#searching your own face for any indication of belonging/searching your own face for the features that make you other

[julijbee]

don't you recognize me? don't you see yourself in my face?

[v6quewrlds]

TOO PROUD, JOE BURROW.

pairing⠀⁎⠀lsu!fwb!joe burrow x reader. word count⠀⁎⠀8.3k.

summary⠀⁎⠀being friends with benefits with the cool, calm, and collected quarterback has been nothing short of a fantasy. but when he loses his cool in a way you've never seen before, you start to pull away.

author's note⠀⁎⠀happy one month anniversary to this request sitting in my inbox! ty to the anon(s) for requesting <3 not totally in love with the way this one is written, but it's been sitting around for long enough. warnings⠀⁎⠀one use of "y/n", joe pining after reader, features clyde, justin, and grant, 18+ mdni, smut & angst, oral (m. receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, public sex, wall sex.

You hummed to yourself as you folded your warm laundry, your eyes scanning the pile of clothes, searching for any pieces of clothing that didn't belong. Joe's clothing always seemed to find their way into your basket, but you weren't complaining. You enjoyed the scent of his cologne lingering on the fabric, a sweet aroma that reminded you of his laugh and the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. Sure enough, a stray LSU Football tee lay nestled between your own clothes, and you couldn't help the smile that appeared on your face as you held it to your nose.

Your thoughts were abruptly interrupted by the buzzing of your phone. It was late, the sky was pitch black outside, and you knew what that call meant. Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks. You hadn't seen him - or fucked him - in almost a week. Between his season amping up, your classes, and your social lives, you had barely talked. But when Joe called, it was never just to catch up.

You threw the shirt aside and answered, your voice breathier than you intended. “Hey.”

“Hey, you busy tonight?” Joe's voice was strained, a clear indicator of what he had in mind. You felt a mix of excitement and annoyance. He never called this late unless he wanted you in his bed, yet you couldn't resist the allure of his deep, husky tone. You glanced at the time - 10 PM - and figured you could spare some time before heading to bed. Whether you'd fall asleep at his place or yours remained to be seen.

“Nah, just doing laundry. What's up?” you responded nonchalantly, trying to hide your anticipation.

Joe let out a sigh of relief. “Can you come over?”

You rolled your eyes, playing hard to get. “It's pretty late, Joe. What's so important?”

“You know what's important,” Joe said, his voice dropping lower, more insistent. You could almost feel the heat of his breath through the phone.

“Hmmm, not really. You should tell me why it's so urgent," you teased, your hands setting aside a pair of jeans to hang up later. You knew exactly what Joe wanted, but you enjoyed the thrill of making him ask for it. He was a man of duality - the composed quarterback on the field, the shy soul when it came to expressing his desires.

“Look, I just - I need you. Okay?” Joe sighed, and you giggled, your heart fluttering at his vulnerability. It was a side of him you didn't get to see often.

You bit your bottom lip, the sweet feeling of victory bubbling through you. “Well, when you put it that way... I suppose I can make an exception.”

Joe's sigh of relief was audible even through the phone. “I'll meet you downstairs, call me when you're outside,” he said before ending the call. You felt a thrill run through your body at the thought of seeing him. You pulled on a form-fitting long-sleeve, your cotton shorts barely covering your ass as you strutted out of the house with your keys, wallet, and phone in hand.

When you arrived at Joe's place, you parked your car in an empty spot just two spaces down from his. The building was quiet, the only sound was the distant murmur of music from passing cars. You sent him a quick text as you locked your car door. He appeared almost immediately, his eyes scanning the darkness until they found you. He wore a simple white tee that clung to his muscular chest and sweatpants that hung low on his hips, showing off the waistband of his boxers. You couldn't help but appreciate the view as you approached.

Joe's faint smile grew into a full grin as he saw you approaching. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight embrace, his nose nuzzling into your hair. You melted into the warmth of his body, your hands sliding around his neck as you kissed, a kiss filled with the familiar hunger that only grew with time apart. His hands traveled down your back, gripping your ass and lifting you slightly, making you gasp into his mouth. The chemistry between you was palpable, a silent conversation of passion that needed no words. Your legs wrapped around his waist with a giggle as he swiped his key and opened the door, carrying you into his apartment.

Inside, the room was bathed in a soft glow from the lamp by his bed, casting shadows across the floor. He kicked the door shut with a thud. You could feel the tension in the air, the anticipation thick as Joe carried you to his bed, he threw your body onto the soft mattress. He hovered above you, his eyes dark with desire, his hands skimming the bare skin of your thighs.

Your heart raced as Joe's hands moved with a confidence you had grown accustomed to, yet never failed to excite you. You watched as he peeled off his shirt, revealing the muscular chest you had admired from afar so many times. His abs flexed with each movement, a testament to the countless hours he spent in the gym and on the field. You reached up, tracing the lines of his torso with your nails, making him gasp. His skin was hot under your touch, and you felt a thrill of power knowing you could elicit such a response from him.

As Joe worked your shorts down, you sat up, eager to help. Your eyes locked, the air crackling with electricity. You slid the fabric of your shirt up over your head revealing your bare body. You wore nothing but a black lace thong underneath. Joe's eyes widened as he took you in, his hunger unmistakable. He leaned down, kissing you deeply as his hands found your breasts, his thumbs flicking over your nipples, making you gasp. Your own hands were busy, pushing down his sweats, freeing his erection. You wrapped your hand around his length, sinking to your knees before him.

Joe's hand cradled your face as you took him in your mouth, your tongue teasing the tip before taking him deeper. You knew exactly how he liked it, the rhythm that would drive him wild, and you didn't disappoint. He groaned, his hips bucking slightly, and you felt his hands tighten in your hair. You looked up, your eyes locked in a silent challenge, and took him deeper still. His breathing grew ragged as he threw his head back, his grip on you tightening.

“Fuck,” Joe breathed out, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt your warm mouth wrapped around him. His body was on fire, the sensations you were giving him too intense to ignore. He knew he wouldn't last long with your skilled tongue working him over, and he didn't want to. He craved more of you, all of you.

“Hold on, get on the bed,” Joe grunted, his voice thick with desire as he pulled away from you. You complied, your legs trembling slightly as you climbed onto the bed, watching Joe as he fully removed his sweatpants and boxers. His cock stood proudly erect, the tip glistening with pre-cum and your saliva. You licked your lips, eager to taste him again. But Joe had other plans.

With a surge of roughness, he flipped you onto your stomach, his hands gripping your hips. You gasped, the sudden change in position sending a thrill through your body. You felt his warm breath on the back of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he whispered, “You want me to fuck you? You want this?” His words were gruff, demanding an answer from you.

“Yes, Joe, yes, please,” you whimpered, your voice muffled by the pillow. You felt the heat of his cock against your ass as he positioned himself behind you. The anticipation was agonizing, your body begging for release. His hand slid down, his fingers finding your slick folds, teasing your entrance before plunging into your wetness. You arched your back, your body eager to be filled by him.

Without warning, Joe thrust into you, the force making your cry out. The sensation was overwhelming, his length stretching you as he buried himself to the hilt. Your nails dug into the bedspread, your body tightening around him as you adjusted to his size. He didn't pause, setting a relentless pace that had your hips pushing back to meet his thrusts. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through your body, the friction of his skin against yours creating a symphony of sensation.

One hand pressed into your back, holding your flush to the sheets with no room for escape, while the other hand gripped your hip, guiding you to meet his every thrust. Your breaths grew shallow, your moans growing louder as Joe's rhythm quickened. His movements grew more urgent, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the quiet room.

“Fuck, Joe, harder,” you panted, your voice muffled by the pillow as Joe's hips pounded into you, each stroke hitting that perfect spot. Your body responded, your inner walls tightening around him, urging him on. The headboard banged against the wall, a steady rhythm that matched your breaths. You could feel yourself getting closer, the pressure building deep within you.

Joe groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he slammed into you. His own release was near, his muscles tensing as he felt your body responding to his every move. He leaned over, pressing his hips against your ass, pounding into you relentlessly. Your moans grew more urgent, your body writhing under his as you neared your climax.

“I'm gonna come,” Joe’s voice was strained, his breath hot on your skin as he whispered, his teeth grazing your earlobe. The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you pushed back into him, eager to feel his climax fill you. “Where do you want me, pretty girl?”

“On my tits,” you managed to say through gritted teeth, your body begging for the release you knew was coming.

Joe chuckled darkly and pulled out of you, the sudden emptiness making your whine. He flipped you onto your back, your thighs parted, and straddled your hips. The sight of his cock, glistening with your wetness, made your head spin. He positioned himself between your thighs, jerking himself off as he watched your breasts heave with each breath you took.

“Touch yourself, wanna see those pretty eyes roll back when I paint those pretty tits,” Joe instructed, his own eyes blazing with passion as he stroked his cock. You obeyed, your hand sliding down your body to your clit, your fingers circling the sensitive nub as you watched Joe's hand move rapidly up and down his shaft.

Your breaths grew shallower, your eyes fluttering as you felt the first wave of your orgasm building. “Close, Joe, so close,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Come for me,” he urged, his own release imminent. His strokes grew more erratic, his breaths quickening. You could see the veins pulsing in his arms, the tension in his jaw as he fought to hold back.

