what a champ, giving them a moment alone together. The description of the glow of youth being forever banished from Tommy's eyes thanks to the war made me want to cry. 😭💔

Their proper reunion almost had me in tears. 😭 Tommy instantly embracing her and both of them crying was both so sweet and heartwrenching.

Aw, but a little bit of his boyishness came back when they were together. His request that she pinch him made me giggle. 🤭

" Just so you know..." Tommy turned on his side with a grunt along the hardened ground of pebbles and padded mud. " Not even a fucking bomb will stop me once I get started" he smiled into your giggling lips as he thumbed around the curve of your mouth.

Dhfjkdhgjkfd this cheeky man. 😂 I love him so much. Their first time was so sweet and the smut was absolutely fantastic. 🥵

hand stroking across his brows until your fingers settled on the side of his temple with a gentle tap against the damage of war already taking form.

Eep! This is so foreboding! I'm so worried for what's going to happen to their relationship when he finally returns home.

As your eyes observed the stark difference between his reunion with his family and yours, hurt had you trying to pull your hand from his insistent grip and cold shoulder he was unexpectedly giving you.

Oh no! 😭😭😭 Tommy, what are you doing!? I'm not entirely surprised that he was devoid of happy emotion during their reunion, but to appear more enthusiastic about seeing his family rather than Reader broke my heart for her!

" Welcome back, gents " your head shot up to the distinct lilt of Sean's voice

Sean, GO AWAY! Ugh, and of course his wink towards Reader caught Tommy's attention and is gonna have him being all paranoid. 😒 I sense angst is coming! 🫣

This was a truly fantastic chapter, Brummie! So many amazing emotions packed in here. I'm so eager (and nervous!) to see what happens to these two sweethearts now that the war is over. I hope that you don't hurt them too badly! 🫣

Sweet Dreams, Darling (Part Four)

Summary: Reunited with Tommy amidst the chaos of war, you both torturously find yourself having to keep your composure under the watchful eyes of his ranking superior until nightfall, when you'd be joined together once again. But when the early hours of the morning ends with promises of his safe return, you are left heartbroken a year later on the platform of Birmingham's train station when you're confronted with the shell of the man that had returned.

Warnings: Language, smut, descriptions of war, PTSD, mutual pining, angst, descriptions of injury.

Word Count: 4.5K

[Masterlist] [Previous Part] [Trailer]

Tommy. Your Tommy. Standing mere feet from you with raven hair tousled in front of his widening eyes. Breath hitching in his throat as he took a stumbling step of shock back upon seeing you among the horrors of war he wished to never reach England's shores. To never reach you.

How long had it been?

862 days, 11 hours and 25 minutes, Tommy silently replied to the question swirling behind your pooling eyes as he swallowed down the gritted dryness of panic mounting in his throat.

What were you doing here? What the fuck were you doing here?!, the muscles of his jaw suddenly became taut with anger as his childhood friend and fellow soldier spun around to him in disbelief. Confirmation that the unlikely reunion was not one of the many nightmares that had troubled his fractured sleep as of late, but a reality. A reality that frightened him more than any canon firing tank.

" Come on gents, next " the lieutenant gestured Freddie to the wooden stool in front of you as your cheeks burned with enough heat from Tommy's searing stare that your fumbling hands saw the bottle of alcohol grasped between your fingers fall to the floor with a thud.

Head dipping from his piercing eyes, you suddenly became painfully aware of Tommy's unexpected anger with you as Freddie swooped down to help you with your clumsiness.

" Ada?" he urgently whispered for news of his sweetheart back in Birmingham he'd been unable to write to as the enemy's advances slowed all correspondence between countries to a screeching halt.

"Safe" you mouthed with a discreet nod of your head, reassuring him of her wellbeing under the watchful eye of Tommy, unaware of the relationship Ada had confided in you about.

As Freddie settled his weary body into the small chair with a heavy weight of worry lifted from his heart, another's was torturously pulling at his chest with a painful longing that was seconds from breaking conduct under the eyes of his ranking superior as his anger made way to a desperate need to feel you in his arms.

But Tommy's own weight of worry would have to wait as you tended to the healing wound of a hand-to-hand fight that saw guns suddenly raised and a bullet flying through Freddie Thorne's chest.

"Shelby" Pike ushered Tommy to your accompanying nurse, weaving the last of the cotton bandages around Danny's head as your panicked eyes darted to the dressing you had yet to secure, when Freddie suddenly rose from his seat.

" All done here, Lieutenant" he pulled the buttons of his shirt around his open wound he'd see to himself as he patted Tommy on the back with a hushed oath he'd hold him to when all hell broke loose, and he learnt of his budding relationship with his little sister.

" You owe me" Freddie murmured through his growing smile with a firm squeeze to Tommy's shoulder as he left the small bunker with Danny for the muddy trenches lined with men awaiting their orders.

Shooting up from your chair at his approaching steps, the pads of your shaky fingers hovered over the rickety makeshift table of scavenged wood as you watched him slowly slide the strap of his rifle from his shoulder with a wince, eyes darting over his tired body to his superior before settling his gaze back on you with a glossy film of withheld emotions.

You just wanted to throw yourself into his arms. Have him hold you and be free of the disappointment flickering in his eyes that had you doubting yourself, doubting your every decision that saw you shyly looking up at the glimpses of his pale face washed of freckles through the caked layers of mud, blue eyes void of the sparks of youth forever gone to the destruction of war.

"Over the line tomorrow, ay son?" Pike straightened the lapels of his decorated jacket. The many medals he proudly displayed, catching the dancing flames of the lone candle sat beside him as you and Tommy slowly settled into your separate chairs, locked eyes desperately trying to hold their composure against two years' worth of pining over each other.

"Over the line..." Tommy absently echoed the early morning's advance as he pulled his creaking chair along the muddied trench closer to you. Close enough to feel the heat of his breath ripple down your neck, the fluttering of his lashes against your skin as he swallowed back the overpowering urge to pull you into his thumping heart.

Eyes slowly drifting to each move you made, Tommy's gaze settled on the heavy rise and fall of your chest as you pressed the bundle of cotton against the glugging sounds of distilled alcohol spilling from its glass bottle, face ducking from his in fear you'd lose yourself to your mounting emotions if you caught his eye.

" Smoke?" the lieutenant offered Helen, throwing open the flimsy fabric door for the last rays of sun to roll in before night, and the eerie calmness that came with it descended onto camp as your trembling hand hoovered over the bloody cut across Tommy's knuckles.

" Thought you'd never ask" she hopped up for a breather away from the muddy confides of the bunker as Tommy grabbed hold of your hand, squeezing fingers pulling it into his lap away from her parting eyes.

"Y/N..." he choked out your name through a whisper as his superior stood feet from him by the door. Hand clutching up your arm until it met your cheek and the silent stream of tears weaving through his fingers.

" Tommy..." you quietly sobbed as he lifted your chin to face him, eyes desperately searching yours for an answer as to what had you here with him. What had you running from Small Heath so urgently you found yourself a stone's throw away from enemy lines.

Lips on the brink of demanding answers, Tommy fell for the tearful sight in front of him with a strangled sigh, moments from feeling you in his arms when he sharply pulled away to the sound of the ranking officers' leather boots creaking as he turned back into the dimly lit room.

"Right let's finish up" Pike threw his burning cigarette to the ground as Tommy shot up to attention, pulling your hand behind the cover of his back into a tight grasp.

" Get some rest ladies. I'll escort you back tomorrow before sunrise" the lieutenant's words had a panicked breath slip past Tommy's lips as the realisation his time with you had come to an end shook the long-awaited moment from his draining face. Just a mere few minutes alone, compensation for the many hours, many days he'd been parted from you fighting in France.

"Tommy..." you whispered your pleas for him to stay as he turned to face you, hand tightly holding onto yours between the warmth of your bodies and away from the eyes of his superior.

" I'll find you. Tonight" Tommy mouthed as he let go of your clinging fingers, turning on his booted heel out of the bunker with a darting glance behind his shoulder to see the fear of never seeing him again flash across your face.

" Oh Y/N..." Helen raced to you as you collapsed against the muddy wall held up by planks of splintering wood. Hankie dabbing the tears of distress from your cheeks she shared with you for the bloody and battered soldiers you had tended to. Unbeknownst that one soldier, one blue-eyed freckled soldier, was not just an unknown Tommy fighting bravely in the battle of Britain, but your Tommy. Your summer love.

Left in the arms of your fellow nurse for the remainder of the evening, you waited for the quiet of night when gunfire ceased and the men resided to their sleeping bags for Tommy to fulfill his promise before you found yourself separated by war once again.

But as Helen fell into her cot of bundled blankets for the night, you found yourself pacing back and forth along the muddied bunker until the rustling sound of the makeshift door drew back.

"Tomm..." your shoulders slumped with disappointment to see Freddie stood in front of you as your eyes darted over his shoulder in search of Tommy.

" You've got him in right state, Y/N" he chuckled, pulling the last of the flimsy sheet to the side with a steadying hand out for you to join him in the trenches.

" C'mon, I'll take you to him" he balanced your hand in the cool of the night as you watched your footing along the slippery ground he'd trudged through on his way back from his last, and final duty of the day.

Under the protection of Tommy's trusted friend, you both quietly made your way through the film of fog that had settled over the row of men bunkered up against the banks of the trench as the sound of distant bullets peppered into the night sky.

" He's angry with me" your voice broke through the squelching of your feet trapping through the mud, men turning in their flimsy blankets as their lungs struggled against the bitter night with strained coughs.

"Scared" Freddie corrected you as you stepped over an unkempt fire burnt down to charred daggers.

" You've got him wondering what the bloody hell you're doing here, Y/N. What are you doing here?" he came to a stop, eyes full of the same questions that plagued Tommy's mind as he looked down at your fumbling fingers clutching your body from the teeth chattering cold.

"You know me, Freddie. Can't sit idle" a weak smile peaked through your nerves as Freddie nodded his head to Tommy stood in the corner of the trench, back to you with shaky hands pulling the last cigarette from the pack he'd smoked himself through in record time.

"Y/N he's... It's taken its toll on him. On all of us" Freddie warned you of the fragile state of every fighting man's mind they'd been left to silently battle through alone as the uncontrollable trembling of Tommy's fingers scrunched the empty box of tobacco into his fist. An unnerving reality he'd not only ignore until forced to face, but one he'd be darned to let you ever witness.

" Thank you, Freddie" you squeezed his arm as you slipped past him, walking the last of the trench alone with a ball of apprehension plummeting to your stomach for what you'd find left of your summer love.

" Tommy" you quietly voiced, fingers nervously pulling at each other as your watering eyes watched his back stiffen, straining hand releasing the boxed carton into the foot deep mud of France.

Turning on his heel, Tommy curled the rattling of his fingers into his palms as he stood to attention like a returning soldier waiting in line to be freed from duty to embrace his family.

" Tom..." you came to a sudden halt, tearful eyes and wobbly feet unsure of the twisting emotions emerging on his face.

With reddening skin and bubbling eyes, Tommy marched the last few feet through the turned earth, pulling you into his thudding chest with a withheld sob.

" Tommy" you wept in the comforting tightness of his arms as he dipped his face of tears into the locks of your hair, to the smell of lavender the summer fields of France had taunted him with for two years.

" What are you doing here, Y/N? What are you doing here, eh?!" Tommy grabbed hold of your cheeks, eyes darting to each of yours in a panic before pulling you back into his chest with a longing need he could no longer be parted from.

" I'm sorry...I'm sorry. I couldn't just sit there and do nothing" you sobbed against the earthy smells of his kaki jacket coated in the remnants of battle as his calloused fingers laced through your soft locks, head falling back to the starry sky with whispered thank yous.

Pressing a longing kiss to the crown of your head, Tommy held you tightly in his arms before pulling you with him to his claimed spot for the night, away from the dying flickers of the camp fire.

" Here" he rolled his sleeping bag across the uneven earth as you glanced around at the many men mere feet from you under their padded blankets.

" Trust me" he whispered to you, hand reaching for yours and your apprehensive footing to take the last step and join him under the silvery glow of the moon above.

Reassured enough your presence would go unnoticed, you settled down beside him as he wrapped your shivering shoulders under the warmth of his blanket, head dipping to catch the schoolgirl nerves that had unexpectedly left you mute. Nerves Tommy had suddenly come to realise were of his own making.

" Hey..." he quietly coaxed your eyes to meet his with the pad of his thumb settled beneath your chin, face hardening with intense worry for the mistake he'd unintentionally made.

" Pinch me" he caught you off guard with his unexpected demand as your brows knitted together in confusion.

" Pinch you?" your gaze darted up at the youthful gleam from times before flickering in his eyes as his thumb traced the curve of your cheek.

" So I know this isn't all some fucking dream" his attempts to break the ice left his playful smile flat line when your eyes met his with further apprehension.

" Not a nightmare then?" you questioned his initial reaction upon seeing you earlier that day as a breathy sigh of guilt left his lips.

" Not if you're here" he pulled your hand from your lap, intertwining his fingers within yours as his own boyish nerves glanced up at your furrowed brow that would need more convincing to believe otherwise.

" I got scared, darling" he confessed, eyes cast down at his thumb gilding over your knuckles as his jaw tethered, seconds from snapping and revealing his desperate attempts to contain the depths of his fears.

" I'm came here for you, Y/N. I'm fighting for you. To keep you safe" his voiced sentiment, shared with every fighting man beside him, had your eyes sting with tears as they drifted up to the washed out reality war had taken out on his.

" Come on, eh" he brushed the sadness from your cheeks, head falling forward to press a kiss so soft, so gentle to your silken lips that the ticking hands of time stopped the sounds of bloodshed echoing in your ears.

Locked in a tender embrace, feather light brushes of Tommy's tongue swept across yours as the bubble of blissfulness cruelly popped on the day of your goodbyes formed around you once again.

" Fuck, what I wouldn't do to be back in Small Heath with you" his mouth pulled back as he rested his head against yours, eyes closing shut to the sounds of coal being dragged along the cobbled streets. To children chasing scavenged sticks along the curb of flowing water with cheers for theirs to reach the grilled gutter first.

" Hmm" you hummed with a growing smile, joining him in the many flashing images of home. One in particular you were certain his tired memory had forgotten. " Even with your Aunt Pol screaming bloody murder at you?"

"Love...I can still hear her shouting her orders from across the bloody channel" his lips creased into a smile against yours with a breathy chuckle as the countless telling offs he'd endured and yet to receive, rang in his ear.

As laughs for his Aunt's way of herding the Shelby clan into order petered out, Tommy swallowed back the approaching hour of sunrise and the reappearing pangs of longing that would return when you'd be parted from each other in the morning.

" Stay with me tonight?" he quietly murmured, combing the locks of hair from your face in a desperate attempt to not only settle the emerging shakes rattling in his fingers, but to stop himself from openly begging you to be free of the nightmares that troubled his soul for one night.

" I'll stay" you slowly nodded, your smile of agreement sending a wave of relief to Tommy's burdened mind as he pulled you in with a pressing kiss to your temple.

As you shifted your bodies into your makeshift bed for two, Tommy tucked the fleece cover around your bodies as your head rested on the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

Finally in the arms of each other, your hands danced in unison as you both looked up at the inky darkness scattered with a thousand stars. A shared moment in the midst of destruction, your mind suddenly found itself wandering to what ifs, to unfilled desires you feared you would never experience with the looming threat of death over your shoulder.