Your hand moved faster, your hips bucking off the bed. You could feel the tingle in your toes, the warmth spreading through your core. Your eyes locked with Joe's, and you felt the connection between them, the raw, carnally charged bond that had formed over your months of lowkey hookups. The room was a blur of heat and passion as you climbed higher, your body begging for release.

Joe's eyes bore into yours, watching you intently. With a growl, he gave into the pressure building in his balls and shot his load onto your chest and neck. Your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing under his as you moaned his name. The warmth of his cum painted your skin, your bottom lip caught between your teeth to keep from moaning out too loud.

As you both came down from your highs, Joe collapsed beside you, his chest heaving with exertion. He reached over, using his thumb to wipe a stray drop of cum from your clavicle, a gentle gesture that seemed out of place amidst the carnality of the moment. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of something more than just physical satisfaction. But you quickly shoved the feeling aside. This was just sex, a mutual agreement with no strings attached.

“Need a rag? Or do you like it like that?” Joe quipped with a chuckle, his eyes gleaming with mischief. You playfully pushed him away, laughing as you sat up to inspect the mess. The sight of you, flushed and satisfied, nearly gave Joe a headache from the dizzying satisfaction. He suppressed the urge to pull you back down for round two and instead grabbed his t-shirt from the floor, tossing it to you.

Wiping yourself off, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of something you hadn't felt in a long time: comfort. Sure, your arrangement was unconventional, and Joe could be a bit of an unaware dickhead at times, but moments like this reminded you of why you kept coming back.

You lay there in silence for a while, your breaths mingling in the air. Joe's arm was casually slung over your waist, his thumb idly drawing circles on your bare skin. You felt his eyes on you, but you didn't look over. Instead, you focused on the sound of his heart beating in sync with your own racing pulse.

“So, I accidentally met your parents yesterday,” you said, breaking the quiet. “They were tailgating before the game, and they spotted me in your jersey. They’re super nice, by the way.” Your voice was light, but there was an edge to it. You waited for his reaction, expecting him to laugh it off or maybe even be happy you’d made the effort. “I didn't tell them anything, obviously, just said I was a fan. I didn't want to make it awkward.”

Joe's expression tightened, his thumb pausing on your skin. “Why the fuck would you do that?” His voice was harsh, and you could see the annoyance in his eyes.

You stiffened, your eyebrows furrowing. “What do you mean, why? I didn’t know they were your parents. And even if I did, I'm not gonna be rude. I said hello, talked about my major, and said I was a fan.”

Joe sat up, his expression darkening. “You had no business talking to them. You're not my girlfriend. This is just supposed to be us fucking around.”

You felt the blood rush to your face, the sting of his words cutting deeper than you expected. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you snapped, tossing the t-shirt aside. “I can't even say hello to your parents without it being an issue? You think I'm some kind of bitch?”

Joe sighed, his eyes searching yours. “No, that's not it. It's just - I don't want them getting the wrong idea. They're already worried about me with all the pressure from the team and school. They don't need to know I'm messing around with someone, especially when it's not serious. You know how they are.”

Your anger flared up. “No, I don't know how they are. I don’t know them!” You stood up, the sheets falling away from your body. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

Joe looked at you, his eyes filled with frustration. “My problem is that you don’t understand the situation. You don’t get what it took for me to get here. My parents think I’m focusing on football and school, not screwing around with random girls that might try to take advantage of me. My parents don’t need to know about my sex life!”

Your eyes narrowed. “So that’s what I am to you? A random girl trying to take advantage of you?”

Joe’s sigh was filled with irritation. “What the fuck? Does it matter?” He threw his hands up in exasperation. “We agreed on this. The whole point of this is that you’re not my girlfriend. You don’t get to meet my parents unless it’s something serious, and this isn’t serious.”

You felt like you’d been slapped. The room grew colder, and you felt your eyes water. You didn’t know why his words hit you so hard, but they did. You quickly grabbed your clothes and started to get dressed. “Fine. I’ll make sure to keep my random ass away from your precious family next time, Joe.”

Joe watched you, his expression shifting from annoyance to regret. He knew he had crossed a line, and he reached out to stop you. “Come on, don't be like that.”

But you were already dressed, your eyes blazing with anger. You slammed the bedroom door behind you, leaving Joe sitting on the bed, his erection gone and replaced with a sinking feeling in his gut. He had screwed up, big time. With a huff he fell back onto the pillows, running a hand through his hair. He had gone too far, said too much, and now he had to deal with the aftermath. He knew you had blossoming feelings for him, even if you never admitted it. But he didn't know how to deal with them, not when his life was so fucking complicated already.

He threw on a pair of sweatpants and a clean shirt before going into the living room. He grabbed his phone, scrolling through his messages, hoping you had sent him something, anything, to ease the tension. But you had blocked him everywhere. The cold realization hit him hard. You were really upset, and he had no idea how to fix it.

Days went by, and Joe felt like a zombie. He went through the motions of practice, classes, and life, but without your fiery energy to fall back on, it was all just a blur. His friends noticed the change in him. Justin and Clyde exchanged worried looks when Joe barely reacted to their jokes, and Grant kept asking him if everything was okay. But Joe just shrugged them off, not ready to admit that a simple no-strings-attached arrangement gone wrong had left him feeling so lost.

“Burrow, you look like shit, man. What’s going on?” Clyde's voice cut through Joe's foggy thoughts as he stumbled into the locker room after a particularly grueling practice.

Joe grunted, not bothering to look up. “It’s nothing.” He reached for his phone, contained in his duffel bag. Nothing from you. Your messages, your snaps, all gone. It was as if you had disappeared.

“If you tell me this pouty bullshit is because of a girl, I’m gonna have to intervene,” Clyde said, smacking Joe on the back of the head. The quarterback scowled at him, but the running back only laughed. “Come on man, spit it out. Maybe my psychology classes are good for something.”

Joe sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s Y/N. We had a fight after the last time she came over. She’s not taking my calls or anything now.”

Clyde whistled low. “Damn, that’s harsh. What did you do?”

Joe looked up, his eyes tired. “Why do you think I did something?”

Justin jumped into the conversation, his smile only serving to irritate Joe further. “Because we know you, Joe Cool. You probably said something dumb and now she’s showing you how cool she can be.”

Grant looked confused. “Wait, huh? What’s going on here?”

“It’s nothing,” Joe mumbled, stuffing his phone into his pocket. He didn’t want to get into it, especially with Grant. The safety had grown to become pretty close friends with you, and Joe didn’t need him to know how badly he had fucked up. He especially didn’t want to hear about how unaffected you were by it all.

“Look, man, if you need to talk—” Clyde started, but Joe cut him off.

“I’m fine. It’s just a misunderstanding, that’s all,” Joe said, trying to sound more convincing than he felt. “I’ll fix it. I just need to talk to her, figure out what I can do to fix it. She’s just upset about something, she’ll come around.”

Justin and Clyde exchanged a knowing look, but they didn’t push further. They had seen Joe like this before, and they knew better than to get in the way when he was dealing with his emotions.

The weekend rolled around, and Joe found himself at a loss for what to do without you. Normally, the two of you would be planning your next meet up, sending each other flirty texts and pictures that sent your pulses racing. But now, there was only silence, and it was deafening. He tried to focus on the game coming up, but his mind kept drifting back to you, to the way you had looked at him, hurt and angry, before you stormed out.

During Saturday's game he searched the student section, hoping he'd catch a glimpse of your dark hair and those brown eyes, but you were nowhere to be found. You never missed a game, even before you started hooking up, but Joe knew you were avoiding him now. The win didn't feel as sweet without you cheering him on, without the promise of hot victory sex waiting for him afterward.

Monday rolled around, and Joe couldn't ignore the pit in his stomach as he walked into class. He had hoped that maybe you’d be there, that you would have cooled off and you could talk things out. You were sitting at the back of the class with your headphones on, ignoring him completely. He attempted to take his usual seat next to you, slowly stalking up the row to the empty seat to your right. But as he approached, you turned to look at him, your eyes cold and unyielding.

“I didn't see you at the game,” Joe said, trying to keep his voice steady as he sat down next to you. You didn’t even look at him, keeping your gaze focused on your laptop screen.

“I had other plans,” you replied curtly, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you typed away, clearly not interested in his attempt at conversation.

Joe felt a pang of regret. He should have known better than to push your buttons like that. He leaned back in his chair, watching you from the corner of his eye. You looked incredible, as always, in an oversized Saints jersey with an edge tucked underneath your bra and a pair of cutoff jeans, ones he had watched your cut from an old pair of jeans several weeks ago. Your hair was neatly styled into a high puff, showcasing your beautiful features, and Joe couldn't help but miss the way you used to lean into him, your head on his shoulder, while you talked about your weekends in his bed.

The professor began the lecture, and you removed your headphones, but you didn’t acknowledge Joe’s existence. He felt like an outsider in a class you had shared for months. The tension between them was palpable, and Joe's mind drifted from the lecture to your last heated exchange. He had never seen you so upset, so hurt by his words. The silence stretched on, and Joe felt the need to fill it with anything, even if it was just noise.

The lecture seemed to drag on forever, Joe's thoughts consumed by your icy demeanor. He couldn't remember the last time you’d gone this long without speaking. His mind raced with apologies and explanations, trying to formulate the perfect words to make things right between them. As the class ended, students began to pack up their things, chatting among themselves as they prepared to leave.

“Hey,” Joe said tentatively as you stood up, your backpack slung over one shoulder. You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. “Can we talk?”

You rolled your eyes with a sigh. “There's nothing to talk about, Joe,” you replied, your voice flat. “I'm not your girlfriend, remember?” You started to walk away, but Joe reached out and grabbed your wrist, trying to halt your retreat. You snatched your hand away, eyes blazing as you continued on your path, pushing through the doors of the classroom and then of the building.

“Look, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean to make it seem like you're just some random girl to me. You know you're not. I just... I'm stressed, man. The team, school, everything's riding on me. I don't need my parents getting involved in my personal life, making things complicated.” His words came out in a rush, desperation lacing his voice.

You paused. You felt a flicker of something that might have been understanding, but you quickly squashed it. You couldn't let him off the hook that easily. “Well, maybe you should have realized that before you opened your mouth and said something stupid.”

Joe's eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of forgiveness, but all he saw was anger and hurt. He knew he had to do something big, something that would show you he was serious about fixing this. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Look, I know I fucked up, okay? I miss you. I miss this. Us. Let's go out tonight. Just us, no strings, no pressure. We'll talk, I'll apologize properly, and maybe we can move on from this shit, okay?”

You hesitated, the mention of your previous intimacy sending a shiver down your spine. You missed the way Joe made you feel too. But you weren't going to be swayed so easily. “Why should I? You're just going to say whatever you think I want to hear to get back into my pants, and then we're right back where we started.”

Joe leaned in closer, his voice earnest. “Because I mean it. I do. I miss the way we laugh together, the way we talk about nothing for hours. And, yeah, I miss hooking up. But I miss you, all of you. I know I hurt you, and I want to make it right.”

You stared at him for a long moment, your emotions warring within you. “You don't get to decide when we're just fucking and when we're not, Joe. You don’t get to treat me like that and then expect me to come running back when you decide you miss me.” Your voice was firm, but Joe could hear the waver in it, the hint of vulnerability you were trying so hard to hide. “I gotta go.”

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving Joe standing on the sidewalk, feeling like an absolute asshole. He watched your retreating figure, your hips swaying as you disappeared into the throngs of students moving between classes.

For the rest of the day, Joe's thoughts were consumed with you. He couldn't focus on his schoolwork or his football strategies; all he could think about was the pain he saw in your eyes when he called you a “random”. He knew he had to do something to make it right, but he didn’t know where to start.

It was the Tigers' bye week so he figured he had about a week to make this right. And Joe Burrow was not a man to let things slide. He knew he had to act fast before you completely wrote him off. He spent the rest of the day in a daze, his mind racing with grand gestures and apologies he could make to win you back. But as the hours ticked by, he realized that maybe it wasn’t about the grandeur of his apology, but the sincerity behind it.

“Hello?” Alani, your roommate, waved a hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your daze. You had been staring at your phone screen, replaying the conversation with Joe over and over in your mind. Your thumb hovered over the unblock button, the temptation to reach out to him almost too much to handle.

You looked up, shaking your head. “Sorry, this shit with Joe is just... I don’t know. It’s fucking with my head, Lani.”

Alani nodded sympathetically, crossing your arms. “Well, you can’t miss what you never had. Maybe it’s time to move on, girl.”

You rolled your eyes. “Easy for you to say, you’ve been dating the same guy for three years. You don’t know what it’s like to have something so intense and then have it just... not mean anything to the other person. I've never cried in front of him, and when he said that bullshit, I almost did.”

Alani sighed, sitting down on the bed next to you. “Look, I get it. But maybe he just doesn’t know how to deal with his feelings. You guys have always had this... complicated situation. Maybe he needs to spend a little time without you to realize what he’s missing.”

You scoffed. “Yeah, because that’s totally what’s going to happen. He’s going to sit in his room, mope around, and suddenly realize that I’m the love of his life.” You tossed your phone onto the bed, the frustration in your voice palpable. “Why did I have to fuck the quarterback? Why couldn’t I just find literally any other guy to hook up with?”

“Because Joe Burrow is hot as fuck. And because he’s obviously into you, even if he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to show it.” Alani said, her voice filled with a blend of amusement and annoyance. You couldn’t argue with that. Joe was the epitome of gorgeous, and you had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame from the moment you had met. But his emotional cluelessness was starting to wear on you.

The week dragged on, and you threw yourself into your studies and workouts, trying to keep yourself busy. But every time you saw someone wearing an LSU jersey, or spotted one of Joe's teammates, your thoughts drifted back to him. Despite your best efforts, you couldn’t ignore the gaping hole in your life where he used to be.

Finally, Saturday night arrived, and you had had enough of moping around. You were going out with Alani and Portia, your other roommate, to blow off some steam. You all got dressed up in your sexiest outfits, ready to conquer the Baton Rouge nightlife. Per advice from Portia, you tugged on the shortest skirt you owned and paired it with a tight tube top that left little to the imagination.

As you were leaving your apartment, your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was a message from Grant. 

You still pregaming with us?

The words were a reminder of the world that Joe had brought you into, and how you were now being invited to it without him. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. 

Yeah, we’re on our way.

When you arrived, the bass of the music hit you like a wall, vibrating through your chest as you entered Grant's apartment. There were a handful of guys from the team that you knew by name, eagerly taking advantage of the bye week to let loose. You spotted Grant immediately, his broad smile lighting up the room. Portia skipped over to him first, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him, leaving you and Alani to exchange gagging noises before you were also swept into the rush of pregaming before hitting the frats.

But Joe was nowhere in sight, and you felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Maybe this was for the best, you thought. Maybe you could finally have some fun without the weight of your unresolved issues hanging over you. The three of them took shots, danced, and flirted, the energy of the party building like a crescendo. And then, like a cruel joke, Joe appeared, his eyes locked on yours from across the room.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you felt a sudden urge to flee. But you couldn't. Not with the way he looked at you—like he hadn't seen you in months rather than days. He was dressed in a vintage-style Kendrick Lamar T-shirt and jeans that hugged his muscular thighs, and you couldn't help but remember the last time you had seen him undressed, the way he felt inside you. You took a deep breath, tipping back a shot of tequila to steel yourself for whatever was about to come. Your hair was different from the last time he saw you. Your natural coils exchanged for a sew-in of some sort. He tried to sift through his memories of your conversations, knowing you had to have told him the exact name of the style you frequently reverted to at some point.

Joe instantly recognized the tiny little skirt that barely contained your ass, and his jaw clenched. You had intended on wearing it at least half a dozen times before. But, you had never managed to make it past the threshold of your apartment before he had torn it off you. The sight of you in it now, surrounded by his teammates, made his blood boil with a mix of anger and desire.

He stalked over to you, his eyes never leaving yours as he approached. You felt your body heat up under his intense gaze, the alcohol in your system doing little to dull the effect he had on you. You knew you were playing with fire, but you couldn’t help yourself. You had to keep your walls up.

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Joe’s voice was low and gruff.

You rolled your eyes, taking another shot. “Clothes, Joe. It’s a revolutionary concept, I know,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm. You didn’t miss the way his eyes raked over your body, and you felt a thrill of satisfaction. You knew you looked amazing tonight.

Joe’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as he took in your outfit. “You've never worn that out,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice thick with accusation.

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Well, I guess there's always a first time for everything, right?” you said, your voice dripping with challenge. You could feel the eyes of the other guys on you, and you knew Joe could too. It was like a silent battle of wills played out in the middle of a crowded room.

“Joe! Get yo ass over here, boy. We ‘bout to head to the frat!” Clyde’s boisterous voice cut through the tension, slapping Joe’s hand against his back as he pulled him away from you. You smirked at the interruption, enjoying the frustration on his face.

The group spilled out into the cool night air, the scent of spilled beer and sweat mixing with the sweet aroma of a great season that hung over the city. You felt Joe’s eyes on you as you swayed to the music, the beat of the bass echoing through your body. You knew you were driving him crazy, and a part of you reveled in it. The anger still smoldered within you, but you couldn’t deny the thrill you felt at having his attention solely on you.

As you all made your way to the frat house, you felt a gentle nudge against your back, and you turned to see Justin smiling down at you. “You know you a lil' asshole? I ain't seen you show out like this in a minute,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “Don't play with me, I had a shitty week and I'm just trying to get loose,” you said, taking a sip of your vodka lemonade.

Justin chuckled and shook his head, “You tryna get turned loose.” You threw your head back with a cackle, taking another sip of your drink. The warmth of the alcohol spread through you, and you felt a bit more relaxed. As you approached the frat house, the music grew louder, and the lights grew brighter, casting a neon glow over the rowdy crowd.

Joe, unable to keep his eyes off you, watched your dance with a fiery passion that had his heart racing. He wanted to stride over and pull you into his arms, but he knew better. Instead, he found himself glaring at every guy who dared to look your way. His friends noticed his mood and tried to include him in your conversations, but Joe's mind was elsewhere.

Inside the frat house, the air was thick with the scent of cheap beer and the promise of a wild night. Your hips moved to the rhythm of the music, drawing the gazes of the intoxicated partygoers. You felt Joe’s eyes on you, a silent battle of wills playing out across the crowded room. With each sway of your hips and flick of your hair, you felt a surge of power knowing you had his attention. Every so often you’d have to pull your skirt down and your top up, giving him a teasing glimpse of what he was missing.