" Hey" your turned, propping yourself up on one elbow as Tommy weaved his hand through the lengths of your locks, the peaceful moment lulling his eyes shut.

" Hm?" he hummed through the content smile that had settled on his lips as you inched closer, hand grazing up his chest with a knitted ball of nerves bobbing in your throat.

" Kiss me" your eyes darted from your fingers twiddling the small button of his jacket to his growing grin.

" Kiss you, eh?" his smirking lips reached for yours, taking you up on your offer with a gentle peck to your mouth, that left him momentarily breathless when your enthusiasm turned the tender embrace into a heated show of passion and a hand slipping down to his belt.

" Darling..." he swallowed back the urge ignited within him as he pulled your hand up to settle on his thudding chest.

" You don't want me?" your eyes fluttered open in embarrassment, hand desperately trying to pull away as he held it to his lips with a reassuring kiss.

"I want you. Fuck, I want you..." he sighed across your knuckles, lustfully gazing up at you through hooded eyes.

" But?" your cheeks reddened, awaiting the rejection your feet were seconds from bolting from.

" But...here?" he hummed against the back of your hand, cocking a playful brow at the most unlikeliest of places he ever imagined you wanting to experience your first time with him.

" Here" you slowly nodded your head, deciding to forgo the tear-pricking meaning behind your choice Tommy's observant eye was quick to realise and keen to shroud with a spirited response rather than contemplate the heartbreaking reality of war.

" Just so you know..." Tommy turned on his side with a grunt along the hardened ground of pebbles and padded mud. " Not even a fucking bomb will stop me once I get started" he smiled into your giggling lips as he thumbed around the curve of your mouth.

" You sure?" he sought one last confirmation, head pulling back for your response when your crashing lips answered for you.

Lips locked in a dance of wanton need, Tommy maneuvered the thin blanket over your bodies, shielding your modesty from the men sleeping feet from you as your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his trousers before quickly dipping down to the fleshy feeling of his hardening cock.

" Fu...ck" Tommy stuttered with a moan as his head fell forward into the crook of your neck, blood surging from his slouching body to the bolts of pleasure throbbing through his length.

Tongues intertwined, you softly moaned into his mouth as his gripping hands roamed under your dress to the spongy warmth of your thighs.

" Tom..." you muffled a gasp as your eyes shot open over his shoulder to the soldier soundly sleeping an ear shot away as his fingers snaked between you legs.

Both painfully aware of being caught, you quietly stroked one another with stifled moans, fluttering eyes scanning around you for any movement until Tommy's self-control snapped and he rolled you onto your back, frantically pulling up the ends of your dress.

" I love you" he came to a breathy stop, elbows propping the weight of his body up as your hands reached for his tousled locks scattered in front of his eyes.

" I love you too, Tommy" you brushed his hair into your palm to see the flickers of blue in his eyes as he dipped his head forward, peppering kisses along your lips until he captured your mouth in a deep embrace of wanton need.

Rustling hand reaching under the covers, Tommy pushed the band of his suit trousers down to the tops of his thighs, cock springing free with a teasing swipe against your wet folds his willpower could no longer withstand.

" Please..." you begged for the ache within you to be filled as he slid the throbbing end of his length through your folds, slowly burying himself in you with rocking hips and a shared hiss of relief.

" Fuck, sweetheart" his eyes rolled to the back of his head as the muffled sounds of your joined bodies reached his ear. Hand gliding along the curves of your clothed hips when he suddenly came to a stop as his sharp hearing caught the sound of plodding feet and chattering voices closing in.

" 6am wake up...." two rifle-baring men stopped feet from you mid-conversation, passing the half-smoked cigarette back and forth as Tommy pulled the blanket over your head to shield you from discovery, when your bucking hips desperate for friction, had his hand flying to your waist before his own moans of pleasure slipped past his lips.

" Tom" you wined at the feeling of his throbbing cock pulsing inside you as his eyes closely followed the two men over his shoulder with silent insults for them to move the fuck on.

"Darling, sto..." he quietly hissed at the feeling of your hand reaching down between your intertwined bodies, fingers wrapping around the curly base of his veiny length with small strokes that had his eyes slamming shut, breath exhaling a foggy cloud of condensation into the bitter night air as he slowly began to rock himself back into you.

With the sound of the patrolling mens feet leaving, Tommy's movements came at a rapid pace as his tongue darted into your mouth, hand gripping onto the fleshy softness of your thigh under the cover of the stitched blanket.

" Fuck, I'm close..." his movements became uncoordinated as he found himself no longer battling for Britain but against the surge of pleasure seconds from erupting.

Face blushing you tethered on the edge of ecstacy when Tommy's hand swept under the soft cushioning of your bum, propping your waist up to grind against the bundle of nerves swollen from his deep thrusts.

" Y/N..." he moaned your name, reaching the point of no return as his cock swelled with pressure, shooting ropes of cum into the clenching warmth of your body as you fell over the edge in unison.

" Fuck" you mouthed together as his head buried itself into the crook of your neck with a shared chuckle, his body spent of all energy collapsing into your arms as the aftershocks of your highs twitched against each other.

Slowly coming down from the intensity of the moment, you found yourselves settling beside each other with Tommy's arm looped around your back as he twirled a lock of your hair around his finger. The gentle pulling of each strand twisting into a ringlet, slowly lulling you to sleep, when your whirling fears suddenly returned and Freddie Thorne's harrowing words had the heat raise to your cheeks in a panic.

" Tommy, promise you'll come back to me in one piece?" you turned to see the growing smile on his lips as he pulled you further to his side with a gentle squeeze of reassurance that his oath to you that parting day at the train station hadn't been one he'd forgotten.

" I promise" his sleepy eyes opened to see the unexpected worry flashing in yours as you pulled yourself up against his chest, hand stroking across his brows until your fingers settled on the side of his temple with a gentle tap against the damage of war already taking form.

" All of you, Tommy"

" Chop chop ladies, get a move on" Polly marched across the streets of Birmingham, holding onto her netted hat with Finn hurrying beside her as you and Ada trailed behind, passing your newly purchased lipstick between your shaky hands as a dusting of snow settled on your shoulders.

It had been almost three months since the war had ended. And as autumn turned into winter, the fighting boys abroad missed the celebrations of Christmas to carry out the last of their duties until the day came where they could return to their homes and loved ones patiently waiting. A day that had finally come. One full of bubbling nerves for you and every member of the Shelby household as you waited on the platform of Moore Street station to welcome your fighting men home.

" They're here!" Finn shouted as he caught sight of a cloud of engine smoke pummeling into the air, the approaching sounds of train wheels chugging along the steel tracks.

" Ada..." your head spun to your friend as she grabbed hold of your hand, reassuring you of the worries that had plagued you since your return to England and slow decline of Tommy's letters home.

"Come on now, you'll ruin my masterpiece" she playfully smiled, fingers reaching up to dab the corners of your eyes and the carefully lined eyeliner she had drawn on.

" Ready, girls?" Polly spun around with an apprehensive smile, pulling you both beside her as the train came to a screeching halt along the platform.

As the sound of each carriage door unlocking one by one, echoed with a chilly gust through the silent crowd patiently waiting, all eyes drifted in unison to the toddling steps of a petticoat girl approaching the train as the first cabin door creaked open a soldier with arms stretched open stepped out.

" My sweet girl" he pulled her into his arms as his wife raced forward with sobs of joy. The very same woman with a blossoming bump who leant on you for support as you promised the safe return of your brave men four years ago.

Tears pricking at the eyes of every waiting loved one watching on, a wave of apprehension had your shaky feet tip toeing over the crowd of heads in search of your own soldier to debark and share a reunion just as joyous.