Alani and Portia danced beside you, occasionally whispering in your ear, egging you on. But you didn't need encouragement. The beat of the music and the burn of the alcohol in your system fueled your need to push Joe's buttons. You knew you were playing a dangerous game, but the thrill was too intense to resist.

Joe’s patience grew thinner with every passing second. His eyes followed you as you danced, your body moving in ways that had his imagination running wild. He took another shot, trying to dull the ache in his chest, the guilt and frustration melding into a toxic cocktail. He knew he had to talk to you, to explain himself, but you remained elusive, conveniently dancing away whenever he approached.

The night grew wilder, the music louder, and Joe's resolve stronger. He'd had enough of this dance. He wove through the crowd, the alcohol giving him liquid courage, until he was right behind you. He placed his hands on your waist, his touch firm as he pulled your ass against his crotch. Your eyes snapped up, surprise and anger flashing across your face. You tried to twist away, but Joe’s grip was like steel.

“What the hell, Joe?” you snarled, your voice barely audible over the music.

“You’ve been fucking with me all night. What did you expect?” he shot back, his voice a gruff hiss in your ear.

Your body stiffened against him, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and arousal. You knew he was right, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. You turned to face him, pushing him back with a look of pure defiance. “Fuck off,” you spat, your voice low and full of warning.

Joe stepped closer, his blown out blue eyes burning into yours. “You want to play games, fine. But know that every time you dance like that, every time you give me that look, I'm going to want you more. So, I'm not playing around anymore. We're going to talk now.”

You felt the heat of his body against yours, and you couldn’t help the shiver that ran down your spine. You wanted to push him away, to maintain your cool façade, but his touch was too much. You nodded curtly, and Joe led you through the sweaty, pulsing mass of bodies, his hand tightly gripping your waist. You found a quieter corner of the frat house, the music a distant throb in the background.

Joe took a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. “Look, I know I said some fucked up shit that I didn't think through. And I was wrong, okay? I just... it scared me, the idea of you meeting my family. It's not that you're not important to me, but I'm not ready for that shit yet.”

Your eyes narrowed, the anger in your voice clear as day. “I didn't plan to meet your parents, Joe. It just happened. And you know what? It's not fair of you to get pissed at me for it.”

Joe nodded, his expression earnest. “I know. I get that now. I'm sorry. I just... I don't know how to handle all this shit.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes up to the ceiling. “What does that even mean, Joe? What is there to handle?” You crossed your arms over your chest, pushing your breasts up and causing the tight fabric of your top to stretch even more.

Joe raked a hand through his hair, his eyes lingering on your exposed cleavage before meeting yours again. “I wanted to handle this the right way. I wanted to tell you how much you mean to me without all this bullshit. I wanted to introduce you to my parents when I was ready, not because you bumped into them. But here we are, and I'm fucking it up like always.”

Your anger began to dissipate, but the hurt remained. “Well, you had your chance. And you blew it.”

Joe stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours. “I know. But I'm asking for another one. Please. Give me another chance to make this right.”

Your resolve wavered, the warmth of his hand sending a jolt through you. You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, your eyes searching his for any sign of insincerity. Finally, you sighed, “You're lucky you're hot, Burrow. That's all you got going for you right now.”

Joe cracked a smile, his thumb brushing against your palm. “Is that a yes?”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t pull away. “It's a don't be fucking stupid.”

Joe leaned in. “So that's a yes?” His voice was back to its baseline, deep and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. You rolled your eyes again, but the heat between them was undeniable. He licked at his lips, hands sliding down to cup your ass firmly. Your breath hitched, your body responding despite your mind’s protest. Your hands snuck up into his hair, pulling him closer to you as you bit your bottom lip with a smile.

The music swelled around them, a pulsing beat that matched the tempo of your racing hearts. Your skirt had ridden up even further, and Joe aching for a greedy look at your barely covered pussy, shimmering from your dance and your desire for him. His cock grew hard in his pants, and he knew that if you didn’t find some privacy soon, you’d be fucking right there in the middle of the party.

“Come on,” he murmured, tugging your hand as he led you through the frat house, ignoring the curious glances thrown your way. The two of you found an empty bedroom, the door barely hanging on its hinges. He pushed you inside and slammed it shut behind them, the sudden silence deafening. The room smelled faintly of weed, booze, and perfume, a scent that only served to excite him further.

You leaned against the wall, your breathing ragged. Joe stepped closer, his hands sliding up your thighs to your hips. He kissed your neck, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his lips. “Is this what you wanted? To get me all riled up in front of everyone?” His voice was a low growl, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear.

Your hands found the hem of his shirt, your nails digging into his back. “Maybe,” you whispered, your voice thick with lust. “You're sexy when you’re mad. Gonna be good and say sorry?”

Joe smirked, his hands sliding around to squeeze your ass again. “I'm sorry. I fucked up. I was an idiot. I just... I don't know what I was thinking,” he murmured, his voice thick with need. “But you look so fucking good in that skirt, I can't think straight when you're around.”

Your breath hitched, your body responding despite the lingering anger. You knew you should be mad at him, knew you should keep your walls up, but the way he was looking at you made your knees weak. “You're still an idiot,” you murmured, your voice betraying your own desire.

Joe leaned in, his nose brushing against yours. “But you want me anyway,” he said, his voice a low growl.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your resolve crumbling. “Unfortunately,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

Without warning, Joe’s lips were on yours, hard and demanding. Your anger melted away, replaced by a white-hot desire that you hadn’t felt since the last time you were together. Your body responded eagerly, pushing into him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he picked you up, your skirt riding up even higher. His hands gripped your thighs tightly, and you moaned into his mouth, feeling his erection pressing against you.

“Fuck me, right here, Joe, please,” you panted against his mouth, the urgency in your voice making Joe’s cock throb.

He didn’t need any more convincing. He moved to rip through your panties, tearing them away from your body. The sound of the fabric ripping seemed to echo in the empty room. He fiddled with his jeans as he pressed you against the wall, dropping his pants just enough to free his cock. You were already wet, and Joe took a moment to appreciate the sight before he plunged into you with a groan that was half-moan, half-curse.

Your nails dug into his shoulders as he began to thrust, each movement sending waves of pleasure through your body. The friction was heavenly, his thick length filling you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist. The room spun around them, the music from the party a distant echo as your bodies found a rhythm that was uniquely yours. Joe's teeth grazed your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and you moaned his name, the sound muffled by his hungry kisses.

You were lost in a whirlwind of passion, the anger and frustration of your recent fight forgotten. Your movements grew more frantic, your breaths mingling in the small space between them. You felt the beginnings of your orgasm building, a crescendo of pleasure that had your nails digging deeper into Joe's skin. His grunts grew louder, his strokes more forceful as he chased his own release.

Your eyes locked, and in that moment, the air was charged with something more than just lust. It was a silent understanding, a connection that transcended the tumultuous dynamics of your relationship. Your body tensed as you climaxed, your muscles clenching around Joe’s cock, pulling him over the edge with you. You came together in a symphony of gasps and moans, your bodies shaking as you rode out the intense wave of pleasure.

For a moment, you remained entwined, your hearts hammering in your chests. Then, with a sigh, Joe lowered your legs to the floor, keeping you against the wall. He kissed your glossed lips, his breathing ragged. “I meant it. I’m sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you like that. I just... I don’t know how to do this whole relationship thing without fucking it up,” he confessed, his voice filled with vulnerability.

You looked up at him, your eyes softening. “I know, Joe. But I'm not gonna be the one to fix it for you. If you want this to work, you need to be honest with me. And if you can't handle the small stuff then maybe we shouldn't be doing this at all.”

Joe nodded, his gaze intense. “I’ll do better, I promise. I don’t want to lose you.”

You studied him, the weight of his words sinking in. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But if you mess up again, I’m not playing games. You get one more shot, Burrow.”

Joe’s expression grew solemn. “Understood,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Your hand found the back of his neck, and you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss. Your anger had dissipated, but the sting of his previous words remained, leaving you feeling vulnerable.

You broke apart, your breaths mingling in the quiet space. Joe’s eyes searched yours, looking for any lingering doubt. “I’ll make it right. I swear to god,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity.

You nodded, your own eyes still filled with a mix of lust and wariness. “I hope so, Joey.” You stepped away from him, straightening your skirt and smoothing your hair, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You stepped out of the room, back into the pulsing heart of the party. The lights seemed brighter, the music louder, and the energy of the room washed over them like a wave. Joe's hand rested on your ass, you shot him a look that was both a warning and a promise. When you finally rejoined your friends, Justin and Clyde started a round of applause, their expressions marked with amusement. Alani and Portia were grinning, sipping on their drinks, and Grant looked like he was trying not to laugh.

You rolled your eyes. “You're all disgusting,” you said, though the smile took the sting out of your words.

Clyde grinned. “Look who’s talking, Miss 'I just got fucked in a frat house bedroom'.”

You glared at him playfully, but you couldn’t help the heat that crept up your neck. “Shut up,” you said, though the corner of your mouth twitched with a smirk.

“Y'all were gone for almost an hour, what were you doing in there?” Alani teased, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

You shot her a withering glare. “None of your business,” you replied, though the smugness in your voice gave you away.