" There they are!" Polly waved above the shuffling of bodies to Arthur and John arms outstretched racing towards her, she quickly found her hands swatting away when they lifted her from her heels into a spinning hug.

With a ruffle of your hair and a pressed kiss to your cheek, both Arthur and John greeted you with matching smiles before turning to Polly with demands for smokes and whiskey she had stuffed in her bag in celebration as your eyes darted around in search of Tommy.

Lids welling with panic, you weaved through the joyous sounds of families joining together, when your feet came to a shuffling stop along the platform paved of snow. Shaky fingers tucking a lock of hair behind your ear for a moment to gather your nerves before you returned in search of Tommy, when you heard the heavy sound of footsteps coming to a gritty stop behind you.

" Y/N?" your eyes fluttered open with a sharp inhale at the sound of your name being called as you slowly turned to see a smartly suited man dressed in his ceremonial uniform standing to attention behind you.

" Tommy!" a tear slipped over your cheek as you launched yourself into his arms, cries of happiness muffling against his pressed jacket as his hand cupped the back of your head.

" You're here!" you pulled back, fingers reaching for the soft skin of his freckled cheeks with a smile that suddenly dropped at the straight face of unmatched excitement staring back at you.

Eyes dull of life looking down at you, your hands fell to your side as you swallowed back your joy with a step away from the man that had returned.

" I'm happy you're home. Safe and sound" you perked up in attempt to lighten the sullen reunion as your fingers reached to adjust the displayed medal pinned on his suit jacket with sheepish eyes glancing up at the hollow stare staring down at you.

" It's good to be back" his admission came in a statement void of happiness as his unwavering stare darted across your face with a heavy breath of contemplation.

" Come" his head darted over his shoulder to his family waiting by the station office as he grabbed hold of your hand and pulled you along at his marching pace.

As your eyes observed the stark difference between his reunion with his family and yours, hurt had you trying to pull your hand from his insistent grip and cold shoulder he was unexpectedly giving you.

Had you done something wrong? Said something wrong? you sniffed back your tears as you watched him press a kiss to his aunt's cheek. Fingers slipping from yours as he embraced his siblings with tight hugs.

" Y/N" his head quickly snapped back to you, grabbing your hand to pull your parting feet beside him.

Hurried heels rushing next to him, Tommy guided you out the train station in silence like a school girl having been told off, when your pooling eyes for the dream reunion you wished to share with the many women around you cast down to your shuffling heels.

" Welcome back, gents " your head shot up to the distinct lilt of Sean's voice as you passed through the gated station to see him perched on a brick wall with a blade of barley between his grinning teeth as he shot you a wink.

" Tommy" he smirked with a flick of his peaked cap, gnawing at the harvested wheat. His teasing greeting to you not going missed by your lover when you felt his irritation tightly squeeze around your hand, eyes darting down at you with suspicion.

" Let's go home" you ignored Sean's continued jeers of amusement as you walked onto the streets of Birmingham, worried eyes suddenly aware of the growing paranoia snapping in his tightening jaw.

Plagued with the reignited questions as to what had you fleeing to the war in France, to what had O'Connor suddenly lurking about upon his return. A more troubling reality had entered his dreams when the sounds of shovels beat the rising sun with nightmares of the horrors of battle. For the war of 1914 may have ended, but Tommy's had only just begun.

*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 💚*

[Next part] (coming soon!)

Tag list: @mischievouslittlecreature @peakyswritings @jbrownta @youngbananamilkshake @meadowshelby

@dragonsneversharetheirtreasure @novashelby @tiedyedghoulette @strangeobsessed @justrainandcoffee

@bruhidkjustwannaread

[dreamykira]

One Way or Another Pt. 3 I IN-HO x reader

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

˗ˏˋSUMMARY ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ Trapped in luxury, but far from free, you know you have to escape—not just for yourself, but for the players still fighting for survival. In-ho refuses to let you go, his grip tightening with every act of defiance. When you shut him out, he reminds you exactly who holds the power. But what he doesn’t know? By tomorrow, you’ll be gone.

˗ˏˋWARNINGS ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ I don't really know lmaooo, In-ho is low key possessive? Other than that it should be fine!

˗ˏˋAUTHOR'S NOTE ´ˎ˗

╰┈➤ heyyy! im back now. had a REALLY rough week. school was awful and then i got sick on wednesday and then my boss called me in for work on saturday and then.... (the list goes on and on and on) anywayy im back with part 3!

this lovely reader here @androgynous-lady helped me a lot by sharing some really good ideas! thank you❤️

word count: 1347

In-ho had left hours ago, pulled away by the responsibilities that came with overseeing the games. You didn’t ask what he had to do—he never told you much anyway. But now, alone in the luxurious apartment he had placed you in, your thoughts churned.

What was happening beyond these walls? What had become of the others? The rebellion had failed, that much was clear. You had survived, but at what cost? Guilt gnawed at you, the thought of your teammates—your friends—still trapped in this twisted game was unbearable. You had to do something. But how?

The sound of the door unlocking startled you. You sat up as In-ho stepped inside, mask tucked under his arm. His sharp eyes softened the moment they landed on you.

"Did you miss me?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.

You hesitated before nodding. It wasn’t a lie. As much as you resented him for what he had done, his presence was the only thing keeping you from completely unraveling.

In-ho crossed the room in a few strides, settling beside you on the plush couch. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you close. It was warm, familiar. Safe, even, if you ignored the truth of who he really was.

For a while, you allowed yourself to sink into the moment. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your arm, his breath even and steady against your hair. It was almost normal—almost.

But the moment couldn’t last.

You shifted, tilting your head to look at him. "In-ho."

His hand stilled. "Hm?"

You swallowed hard. "The other players… what’s going to happen to them?"

A pause. Then, he sighed. "You shouldn’t worry about that."

"How can I not? They’re still in there, still playing, still dying." You pulled away slightly, searching his face for any trace of humanity, of remorse. "Please. Let them go. You have the power to do that."

His fingers curled against your arm, grip tightening just slightly. "I can’t."

"Why not?"

His gaze darkened, though his voice remained steady. "Because this is bigger than you or me. The game must go on."

"That’s not an answer." You sat up fully now, desperate. "You spared me. You can do the same for them."

In-ho exhaled slowly, sitting up beside you. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin with careful precision. "I spared you because you’re different. Because I care about you."

Your breath hitched. "But—"

"No." His voice was soft, yet firm. "You don’t understand the way this works. If I let them go, it won’t end with just them. There are consequences. Ones I can’t control."

You wanted to argue, to fight, but the way he looked at you—so intent, so unshaken—made you hesitate. Doubt crept in, whispering that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Trust me," he murmured, leaning in until your foreheads nearly touched. "I’m doing what’s best for you. For us."

Your heart ached, torn between what you knew was right and the twisted sense of comfort his words brought. You wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe that somehow, in some way, this could make sense.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

And you weren’t sure how much longer you could ignore it.

Your expression hardened. “You keep saying that. ‘Trust me, trust me.’ But why should I?” You pulled away completely this time, standing up from the couch. “You’re acting like you’re protecting me, like this is all for my sake, but let’s be real, In-ho. You’re just doing whatever makes you feel better.”

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“I’m not stupid,” you continued, arms crossing over your chest. “You want to play this game, fine. But don’t expect me to sit here and pretend it’s okay just because you decided to keep me around.”

In-ho reached for you, but you jerked away before he could touch you. “Don’t,” you snapped, glaring at him. “I don’t want your comfort. Not when you’re the reason I need it in the first place.”

A flicker of something dark crossed his face—frustration, maybe even amusement. But then, before you could react, he moved.

Fast.