[thekinkyleopard]

Biznneeko Drabble Ahead (Angst&fluff)

Meeko curled into a ball on the bedroom floor, she had just spent the last 25 minutes tossing objects about the room aggressively, emotionally, spitting harsh words toward herself that echoed off the walls of the home she shared with her two partners. Biziil stood at the middle of the room, contemplating whether or not he should approach. Almost astonished to see his girlfriend be so unkind to herself. It had only been a couple weeks of dating, but he really didn’t want to make the wrong move, least risk upsetting her any further.

“Princess?” He asked calmly, but curiously, taking one step closer toward her shaking and curled up body.

“I’m not a Princess….Im a monster…a freak…why are you even still here?” Her tone suddenly much colder and flatter than it had been initially. Almost as if the large man was speaking to another woman entirely. Her ginger locks covering her face.

“Sweetheart, you are none of those awful things…” he reached his hand out to touch her shoulder, moving with slow caution as to not startle her. Allowing his voice to be the indicator of how close he was stepping toward her.

“I need Connie,” she didn’t move, nor seemed to be bothered by the physical touch of her relatively fresh boyfriend. She just stated her need, and continued to lay still, clasping her knees to her chest.

“I understand, I can keep trying her phone? I believe she’s still in that meeting…” he took a flattened palm, and gently caressed the curved angle of her back as she stayed hunched in fetal position, but her breathing seemed to release the second his hand made their softened motions. She was used to a much smaller hand, this felt different but still comforting. Could she really trust him? Could a man truly be kind to her? Could he understand her even though he’s never been her?

Meeko broke into a session of sobs, her body violently rocking as she tried to self soothe but only found her heart breaking into pieces. She had worked so hard to get that job, it paid well, had benefits and one entitled customer ripped it away. She was going to pay for Connie’s top surgery, and finally get them better health insurance once her probation period had ended. Now it was all gone. She had to start over again. It wasn’t fair.

Biziil couldn’t stand to watch her like this anymore, and took a seat on the floor next to her, he sat with his legs crossed and opened his arms. “I know I may not be the person you’d like to comfort you right now, and that’s okay, but I am here if you need me,” Meeko looked up with tears streaming silently down her face still, but her fluorescent lime gaze searched the man’s features for a sign of disgust, rejection or deception.

Yet, all she was met with, were softened lavender orbs, that poured genuinely into her own, and she too softened at the site. Slowly, crawling into his lap and burying herself into his arms, she spoke, though it came out somewhat muffled. “Why are you here? How can you even still like me after seeing all of that?” Avoiding his gaze as she continued to inhale the deep scent of musky wood, and pine cologne.

“You’re not someone I’m afraid of, Darling…you’re someone I worship….the day I laid eyes on you and our girl, I knew my purpose,” he looked down at her now, brushing the few strands of hair that blocked his view of her face. “I love you, Meeko,” and even though it was barely pressing a month, she couldn’t help but feel her heart contract and race.

“How do you know?” Still not truly buying it. How could a man, this handsome, this down to earth, this thoughtful…belong to them?

To Connie? Sure. Meeko thought the world of her girlfriend, it made sense for Biz to love Nini. But her? Impossible. How could either of them ?

“Because all I ever want to do is see you and her smile….I just want that, to bring you two the most love and joy in your lives that I know neither of you have ever seen before,” running the rest of his palm across the top of her head, sliding down the back of her neck just to push the top of her skull sweetly to his lips, giving her a tender smooch. Also taking the time to inhale the aromatic smell of her hair. “You and Connie are my passion….my whole heart… I know I’m meant for you,” speaking from his soul, he meant his words very genuinely. There hadn’t been a single person that made him feel as alive as the two of them did. They inspired him, they motivated him, and the way he felt their love, it was unmatched by another other entity known to man.

“What if I can’t say it yet….?” She whispered helplessly, almost certain he would push her off when she admitted she couldn’t place her feelings just yet.

“Then I’ll patiently wait until you can,” he wrapped his large arms around her, engulfing the small woman within a net of support and safety that she’d only ever felt with Connie. She knew where this was leading. Was she brave enough to allow it? Allow herself to be loved so vastly by two of the most amazing people she’d ever met? Only time could tell that, as she deeply inhaled his scent and allowed the warmth of his body to soothe her sniffling sobs.

“Okay,” she nodded rubbing her head against him, while they silently embraced one another.

End Drabble

I know I said I had massive writers block but after Milo’s fanart and seeing this prompt I managed to shit this out. Dont ask me how this stupid brain works. I wish I knew. 😭 I think I have smut block LOL anyway, Enjoy. Sorry it’s Angst and Fluff, but like Biz comfort is my favorite and I needed that. 🥲 @aller-geez Owns Meeko

Prompt #1,106

"You're not something I'm afraid of, darling; you're something I worship,"

[megatronstits]

disclaimer!! ; [ the following contents ( dialogue, general storyline, characters ) entirely belong to james roberts. i own none of it! i am only responsible for the descriptions added. ]

word count ; 8,157

[ cybertron. yesterday. ]

“they say that 12 million years ago, on this very spot, the first cybertronian realized he could change shape,“ a flame-colored figure stood proudly before thousands of others; voice loud enough to reach any being from miles and miles away. “six million years ago, right here, nova prime told the world that he’d built an ark. and four million years ago to the day, optimus prime stood where i now stand and turned down megatron’s first and only invitation to surrender.“

loud cheers echoed from the masses and the response only seemed to fuel the bot in his speech, vocalizer raising the tone as he picked up, “what happens here tomorrow will rank alongside those moments. tomorrow, this patch of land becomes a launch pad. tomorrow, i will board the lost light and set off in search of our ancestors.“

“they were known as the knights of cybertron. they’re real. i’m going to find them.“ the cybertronian stated, almost matter of factly, before pausing for a second and only for a second. though the way the crowd froze— awaiting eagerly for his next words— could have fooled almost anyone present into thinking time itself had stopped and let an eternity slip past.

“and i want all of you to come with me!“ a buzz of excitement washed over the public. the cheers grew loud once more, perhaps even louder than before, and so time seemed to start again. 

rodimus’ hope-filled words rang across the large crowd of bots, each and everyone of them a different size, a different shape, a different color, but the same look of longing etched upon their features, “bumblebee says it’s your duty to stay here, on a planet you no longer recognize, among people who resent you for the sacrifices you’ve made in their name. i say: you’ve done your duty. the war is over. that day you never thought would come? that’s today.“

rodimus’ face, splayed across hundreds of screens for all the spectators to see, then broke into a grin as his voice softened just in the slightest; “you’ve earned the right to see the universe without a gun in your hand.“

as the crowd broke into a rhapsody of praises and applauses, rodimus prime turned to look back at his companions. he hadn’t been alone on that platform, despite what you could’ve been led to believe by the way all optics had seemed only capable of focusing on his frame during the speech. rodimus smiled proudly at drift, the latter returning the expression almost immediately as he nodded in approval, knowing already what his peer seeked. the orange bot’s smile turned into more of a cocky smirk however as he then sent a look to the imposing blue and red figure standing only a few steps behind him. ultra magnus’ famously strict expression did not change, but rodimus didn’t need it do so to know his soon–to-be second-in-command was pleased ( or, at least as pleased as he could be ) with the result of the launch announcement. 

two figures stood only a few meters away from the main crowd, looking on at the sea of people. “kid knows how to work a crowd. we could be witnessing a mass exodus at this rate.“ 

a mocking “pffft.“ and a cross of the arms was the only response.

wheeljack’s eyebrows raised as his optics moved to look at prowl in slight surprise. “are you disagreeing, or are your pistons playing up?“

prowl somehow managed to deepen his frown. “wheeljack. i can observe 800 moving objects and compute their direction of travel in 0.5 seconds. this is no different. as soon as rodimus said he was leaving i mentally compiled two lists: those who’d go with him and those who’d stay behind. trust me. all reliable indicators suggest that tomorrow’s launch...“

“...is going to be one big non-event.“

[ kimia. makeshift autobot headquarters. the autopsy room. today. ]

“he transformed himself to death.“ a body laid on the autopsy table; devoid of life, graying and riddled with holes of various sizes. a protest sign sat on the floor right next to it. “his transformation cog looks like a lump of coal. he must’ve been changing non-stop for weeks. where’d you find him?“

“outside, on the steps. he was a NAIL. a protestor. he did this on purpose, to draw attention to our ‘illegal occupation’ of cybertron.“ bumblebee’s optics followed ratchet’s frame as the latter rolled out from underneath the table and sat up, seemingly done with the autopsy. the smaller bot’s grim look never once left his face as he continued, hands placed on his cane for support, “thanks for looking him over. metalhawk said he’d only accept a verdict of suicide if it came from y—“

with a loud transformation noise, the corpse changed back into its alternate mode, cutting off bumblebee’s sentence and surprising him enough to make him drop his cane and almost topple over. “WOAH!“

"relax,“ ratchet reassured, practically unbothered as he got to his feet, “it’s just a reflex action. rigor morphis: the dead body assumes its preferred shape. and yeah, sometimes it’s the alt mode.“

ratchet glanced down at the vehicule now sitting on the autopsy table before raising both his hands so that they were at optic level. he scrunched up and stretched out his digits with a light frown. “he wasn’t dead when you brought him in. he still had a spark. it was tiny, but it was there. i should’ve been able to save him. an overheated transformation cog! i’ve fixed millions of them! millions!“ he gave a noise akin to a sigh as his frown deepened, “it’s these damn fingers. they’re getting too old. seizing up.“