One hand gripped your wrist, yanking you back toward him, while the other settled firmly at your waist. You gasped, about to protest, but he was already tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“You don’t want my comfort?” His voice was low, dangerous. “Fine. But don’t forget who’s in control here.”

Before you could snap back, his lips crashed against yours—rough, unyielding, stealing the breath from your lungs. His grip tightened, holding you in place, forcing you to feel every bit of the dominance he carried. He wasn’t asking for power. He was reminding you he already had it.

And when he finally pulled away, his dark eyes bore into yours, daring you to challenge him.

“Be mad all you want,” he murmured, thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “You’re still mine.”

And deep down, no matter how much you wanted to fight it, you knew he was right.

✧˚ · .

You spent the entire next day locked in your own head, staring at the same four walls of the livingroom, your mind racing.

You had to get out.

Not just for yourself—but for them. For the ones still fighting to survive in the games, trapped in this nightmare with no way out. If you stayed here, you were just another piece in In-ho’s twisted world, another thing he thought he could keep. But you weren’t his. Not yet, at least.

Your eyes flickered to the vents. Small, almost unnoticeable. You’d studied every inch of this room, every possible weakness. If you were going to escape, you needed the right moment.

And that moment would come soon.

The door clicked open.

In-ho was back.

You didn’t turn to look at him. You stayed curled up in the corner of the couch, arms crossed, your expression unreadable.

His footsteps were slow, calculated, as he stepped further inside. He was watching you—waiting, expecting you to acknowledge him. When you didn’t, he finally spoke.

“Have you eaten?”

You didn’t answer.

He sighed, setting his mask down on the table before stepping closer. “I asked you a question.”

Silence.

His patience thinned. You could hear it in the slight shift of his tone. “You can be mad all you want, but starving yourself isn’t going to change anything.”

Still, you didn’t react.

His footsteps stopped right in front of you. “You’re acting like a child.”

That made you snap.

You turned your head slightly, finally looking up at him, your expression sharp. “Oh, I’m sorry—am I supposed to smile and play along? Pretend last night didn’t happen?”

In-ho’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening. “You knew what was going to happen the moment you challenged me.”

A bitter laugh slipped past your lips. “Right. Because you always win, don’t you?”

He stared at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, he moved—fast. His hand grasped your wrist before you could pull away, forcing you up onto your feet.

“I don’t have time for games,” he murmured, voice lower now, more dangerous. “I came back expecting you to drop this ridiculous act.”

You glared at him, twisting your arm free with a sharp yank. “And I expected you to realize you can’t just keep me here like some caged pet.”

The words hung in the air between you.

For a second, neither of you moved. His lips parted slightly, like he wanted to respond, but instead, he exhaled slowly, as if he was reining himself in.

Then, before you could react, he grabbed the back of your neck, yanking you toward him.

“You don’t get to decide how this ends,” he whispered, his breath hot against your lips.

You stood in silence for a while, not daring to say a word.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. "Let me go," you murmured, "I just want to got to bed."

Once he did, you beelined for the bedroom, your mind racing.

Maybe he believed that. Believed that you would just come to terms with your situation one day.

But he didn’t know what you had planned.

He had no idea that by tomorrow, you wouldn’t be here.

tag list:  @androgynous-lady @avsarchivez @squidgame-lover001 @plague-cure

[spacequokka]

Unzipped

Pairing: Yeosang x staff!reader Genre: PWP, teeny bit of fluff Rating: MA Summary: Yeosang's desperate to get off and you offer your throat. Word Count: 1.1k Warnings: language, oral (m. receiving), cum swallowing

Mixtape Track: Dream by wavycake f. def.

Yeosang had everyone fooled. Strangers would look at him and assume he was the shy, quiet type. His friends thought he was mouthy, annoying, and crafty. None of them would ever guess he was insatiable.

At first it bothered him. Randomly getting hard in the weirdest places or times made him think there was something wrong with him. He’d try his best to curb his lewd thoughts, try to match the image people had of him, but sooner or later he’d be sneaking off to take care of his dick. One release could hold him for a few hours, just long enough to scheme on the next place to touch himself.

This time he was planning on slipping into a supply closet near the parking lot. If anyone caught him coming out of it, he could just say he was looking for the bathroom and got turned around. Happens all the time and no one would think anything of it. The others were milling about as the stylist team helped them dress down to leave. He had a few minutes to disappear and rub one out before they got in the van.

He slipped out the door confident no one had noticed. Two lefts and a right and he stood before the door to his relief. As soon as it shut behind him and he was plunged into darkness, his fingers were working on his zipper and clasp, easing the pressure on his dick. Just as he was about to stick his hand in and fish the needy bastard out, the door opened.

“Yeosang, what are you—”

Light flooded the small space as you stood there, eyes wide with what he could only guess was horror and disgust fixed on his hand in his pants. So he panicked. His only thought was what would happen if someone saw you standing there. His body moved on autopilot and grabbed your wrist then yanked you into the closet with him, shutting the door behind you.

‘Well, now what, genius?!’

The awkward silence that followed was enough to make him consider running away, changing his name and going off to live on a llama farm somewhere with no internet.

“This isn’t the bathroom.” You whispered into the darkness.

His mind went blank for a second. “No, it’s not.”

More silence. “So, why are you in here? With your pants unzipped?”

He honestly had no idea how to answer that. “I was…” No, really. Head empty, no thoughts, just the insistent throbbing of his cock in his pants. “I just needed…”

And like the absolute angel you were, you put two and two together and saved him the embarrassment. “Oh, I see…” Your smartwatch lit up, briefly illuminating the concern in your expression. “We’re leaving in, like, ten minutes.”

Well, shit. He’d need more time than that to get his erection to go away. The idea of walking around like that was far from pleasant. Perhaps if you bought him some time—

“If you want, I can help you.” He could sense you moving, arms up doing something to your hair. “A quickie so they don’t notice.”

He nearly choked on his spit after sucking in air for a gasp. “How-how would you help me?”

He felt your hands on his hips as you got on your knees. “With my mouth. That’s the safest option we have right now.” You gave him a moment to reject the offer before pulling at his pants. He had to cover his mouth when he felt your hand close around his dick and guide it out. It felt amazing to have someone else touch him. Those first few strokes made his legs shake. When your warm, wet mouth closed around the tip he nearly fell over. It was both embarrassing and a relief to know he wouldn’t last long from your touch.

“Oh, fuck.” He bought a shaky hand to the top of your head as you licked at him, tonguing his weeping slit before going for it, sliding him along your tongue until he reached your throat. “Holy shit.” His other hand went to the wall for support as you started bobbing, holding his hips as you pulled off then stuffed him back in your mouth. It was like he was being shocked then wrapped in a fluffy blanket the way pleasure pulsed through his body. He bit his lip to keep silent but as you worked him deeper and deeper down your throat, swallowing around him over and over, he struggled to contain himself. By the time you had a steady rhythm going, he was on the verge of calling out your name between pants for air.

You pulled off just long enough to destroy his concentration. “Cum in my mouth. I’ll swallow it all for you.”

‘All for you…’ Fuck, he wished he could see your face. He wanted to remember this moment forever. His pretty coordi-noona on her knees, mouth stretched around his cock, swallowing every last drop of his cum. His body seized up as he came, pushing in as deep as you allowed and holding you there while his cock pulsed with each spurt of his cum. And you swallowed like you promised, he could feel your throat working around him. When you finally pulled away, he was spent, energy depleted as if he’d run a marathon.

“You okay?”

If he had the time, he’d return the favor immediately. Head that good deserves to be rewarded. “Yeah, much better now.” You politely tucked his soft dick away and helped zip his pants back up. He insisted on helping you to your feet and fix your hair. You laughed shyly at his closeness when you felt his fingers tracing your lips for any excess. He couldn’t stop himself from brushing his lips against yours and stealing a quick peck. “Thank you so much.”