“anyway...“ ratchet dropped his hands as he stared ahead blankly for a few moments before finally adjusting his voice module and continuing, “i’m leaving. with rodimus. tonight. i’m sorry. i’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you.“ there was a pause and no answer followed. “the massively awkward silence suggests that probably wasn’t it...“

bumblebee slowly started shaking his head as he smiled almost in disbelief. “no. uh-uh. no way. you’re joking, right? this is one of your jokes.“ upon noticing ratchet’s averting gaze however, the yellow bot’s face fell. “i need you here, ratchet,“ he exclaimed, “you’re the best there is— the only autobot to have saved the life of every prime since nominus.“

“precisely.“ the doctor agreed sharply. “i’ve been doing this too long. it’s time someone else became chief medical officer— someone who isn’t losing their touch,“ he added with a certain sadness.

bumblebee raised his cane accusingly towards ratchet as his voice raised. “i’m panicking now. you’ve made me panic. i’ve got the shakes. look. look at the cane. see that? i’m not doing that on purpose.“

the taller cybertronian gently placed his hand onto the stick, lowering it slightly as he frowned. “you don’t even need a cane anymore. i told you, i’ve found the spare parts i need to–“

ratchet’s sentence was cut off as bumblebee started his rambling once again, “did he seek you out? rodimus. did he give you all that scrap about finding the knights of cybertron and ‘retracing our steps to the golden age’?“ the yellow autobot accused before finally letting his cane fall fully as he averted his gaze, his voice lowering and almost muttering this time. “it’s all scripted, you know. drift writes it for him.“

“look, it’s not about the destination so much as the journey. rodimus has promised to pick up some waifs and strays along the way. you and i both know that not everyone’s accounted for. a lot of autobots are still out there— and some of them could be injured. maybe i can help them. and maybe i can find a successor in the process. think of it—“ ratchet paused, choosing his words carefully before smiling slightly, “ think of it as my swan song.“

amongst dark rocky wasteland, a purple cybertronian jet can be vaguely distinguished. the figure seems to be flying around almost aimlessly; observing, reminiscing.

to the east: tetrahex, subterrania, pess pess, the vaulted heights of k’th kinsere, obex, mesmerica, the pious pools, and a badly lit basement where i first met scourge.

to the west: the first city, the fragmented whole, the shadow of the underbase, warrior’s gate, the transeptum of infinite reach, and a balcony where i watched the greatest moonrise of my life.

all gone, now. not ruined, just gone. removed.

my world has been scorched to the bone and now there’s nothing left except emptiness and the smell of burning metal. a far cry from what it was.

at least i’ve got my alt mode. at least i’ve got my wings. no i/d chip in the back of my head— rodimus was true to his word in that respect, at least.

maybe the chip wouldn’t have worked anyway... ever since i was ejected from vector sigma’s chamber i feel like i’ve been given a new lease on life.

the question is, what to do with it?

okay, cyclonus, time to bring the farewell tour to an end and see if rodimus remembers the promise he— wait. down there— life signs. familiar life signs.

the cybertronian gives a thoughtful hum. maybe there’s a reason to stay behind after all...

the jet stirs from its course and descends towards a small worn down structure.

[ kimia. prowl’s quarters. ]

“so. you’re off then.“ prowl crosses his arms, looking away from the bot in front of him. “this is a setback, chromedome. a real setback. i’m disappointed in you.“

a smaller cybertronian sitting only a few ways behind looks up from his datapad almost incredulously at those words. if the bot didn’t have a visor, his eyebrows would’ve been raised in almost disbelief at the audacity prowl had. optics glancing briefly from him to chromedome, the minibot doesn’t waste much time before going back to his initial task— seemingly choosing his mental well-being over involving himself in these matters.

“yeah, well i’m sure you’ll get over it.“ chromedome answers dryly, not having the will to look at the bot he’s conversing with either, choosing simply to tilt his head in the opposite direction instead.

this doesn’t end up being very efficient however, considering only mere seconds later, prowl latches onto his shoulders— forcing the two autobots to speak face-to-face. “i’m going to level with you. somehow— don’t ask me how— rodimus has found two hundred autobots willing to join him on his fools’ crusade. well, good riddance,“ prowl manages to growl out between clenched teeth, “i can make do without each and every one of them. but i can’t—“

“even ratchet?“ chromedome asks in a deadpan tone.

“ —make do without you. you’re gifted. you can do things no one else can. if i had your talents...“

“primus help us all.“

prowl’s head snaps towards the small autobot. “rewind! you’re his best friend. can’t you persuade him to—“ his face falls blank. “—your light’s on. are you recording this?“

the small camera attached to the left side of rewind’s head continues beeping a bright red, confirming prowl’s suspicion. the light emitting from rewind’s visor flickers, almost like a blink of surprise as he answers, “um...yes?“

“well don’t. it’s extremely annoying, you filming everything all the time.“

rewind motions to his camera. “i’m an archivist. i’m archiving,“ he states matter of factly. “this could be an important conversation. it could have repercussions!“

before prowl can respond, chromedome directs the bot’s attention back to the matter at hand, eager to finally end this tiring argument. “prowl, you and i go way back, yeah? you know i’ve done more for the autobot cause than most. and you know i’ve done things that, in hindsight, i bitterly—“ chromedome cuts himself off with an exasperated groan. “—oh, forget it. the point is, using my ‘talents’ in the way you suggest is hardly going to help me draw a line under the past.“

noticing his partner’s souring mood, rewind placed his datapads down and jumped off the table he’d been sitting on. a few quick strides and he was by his side, gently placing a hand on chromedome’s arm as he steered him away. “c’mon,“ he urged softly, “you’ve said what you wanted to say.“

prowl’s fists clenched. “you know what your problem is, chromedome? you think that just because the war is over we can afford to stop fighting!“ before his brain module could even process his own actions, prowl’s digits had reached the underside of the table and it was sent flying across the room, left-behind datapads clattering to the ground.

a few beats passed as he stared at the mess with a certain emptiness in his optics, his hand then finally reaching for his communicator and bringing it to his lips. “it’s me. prowl. i couldn’t change his mind. no, this was always a possibility. i’ve already made the necessary modifications. all you two need to do is load the cargo. what? yes, of course i’m serious. i’m always serious. “

[ cybertron. six million years ago. ]

note to self, tailgate: don’t panic.

a bot sat in almost complete darkness, the only light coming from his flickering visor and a jagged hole up in the ceiling of the cave he was in.

don’t panic and definitely don’t look at your legs.

he found that the task would be a lot easier if the missing limbs would quit emitting sparks every now and then.

find your calm place. think happy thoughts. everything’s fine. everything’s really, really fine.

the minibot’s optics drifted around the darkness, searching for a distraction, and catching sight of some scrap metal laying around. one of his digits had a nervous twitch as he tried to forget where that material came from in the first place. giving up on finding something in the surroundings that could occupy his thoughts, he simply offlined his optics for a moment and let his mind go blank as best as he could.

okay. okay, good.

and here comes the preliminary damage report, right on cue…

the panel on his arm flashed a bright blue as writing slowly appeared on the screen: “preliminary damage report: YOU’RE AN IDIOT.“

i’m a what? what kind of a damage report is that? if i believed in rungian analysis i’d say that my self-loathing has finally spread to my internal readouts.

tailgate looked up at the gaping hole in the ceiling above him, despair filling his optics. with all the spikes filling the edges of the opening, only a few rays of light were capable of reaching him and he knew that meant he too would hardly be visible through that gap from all the way down there if someone were to pass by. the thing is— the thing is— i am an idiot. taking a shortcut across the mitteous plateau, the most fragile terrain on the planet, just to make sure i reached the ark in time for takeoff. and now i’m trapped in these catacombs with— what— about six hours to go until launch. if nova prime and the others leave without me their mission is doomed to failure— yet all i can do is sit here and self-narrate.

his screen lit up again: “final damage report: ambulatory systems at 18% efficiency... internal chronometer malfunctioning... transformation cog misaligned... ATTEMPTING REPAIRS...“ tailgate’s spark seemed to dim as he read the words over and over. translation: no legs, no watch, no alt mode. could be worse, he tried to reassure himself unsuccessfully. 

tailgate stared blankly at the soft light emitting from a few energon cubes which had fallen out of the trailer he’d been carrying prior to his fall. he was surprised the vehicule managed to survive it without much damage. if only he could say the same for himself.

hey... the bot let himself fall forward as carefully as he could, placing himself in an adequate position to crawl as an idea slowly formed in his head. maybe i can use the equipment in my trailer to detonate my energon rations, blast a hole in the ceiling and call for help... the young cybertronian’s visor glowed brightly with new found hope. 