“No worries.” You patted his cheek. “But we should go before Joong sends someone to find you. Wooyoung will never let you live it down.”

His shoulders drooped as he nodded. “You first. Text me when the coast is clear.”

“Gotcha.” You quickly disappeared out the door, giving him a quick glimpse of your hardened nipples. Though he did his best to not show it, he knew he’d be thinking of you whenever he got off from now on.

Unless he could talk you into some time alone later…

[golden-reverie]

Dewey Decimated

Chapter One

Author’s note: I genuinely don’t even know what to say, except thank you all so much!! I was expecting maximum like 10 likes on my last blurb, so the fact that 500+ people liked/reblogged it?? I'm forever indebted to you all. You make this so much more fun for a tentative writer like me!

Anyway, I’m finally sharing the first couple of installments of my very first series! Just a heads-up—it’s a slow burn, and, unfortunately, I’ve written it at an equally slow pace, so thank you in advance for your patience. At this point, it's a lot of just setting the scene, but it will get better (and spicier)—I promise! 💕

Summary : Mabel, a part-time librarian, finds solace in her carefully constructed routine—that is until Harry, an atypical library patron, unsettles the order she’s worked hard to maintain.

Word count: 2.4k

Warnings: Nothing quite yet, hints of past dom/sub relationships if you squint, brief mentions of complicated family dynamics (alcoholism and abandonment), toxic work environment-ish, and hints of a future dom/sub realtionship (if you really truly squint)

The library was Mabel’s refuge—a place where the world exhaled, its chaos dimmed to a distant murmur beneath the soft rustle of pages and the faint squeak of rolling carts. The air smelled of aged paper, leather bindings, and a hint of dust, settling over her like a familiar, worn blanket.

She just started her shift and was in the middle of shelving a stack of biographies, her fingers trailing the spines as if drawing reassurance from their steadfast order. The quiet, the predictability—it was the only part of her life that made sense.

She stretched her arms above her head, feeling the pull of exhaustion etched deep into her muscles. Northwind Publishing, her so-called “real” job, had wrung her dry per usual—early mornings, endless demands, her boss barking orders like she was his assistant and his punching bag. The paycheck wasn’t glamorous, but it kept her modest apartment and, more importantly, covered the twins’ tuition.

Her brothers, Charlie and Peter—now sophomores in college—were the reason she did everything. She’d promised herself long ago that they’d never be crushed by the weight of their father’s abrupt departure or their mother’s slow, suffocating unraveling afterward—a promise paid in the form of a miserable boss, double shifts at the library, and exhaustion woven into her bones.

Unlike their father, their mother didn’t leave them—not physically, at least. Shortly after “the departure,”—or “D-Day” as Charlie mordantly coined it—she’d lost her corporate job and found solace in the bottom of a bottle, leaving Mabel to shoulder the role of caretaker by the time she was a freshman in high school. Cooking meals, checking homework, wiping tears—she’d done it all. Maternal love had been transactional in that house, given only when it served a purpose. Now, Mabel’s love manifested itself in tuition payments and relentless sacrifice—but she was okay with that—as long as her brothers never felt that same hollow emptiness she did.

She sighed, casting a glance at the clock. One more hour, then she could shuffle home, microwave leftovers, and collapse into bed—only to rise at dawn and do it all again. The routine numbed her, but at least it was consistent. Consistency kept her grounded.

That is, until he walked in.

Harry.

She didn’t need to look to know it was him. He had a presence—one of those rare people who could command a room without saying a word. Even in the hushed sanctum of the library, he somehow made space bend around him.

There was a rhythm to his visits now—same time, same sections. He’d skim the Career & Business shelves before moving on to something more eclectic. Last week it had been Leaders Eat Last by Simon Sinek and Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore. She’d checked them out for him, her fingers brushing his as he handed over his library card.

It wasn’t like she went out of her way to notice him, exactly. But he was… hard to miss.

Tall and sharp-jawed, he was always dressed like he’d just stepped out of a boardroom, his suits tailored to perfection, hugging his frame like they’d been stitched directly onto his skin. His curly brown hair was just messy enough to look intentional, like he’d run his hands through it moments before stepping inside. And his eyes—a sharp, calculating green—seemed to take in more than he let on. There was a confidence in the way he moved, a slight edge that bordered on cocky but never tipped into arrogance. Mabel told herself it was just observation—nothing more. She wasn’t naive enough to think a man like him could be interested, and even if he was, she didn’t have the luxury of entertaining the idea.

It had been two years since her last attempt at anything resembling a relationship, and the memory still stung like a fresh bruise. His name was Matt, a classmate from her Literary Theory class. He’d asked her out right after graduation, claiming he’d been crushing on her all year but was too intimidated to say anything sooner. When he’d say things like that, she believed him—for a while, at least. He told her he admired her drive and independence. When she started working full-time, juggling two jobs to support her brothers, he told her he respected her dedication. He knew about her family situation, knew the weight she carried, and said he admired it.

But admiration has a short shelf life when convenience runs out.

He didn’t care that she took a humiliating scolding from her boss after leaving the office early one night to make it in time for their dinner plans, only for him to cancel last minute because he wanted to “hang with the boys.” He didn’t flinch when she cut her hours at the library—the one job she actually enjoyed, the job that paid for her groceries—just so she could attend his intramural baseball games on Thursdays, only for him to barely acknowledge her presence anyway.

For a time, he gave her what she craved in the bedroom: the release of control, the ability to let someone else take the reins for once. He claimed he was the dominant type—but like every man before him who’d promised her the same, it was just a façade. Dominance, for them, was an excuse to be selfish and get away with it. It meant using her vulnerability as a weapon. They ignored her boundaries, bulldozed through her limits under the guise of “knowing what she really wanted.” They treated her trust like a disposable commodity—something to be used up and discarded when it no longer served them. What should have been a partnership rooted in mutual respect became a one-sided performance, with her needs left forgotten in the aftermath.

After Matt, Mabel decided she didn’t have the patience for men who saw her strength as a challenge to conquer, who twisted the control she trusted them with into something ugly. She had no time for people who mistook her independence for an inconvenience, or who recoiled at the reality of her responsibilities. Love—or whatever shadow of it they offered—came with too high a cost.

And Harry? He was just another polished surface, all gleaming edges and smooth charm. She wasn’t about to get lost in reflections again.

That’s why she paid no mind to the way he lingered a little too long at the service desk. She brushed it off as coincidence when he always, without fail, ended up in her line, even when another was open. She refused to acknowledge the flutter in her chest when their fingers brushed, or the way her stomach twisted when she caught him glancing her way. No, she didn’t have time for distractions—especially not the kind wrapped in bespoke suits and quiet confidence.

As if on cue, Harry glanced up from a book he was inspecting, his gaze flicking over the room before landing squarely on her. Mabel quickly turned back to her cart, pretending to fuss with a stack of already-perfectly-aligned books. She could feel her heart thudding loudly in her chest, but she ignored it.

“Mabel, darling,” Mrs. Whitmore’s familiar voice broke through her thoughts, warm and grounding. “Do you mind covering the front desk for the rest of your shift? Daniel’s feeling under the weather, so I sent him home early.”

Mabel turned to her manager with a nod. Ever since she’d started at the library, Mrs. Whitmore had filled a mother-shaped void in her life. She offered everything Mabel had been deprived of as a child—kindness, encouragement, gentle words, and a listening ear. She had become the safe harbor where Mabel docked after the stress of long days in the office.

“Of course,” Mabel said, forcing a small smile.

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Whitmore patted her arm affectionately. “You’re a lifesaver.”

Mabel gathered her things and made her way to the front desk, her sneakers squeaking softly against the polished floor. She thought she felt a particular set of green eyes tracking her movements—but she dismissed the thought as nonsense.

Get a grip, Mabel, she chastised herself. He’s just another library patron. Nothing more.

The library was quieter than usual for a Tuesday afternoon. A few patrons were scattered throughout, lost in their own worlds. Perfect. It meant she could lose herself in hers. She pulled her current read from under the desk—The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet by Becky Chambers. It was the perfect escape, pulling her into a world far from her own, where travelers forged bonds stronger than blood and navigated life’s complexities among the stars. She relished the sense of adventure, the camaraderie, the idea that even in the vastness of space, people could find home in each other. The words wrapped around her like a cocoon, the rest of the library fading into the background. She barely noticed when Harry approached.

“Interesting choice,” he said, his voice smooth, laced with the faintest hint of amusement.

Mabel looked up, startled. He was standing there, one brow slightly raised, that same quiet confidence radiating off him like heat from the sun.

“Uh—yeah,” she stammered, quickly snapping the book shut. “It’s… thought-provoking.”

“I’ll bet.” His gaze flicked to the cover, then back to her. “Think it’s worth a read?”

Her stomach tightened, but she kept her face neutral. “I think you might find it interesting.” A beat passed, and then she rambled, “I mean, not that I know what you’d like… I mean, you seem more into practical stuff… not that there’s anything wrong with that…”

Oh my God, shut up.

A slow, knowing smile spread across his face—the kind that suggested he was used to getting under people’s skin.

“I’ll have to check it out, then,” he said, sliding his books across the counter.

She reached for them, fingers brushing his—barely, but enough. Enough for a flicker of something unreadable to cross his face. Enough for her breath to catch, despite herself.

She swallowed. Be normal, Mabel.

She scanned the books, handed them back, and gave him the same polite smile she offered every patron.

“Have a good evening,” she said, her voice almost steady.

“You too, Mabel.”

His voice was lower this time. Intentional.

And then he was gone.

***

Harry wasn’t the type to frequent libraries. His world thrived on boardrooms, deadlines, and the relentless pursuit of success—not the hushed whispers and faint scent of old paper that clung to places like this. But there was something about this particular library—and the woman behind the counter—that kept pulling him back.

It had started innocently enough. A random detour on a quiet evening when the hum of his office felt too suffocating and his penthouse felt too empty. He’d needed something to distract him, something to tether his thoughts before they unraveled into restless discontent.

What he hadn’t expected was her.

Mabel.

He’d caught her name from the delicate pin on her blouse the first time she checked out his books. It suited her—pretty, unassuming, but with an old-world charm that felt rare in a city like Seattle. At first, she hadn’t even looked up, too focused on scanning his selections. But when she did…

Those eyes.

They weren’t the kind that sparkled with flirtation or invited small talk. No, hers were guarded—the kind of eyes that had seen too much and trusted too little. But they intrigued him in a way he couldn’t quite shake. There was a quiet strength there, something unyielding beneath the exhaustion lining her features.

Harry prided himself on control—in business, in life... in the bedroom. He made decisions in seconds, calculated risks with precision, and surrounded himself with things that screamed efficiency, power, and control—innate parts of who he was.

But with Mabel, that all felt like it was slipping, one fleeting glance at a time. He knew better than to get involved. His rules were simple: no attachments, no complications.

Relationships—if you could call them that—were meant to be temporary. A mutual understanding of needs met and lines not crossed.

And yet, he kept going back. Initially, it was for her—a magnetic pull that, if he were honest, still lingered. With each visit, however, his fondness for the quaint little library grew. Accustomed to pursuing the pinnacle of excellence, he knew this place was far from grand. Its shelves were outdated, its walls wore the quiet patina of time, and it offered nothing lavish or modern. Yet, in a life fixated on sterile perfection, it radiated a raw, unpolished charm that he welcomed.

He browsed the shelves, picked up his usual selections, and—as if drawn by instinct—found himself in her line again. Their fingers brushed when she handed him his books. He let the touch linger just a fraction longer than necessary. A flicker of surprise crossed her features, subtle but unmistakable. And it gave him more satisfaction that it should have.

He hadn’t meant to say her name like that—low, deliberate, as if testing the feel of it on his tongue. But the way her breath caught, just slightly, didn’t go unnoticed.

By the time he stepped into the cool night air, he knew two things for certain.

One: Mabel was different.

And two: He was already breaking his own rules.

Back in his penthouse, Harry tossed his keys onto the sleek marble counter and loosened his tie, the city stretching before him in a sea of lights. But instead of the usual satisfaction that came with closing another deal, an unfamiliar restlessness hummed beneath his skin.

He poured himself a glass of scotch, letting the burn settle in his throat, trying to ignore the fact that his mind kept drifting back to her. The curve of her lips when she fought back a nervous smile. The way color rose in her cheeks when their eyes met. The quiet defiance in the way she carried herself, as if daring the world to expect less of her.

He shouldn’t care.

But he wanted to see her again.

Not just as the reserved librarian behind the counter. He wanted to know what lay beneath that carefully composed exterior.

What made her sigh. What made her moan. What made her finally let go of that rigid control she clung to so tightly.

Even before he reached into his briefcase, he was certain: those books would be returned far sooner than he could ever hope to finish reading them.

***

Read chapter two here.

[pinkcreamypeach]

Interactions (Story)

Characters- Wendy, Iggy, Ludwig, Kamek, Lemmy, Junior and Peach with mentions of Bowser. (Some of the koopalings basically)

(This is my first time writing the Koopalings, and wow, they’re incredibly tough to writel. Apologies for the abrupt ending. I didn't have a solid plan going in, but this was more of an experiment.I really wanted to explore Princess Peach building relationships with each of the Koopalings. It might be a little out of character, but I still thought it would be interesting to try! The others will get their turns with peach.)

(Look at this adorable GIF! 😭 Bowser and his children core)

“Oh, Mario..."

*Peach found herself in yet another lavishly furnished room within Bowser’s fortress. It was an improvement from past imprisonments, yet the familiarity of captivity left her feeling just as trapped. She never voiced her discomfort to the King and never spoke much to him at all. Silence had become her shield, a quiet defiance. Even as fear lingered, she had long since learned to suppress it.*

*Wandering the room, her eyes settled on a grand piano tucked into the corner. Drawn to it, she gracefully approached, adjusting her gown before lowering herself onto the bench. Her fingers hovered over the keys, tracing their familiar arrangement. She pressed B, then C. A simple observation B and C, like E and F, sat side by side with no black key between them, their notes naturally a half step apart.*

*She had been playing since childhood, and instinct took over as she began a simple warm-up. First, the treble clef medium to high pitch. Her fingers moved with careful precision, striking each note as quarter beats, never holding them too long. Eyes closed, she hummed softly in accompaniment, losing herself in the gentle melody.*

*Then, the door creaked open slowly, quietly. The absence of heavy footsteps confirmed it wasn’t Bowser. The mere presence of footsteps at all meant it wasn’t Kamek, either. That left only one real possibility.*

“You can play the piano?"

*The voice was smooth, refined. Ludwig von Koopa the eldest of the Koopalings, though not the largest. He stepped inside, studying her posture and technique with a discerning eye. A nod of approval followed, seemingly pleased with her form.*

"Since I was four," she replied, finishing her warm-up on a whole note before shifting slightly, patting the space beside her in invitation.

"Do you play, Cher?" she asked, tilting her head.

*Ludwig approached, his confidence evident as he took the offered seat beside her.*

"I am well-versed in the violin and various classical instruments," *He stated matter-of-factly.*

"The piano should be no great challenge."

*Peach merely smiled, sensing his pride. She gestured toward the keys.*

"Alright, Chérie. Play A, D, and F. Then G# and D#."