...good plan. ha! not such an idiot after all…

[ present-day cybertron. ]

“i’d just like to say... um,“ the bot hesitated before muttering: “argh. never done this before.“ scratching his head with a claw, metal creaking against metal, he tried once more. “okay, second attempt. i’d just like to say… thank you.“

fuel splashed around and out of the container as his arm moved around in a movement of impatience, his claws tightening around the bottle he held. “oh, come on— don’t give me that look, i’m being sincere! i am! look—“ he motioned towards his single optic, glowing eerily in the dimly lit room. “this is my sincere face.“

“now shut up a minute while i say my piece,“ the cybertronian growled out, pouring the remaining fuel onto the floor before continuing in a sort of disorganized ramble, “my life— i’ll be honest with you— my life hasn’t been that easy lately. i’ve had some ups and downs, you know? i’ve taken some knocks, yeah, i know, boo hoo,“ he almost mocked. “i mean, the whole wreckers thing— being dropped from the team— that was harsh. i know some people say i deserved it, but— yeah.“

his optic flickered down to the dozens of fuel containers laying at his feet for a brief second, a certain sorrow in his gaze. kicking one, he starts again. “so anyway— thank you. this private time we’ve shared— it’s meant a lot. over the last few weeks, ever since the NAILs came back, you’ve helped me get by. no, really, you have. you’ve helped me offload and vent my frustrations and— and express myself, i guess. i suppose in a way you’ve kept me sane.“

raising a small torch with the light reflecting off his autobot badge, the bot tilts his head as his optic slims, almost as if smiling despite his lack of features. “but all good things must come to an end, and if there’s one thing i’ve learned it’s how to say goodbye and mean it. so without further ado—“

before the flare can be freed from his claws and start its descent towards the fuel-covered floor however, a deep baritone voice interrupts: “hello? anyone in here?“ cyclonus opens the door tentatively, red optics glowing almost even brighter than the light creeping in from the outside. “scourge? is that you? i thought i detected your—“

whirl’s head snaps towards the intruder, a single yellow light meeting two crimson ones for a brief moment. cyclonus’ mouth falls agape as his gaze soon falls onto the strung up figures behind the cybertronian who he can now recognize is not scourge. mutilated bodies cover each wall of the room, lower bodies missing for some, nails planted into their arms and heads shoved inside chests for others.

“haven’t you ever heard of knocking?!“ whirl yells out in blatant rage.

“what the hell are you doing?“ the horned cybertronian almost demands, bewildered at the sight he’s been met with.

the only answer cyclonus receives however is whirl promptly taking off into a sprint and knocking him right out of the building, taking the door with the both of them. “oof! oh, so i’m the one in the wrong...?“

metal crashes against stone as cyclonus’ back lends roughly onto the ground, multiple meters away from the building. the guns attached to whirl’s torso dig uncomfortably into cyclonus’ stomach. the older cybertronian raises his hand in defense, trying to calm down his attacker. “listen, whirl— it’s whirl, right? i’m not interested in fighting.“

the bot’s eye turned into nothing more than a thin line. “tough...“ his left arm flung back, throwing the flare he had still been holding, right into the trails of fuel leading to the building. “...because i am!“

a massive explosion engulfed both cybertronians, reddish flames and fumes covering the area. a fighter jet escaped the fiery cloud, an attack helicopter following close behind.

[ the lost light. ]

chatter resonated from the long line of cybertronians, hundreds of optics observing the imposing starship stationed only meters away and preparing for launch. at the front of the queue, red alert looks up from his datapad with an unimpressed glance at the bot before him.  “i’m going to need to search your briefcase, brainstorm.“

“you’re kidding, right?“ the aforementioned bot asks, almost seeming offended by the question itself. “this case contains a work-in-progress,“ he shakes the luggage around in front of red alert’s disinterested optics as if to press his point, “if i open it outside of a controlled environment, do you know what’ll happen? end of the world, my friend. end of the world.“ 

upon noticing the impassive look he received, brainstorm continues, “i’m serious. i’m almost certainly serious. besides...“ the weapons engineer pats around his frame before pulling out a card and practically shoving it in red alert’s face once more. “...i’m exempt from all security checks. see? special dispensation from rodimus himself. it’s authentic. check out the rubsign.“

red alert glanced between the card and brainstorm’s smug look. “so as head of security i’m supposed to let the galaxy’s most famous weapons engineer on board without checking his bags?“

“the galaxy’s most famous weapons engineer, eh? you’ve been reading my autopedia entry...“ the winged bot somehow managed to look even smugger.

“did i say famous? sorry, i meant to say notorious.“ red alert deadpanned. “next!“

the head of security looked back down at his datapad as brainstorm walked by him and into the lost light with a grumble. “name?“ he asked.

“megatron.“ a deep voice answered. “but you can call me...death.“

red alert didn’t even need to look down at the much smaller red and white autobot to know who had spoken. “swerve. please tell me you’re here to wave us off.“

“no, no, no,“ the bot shook around his three-fingered hands, “i’m here for the quest. love a good quest. haven’t been on a quest since the whole luna 1 thing. the moonquest.“

“stop saying ‘quest’.“

swerve grinned. “so, can i go on board?“

“of course—“ red alert finally looked up from his datapad, optics narrowing. “if you promise to never ever speak.“

“next!“ he called out to the following passenger, a strange sound of almost disbelief escaping his voice box as his optics fell onto the numbers displayed under the cybertronian’s arm. “one hundred million!“ he exclaimed before awkwardly regulating his voice back to a more acceptable volume, “that’s an impressive serial code, er...“

the orange autobot’s optics, which had focused on his own arm at red alert's words, raised— staring at the bot before him incredulously. “it’s rung,“ he reminded with slight hurt in his voice, “you know me, red alert.“

“rung! of course! sorry! i didn’t recognize you...“

rung’s eyebrows raised. “i was your psychiatrist. for six centuries.“

“never mind that,“ red alert hurriedly tried to change the subject, “what’s in the crate?“ his finger pointed at the large box rung held against his chest.

the hum of aircrafts could be faintly heard in the distance.

“nothing. just trinkets,“ a small smile formed on rung’s face as he looked down at his collection, “i collect model spacecraft. arks, mainly.“ the bot took out one of the models and held it out for red alert to inspect.

both cybertronians still seemed unaware of the quickly approaching shapes on the horizon.

the head of security eyed the object curiously. “we were at war for four million years. how have you managed to hold onto this stuff?“ 

hearing red alert’s somewhat impressed tone, rung’s smile grew a little more. “i guess i have a knack for keeping out of harm’s—“

a purple fighter jet slammed into rung, putting an abrupt stop to his sentence and ripping off one of his arms with a loud “KUNK“. his collection of small aircrafts was sent flying into the long line of cybertronians, right along with the box in which they had been placed for better carrying. red alert and multiple other bots crouched instinctively as to avoid getting hit as well.

before anyone could even register what had happened, the jet continued its panicked flight, an attack helicopter giving chase but luckily not breaking any other unattending cybertronian’s arm off. 

[ the bridge of the lost light. ]

rodimus is leaning against the ship’s window, arm propped up above his head and gaze fixed on the outside. his attention is briefly turned towards his third-in-command however when he hears the familiar static of a voice module switching on. 

“and the total so far is...“ drift’s blue optics drift across the screen of a datapad. “two hundred and eight.“

a joyous laugh accompanied by a fist pump erupts from the flame-colored autobot. “oh yes. stick that up your exhaust, bumblebee.“ rodimus turns towards his companions, pride evident in his features.  “you know, when i gave that ‘gun in your hand’ speech i—“

“great speech.“

rodimus sent drift a grin. “thanks,“ he answered breathily before continuing. “—i never imagined so many would sign up. two hundred and eight? that’s amazing. that’s gotta be some sort of record.“

smiling slightly at the amazement in his captain’s tone, drift turns towards the taller bot beside him, handing him the datapad he had been holding, “your new crew mates, ultra magnus.“

the second-in-command's face scrunches as his optics land on the screen however and drift tilts his head at the sight. “why are you frowning? i mean, why are you frowning even more than normal?“

rodimus, who had been standing a few ways behind, turned his head towards the window as his audio receptors picked up the low sound of engines. optics narrowing at the sight of a vaguely familiar purple jet, his attention was brought back to his companions before he could ponder too much on it. 

“he’s dangerous... he’s delusional... he’s a liar... he’s mad— i mean literally mad...“ ultra magnus went on and the sheer intensity of his glare only seemed to increase as his gaze moved down the list of names. “he was demoted after that incident with the turbofox... i arrested him for impersonating a senior officer... he owes me money... i don’t trust him or him, especially not in their combined form... and if he’s who i think he is, never, ever let him near a crossbow.“ ultra magnus sighed as he lowered the pad, “and those are just the a’s.“

the datapad seemed tiny sitting in his particularly large hands as he handed it to rodimus’ open digits. “you should’ve put me on the door. i’d have turned away any wayward characters.“

rodimus scoffed humorously, “magnus, your definition of a wayward character is an autobot who wears their badge at an angle.“

the autobot’s expression stayed perfectly serious as he gave a curt nod, “yes, in direct contravention of the military regalia act!“

rodimus grinned. “sometimes i wonder how you see the world, my friend.“

ultra magnus stared at the two bots before him, his internal readouts displaying information on what his optics were reading as usual.