*Ludwig studied the keyboard, methodically counting the notes. His fingers pressed A and F correctly, but the other notesoff. The resulting discord made him wince.*

“What dreadful sounds," he muttered in clear distaste.*

"Ah, ah," *Peach chided gently, suppressing a laugh.* "It’s only a warm-up. You're just pressing random keys, it's not supposed to sound pleasant. It’s about understanding the layout, the feel of the instrument."

*Ludwig sighed, composing himself. If nothing else, he was not one to shy away from mastery.*

*For nearly an hour, Peach sat beside Ludwig, watching as he struggled with the piano. Every time he struck an off note, his nose would scrunch in irritation. Yet, rather than giving in to frustration, he would exhale sharply, compose himself, and try again. His determination was admirable, though Peach couldn’t help but notice his occasional glances at her hands how smoothly they danced across the keys. Was he trying to improve for his own sake… or perhaps to impress her? Maybe both.*

*Eventually, they moved on to a duet. She took the treble clef, playing the higher notes, while Ludwig handled the deeper ones. She placed a sheet of music in front of them, instructing him to follow the notes without looking at his claws only the sheet. It was a challenge, but he watched how effortlessly Peach played, her fingers gliding with precision. That, if nothing else, pushed him to try harder.*

*Their harmony, however, was abruptly shattered.*

"MY BOW! MY BOW, MY BOW!"

*A shrill wail pierced the air, causing both pianists to hit a cacophony of wrong notes. Ludwig snarled in irritation, while Peach winced at the sudden noise. They turned just in time to see Wendy O. Koopa storming into the room, her signature pink bow in ruins, tears streaking her heavily made-up face.*

"What on earth is the meaning of this?" Ludwig snapped, utterly affronted by the intrusion. Barging into the princess’s room unannounced how uncouth! Not that he had knocked either, but he was the eldest, which made it entirely different, of course.*

*Wendy, undeterred, marched up to Peach and grabbed at her dress, holding up the tattered remains of her ribbon.*

"P-Papa isn’t even here to help! Junior burned my ribbon bow while he was eating! UGH! Now it’s ruined! WAHHH!" *she wailed, sniffing between sobs.

*Ludwig sighed, rubbing his temples.* "And here I thought you had a shred of maturity."*

*Wendy shot him a venomous glare, her mascara running down her cheeks.* "Eat a bone, you pompous, upright blueberry!"

*Peach, meanwhile, simply smiled and knelt down, lifting Wendy into her arms with surprising ease. Over time, the princess had grown used to the bratty Koopaling, and despite Wendy’s usual attitude, she didn’t resist. Peach carried her to the bed, gently dabbing at her tear-streaked face with a napkin.*

"Hush, hush… We’ll fix everything," *She soothed.* "In fact, I’ll make you a new one better than the last."*

*Ludwig frowned slightly, watching the exchange. Wasn’t Wendy supposed to despise the princess? He distinctly remembered her ranting about Peach in the past. Yet, with each capture, Wendy had been spending more time around her… and now she was sitting there, still sniffling, but letting Peach comfort her.*

"Where is Junior?" *Ludwig asked, standing up to investigate.

*Wendy scoffed dramatically, flipping her claws in the air.* "Busy destroying more of my dreams!"*

*Ludwig rolled his eyes and left, leaving the two alone. Peach, ever patient, searched through some smooth pink fabrics, selecting a few shades fit for a replacement bow. Nearby sat Wendy’s makeup set a complete mess, with lipstick smeared and eyeshadow streaking down her face.*

*Peach sat beside her, carefully wiping away the last of her tears. Wendy, still pouting, crossed her arms but didn’t pull away.*

"Let’s turn that frown upside down," *Peach teased gently, dabbing at her cheeks with the napkin.

*Wendy’s eyes softened ever so slightly. She huffed, glancing away.* "Whatever makes you feel good…” *She muttered, then added,* "I’m still better than you."*

*Yet, despite her words, her tail wagged slightly behind her, something she didn’t seem to notice. Peach only chuckled, rolling her eyes but continuing to smile.*

—----------------------------—-------------------

*Kamek conjured multiple clones of himself, ensuring that young Prince Junior was well cared for. At this time, the little Koopa was merely an infant, crawling about with boundless curiosity. The duplicates engaged him in play, only to be scorched by his natural fire-breathing abilities that, unlike most young Koopas, he wielded effortlessly.*

*The Magikoopa let out a weary sigh. As the king’s most trusted advisor and the highest-ranking member of his army, he bore the immense burden of keeping order in the kingdom. The years weighed on him. While King Bowser remained in his prime, Kamek had lived for centuries, witnessing the rise and fall of many generations before him.*

*Deciding he had earned a moment of respite, he prepared to take a well-deserved nap. Meanwhile, Ludwig descended the grand staircase of the castle, his steps deliberate and composed. As he roamed the corridors, his path led him to the shared quarters of Iggy and Lemmy. Upon stepping inside, he was met with the expected chaos.*

*Iggy’s half of the room resembled a fully functioning laboratory, littered with mechanical components and half-finished inventions most of which were likely hazardous in the hands of the two mischievous siblings. Yet their father encouraged their curiosity, believing that learning through failure was an essential part of growth. Iggy and Lemmy, of course, had no qualms about surrounding themselves with volatile contraptions.*

*Lemmy, ever the acrobat, often swung from the various structures scattered about, his movements as fluid as a performer on a high-wire. Ludwig, though unimpressed outwardly, secretly admired his agility. Today, however, Lemmy was absent, leaving only Iggy, who was covered in soot and dust, hunched over a new project battle-grade turtle shell.*

*Ludwig rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, prompting Iggy to perk up and adjust his glasses before flashing a wide grin.*

“Oh! Big brother!” *He chirped.*

*Ludwig stepped inside, carefully navigating the maze of scattered tools, discarded blueprints, and failed experiments. His tail instinctively lifted to avoid any grime.*

“Hello, Iggy. And what peculiar contraption are you working on now?” *Ludwig inquired, arching a brow as he observed the mess.*

*Iggy’s eyes lit up with excitement. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he struck a proud stance.*

“Well!” *He lifted a claw, his tone taking on the cadence of a well-rehearsed lecture.* “A battle turtle shell would serve as an excellent defensive mechanism for several reasons. First, natural armor! Turtle shells are incredibly durable, composed of bone and keratin, offering remarkable protection against physical attacks. And then, of course, there’s the electrostatic—”

*Ludwig half-listened as Iggy launched into an enthusiastic, highly technical explanation. While his younger brother rattled on about modifications, defensive mechanisms, and scientific theories, Ludwig idly surveyed the room. He yawned discreetly, of course but he had to admit the concept was intriguing.*

“Furthermore,” Iggy continued, “versatility! The battle shell could be enhanced with modifications such as retractable spikes, concealed weaponry, or even a propulsion system for enhanced mobility!” *He concluded his monologue with a deep breath, beaming with satisfaction.*

“Well, have an—” *Iggy turned to acknowledge Ludwig, only to realize his brother was casually rifling through his blueprints instead. Papers were lifted, glanced at, and unceremoniously dropped back onto the cluttered workspace.*

“Were you even listening?!” *Iggy huffed, crossing his arms.*

*Ludwig looked up with a bemused expression.*

“Well, yes. The beginning, a portion of the middle, and the conclusion. However, considering it took you twenty minutes to explain, I believe I absorbed the most relevant points.”

*Iggy scoffed.* “Oh, sure! Yet I sit through you playing that boring violin all the time!”

*Ludwig recoiled as if he had been personally insulted.* “Boring!? Oh, please! Your lack of appreciation for refined music is nothing short of tragic.”

*The two descended into a heated argument, their bickering filling the room. Just then, Lemmy strolled in to retrieve his roller ball, only to pause, tilting his head at the sight of his quarreling brothers. It was just another typical day in the Koopa Kingdom.*