[ rodimus

dreams of being heroic and important. tends not to follow rules too closely. means well but his impulsive actions often get him into trouble. can be hotheaded.

risk of future criminal activity: variable. ] 

[ drift: ex-decepticon

resist urge to arrest on sight. used to fight for megatron. one of the most terrible warriors ever to stalk the face of cybertron. granted amnesty under the reintegration act.

risk of future criminal activity: off the scale ]

magnus stayed quiet.

the sound of two missiles being fired tore through cybertron’s skies. cyclonus maneuvered around the projectiles, feeling their heat as he passed in between them. “alright—“ a loud crash echoed as they ended their course against a rocky peak, cyclonus changing back into his robot mode and landing on that same structure only mere seconds later. "—enough is enough.“

the horned cybertronian used his left arm and legs to put his skidding to a halt, metal claws digging into rocky ground. “i said i didn’t want to fight you, but that doesn’t mean i won’t. and when i get going, i will kill you,“ his voice rumbled threateningly. “i don’t even know why you’re doing this.“

“you barged in. you saw things.“ whirl reminded as if that was reason enough.

“which— URGH!“ cyclonus threw his arms in front of his own chest protectively as whirl’s alt mode slammed into him, though it did not do much to soften the impact. the metal plating of his chest creaked painfully. “—implies that i’m going to tell someone what i saw. which in turn implies i care. i don’t. i mistook the sweeps for scourge. my mistake. end of story.“

whirl shifted back to his robot mode, effectively throwing cyclonus even further along the peak in the process and making him land roughly at the edge of the summit. “oof!“

whirl’s singular optic glowed menacingly as he approached the older cybertronian in quick strides. “they were already dead. i just scraped ‘em off the ground. besides, they were never really alive, were they? not alive alive. they’re like turbofoxes— a brain stem, a weak spark and a set of learned responses. so i wasn’t actually doing anything wrong.“

cyclonus groaned slightly as he started to get back to his feet. “whirl, i don’t care,“ he insisted once more. “i’m late for an appointment. now can we please stop fighting?“

“what do you think, decepticon?“

the purple cybertronian sighed in growing frustration. “i’m not a decepticon. never have been. i fought beside galvatron as a fellow cybertronian. now— for the last time— are we done?“

“AAAARRRGGHH!“ 

that was the only answer he got as whirl charged directly at him. whirl’s metal limbs collided with cyclonus’, throwing both bots off the cliff and sending them plummeting towards the ground below.

[ the past. ]

tailgate’s small form was slowly nearing his trailer. the energon cubes sat only a few ways from him, casting a soft glow on his visor as if taunting him. 

this would be... easier... if i didn’t keep...

his hand reached forward though it didn’t get very far before his vision went black as his system shut down, his upper body crashing onto the floor.

time passed.

the gears in his body slowly started wiring once more as his optics turned on, letting him see again.

...passing out.

tailgate felt out of it. he could barely tell how much time he had spent stuck in this cave. he couldn’t even feel some of his limbs anymore; the remaining ones, that is. 

still... if i’ve done my sums right... i’m gonna reach the ark in time...

he reached a shaky hand forward once more, determined to carry out his plan.

three figures make their way through rocky peaks in quick, hurried strides. 

chromedome stares down at the screen on his arm. “ten minutes to launch,“ he sighs before glancing at his short partner, who’s leading the way only a few steps ahead of him. “you know, rewind, if you had a decent alt mode we wouldn’t have to walk to the launch pad.“

“oh, it’s started,“ rewind exclaimed, throwing his arms back in exasperation, “the alt mode bashing. every time you get agitated...“ the small autobot took on a fakely enthusiastic tone, “let’s have a go at rewind because he turns into a giant memory stick and not a... super space tank or— or— whatever.“

chromedome glanced down at him with a shrug. “i just don’t see the point of turning into a giant memory stick. you might as well be a monoformer!“

“remember the old saying? ‘everyone’s shape serves a purpose.’“

ratchet huffed out a laugh. “yeah? tell that to sky lynx.“

SKATCH!

the words had barely left ratchet’s lips when the loud sound of two figures violently crashing onto the ground only a few meters before them muffled the echo of his voice almost fully.

chromedome, rewind and ratchet all stopped in their tracks, optics widening in shock. they seemed frozen to the spot for a few seconds, as if their processors needed a little extra time to understand what had just happened. 

a cloud of dust and rubble had covered the shapes of those who’d crashed mere moments ago. the three autobots could only vaguely distinguish a figure slowly getting to its feet as the sound of metal limbs moving around was heard. 

tentatively, ratchet took a few steps forward; letting his optics adjust as the dust slowly settled. his gaze focused on the standing figure first, something akin to disbelief spreading across his features.

“whirl..?“

the lanky bot towered over the purple figure, who had taken most of the impact from the fall, judging from his lack of movement. the cybertronian laid face first on the broken and cracked rocks, one of his horns laying not far before him, detached from his helm.

ratchet frowned in slight confusion. “you okay? what’s going on?,“ he questioned the ex-wrecker.

whirl seemed agitated as he answered accusingly; “he attacked me after i caught him desecrating corpses. i suggest you look away now if you have an aversion to exploding heads,“ he almost growled, as he lowered the guns attached to his chest towards his target.

ratchet had approached whirl enough to reach out a hand in an attempt to calm him down. “he’s offline, whirl,“ he pointed out, “whatever he’s done, he’s not a threat. best lower the gun, eh?“

whirl’s head whipped around, optic thinning into a glare. “you talking me down, doc? is this you talking me down?“ his voice raised dangerously. “like i’m some kind of maniac that needs— that needs talking down?“

ratchet put his hands forward cautiously, as if surrendering. it wasn’t hard to notice whirl’s growing agitation, and he wasn’t much of a fan. he couldn’t comprehend why the ex-wrecker was so set on finishing off this offline cybertronian; but then again, this was whirl. his decision making skills were questionable at best, it was better not to ponder on them too much. nevertheless, he tried to reason once again, against his better judgment, “i’m just saying—“

“no, i’m just saying. he started it. i’m finishing it. and a nice, clean headshot is always the best way to finish it,“ the bot uttered with finality, the barrels of his firearms starting to glow dangerously as he prepared his shots, still aimed directly at cyclonus’ unmoving frame.

ratchet’s optics widened. chromedome took a step forward, as if to help the medic stop him. rewind went to hold his partner back but stopped in his tracks as a strange sound reached his audials. the smaller bot looked around in slight confusion; strangely enough, it had sounded as if coming from below. a bad feeling washed over him, and he seemed ready to alert the others of it when— FROOM!

“ARRGH!“ whirl’s agonizing scream resonated along with the sound of the blast. a huge, bright, purple ray of energy had sliced right through the ground below the group of cybertronians, hitting whirl straight on and blasting off both his firearms and a chunk of his chest plating in the process. his figure, along with multiple pieces of debris, were blasted back multiple meters away, landing roughly on the rocks.

the three bots who were still standing approached in quick strides the newly made opening in the ground, clearly in complete shock at the string of events which had just occurred, and continues occurring. staring down the fuming, gaping hole, it was quite hard to see much. but a tired voice was soon heard.

“any chance of a hand?“

rewind, chromedome and ratchet glanced at each other. a few beats passed. then, chromedome shrugged, getting to work, as the others soon followed. and with a joint effort, a small blue and white cybertronian was soon pulled from the cave.

“c’mere, pal. i don’t believe we’ve met,“ chromedome stated as he grabbed tailgate’s arms as to fully pull him out of the opening.

“have— URGH!“ tailgate yelped in pain as chromedome held him up fully, though the latter didn’t exactly seem to notice the small one’s discomfort, head only tilting to the side at the sight of his missing legs instead. “—have i missed the launch?“

this question was soon the least of the cybertronian’s worries however when his gaze landed on whirl’s battered figure, laying motionless some distance away. the small one’s spark seemed to visibly drop at the sight. “by the shadow of the underbase!“ he exclaimed. “did i do that?“

seeing his agitation, chromedome tried to place the damaged cybertronian down, but the latter’s panicked movements made this quite a challenge, resulting in the taller bot dropping him a little too high from the ground; the poor guy’s frame therefore crashing rather roughly on the rocks. chromedome flinched slightly at the impact and seemed ready to apologize, but if the fall had hurt him, tailgate didn’t even seem to register it as he only continued to panic on the aftermath of his escape from the hole he had, inexplicably to the others present, been in.

“stay calm. stay calm. stay calm.“ tailgate’s frame started shaking and his optics began fizzing, sparks buzzing from his visor. he reached a trembling hand forward, as if trying to crawl towards his accidental victim. “he’s de— he’s de— he’s de—“ the panic was getting the best of him, his voice box kept cutting off his own sentences, “—he’s dead! i killed him!“ 

a defeated sound akin to a cry left him, before his frame came crashing down completely; his upper body slamming against the ground, as his body seemed to shut down on his own from the sheer intensity of his own emotions.

ratchet, chromedome and rewind stood in silence and let a few seconds pass by. their optics moved from the purple cybertronian, still laying face first against the rocks, the still fuming hole, the debris scattered all around them and whirl’s chest which continued to fume as well. chromedome’s visor flickered, as if blinking in disbelief at the scene before him, despite witnessing the whole of it with his very own optics only mere moments ago.

rewind stared at tailgate’s unmoving frame. “this is turning into a very odd day.“

ratchet let out a sigh as he finally seemed to regain control of his limbs, the surprise slowly subsiding. he bent down next to tailgate’s small frame, placing a hand on the latter’s back gently. "whoever he is, he’s just had some sort of panic attack. he mentioned the launch. i’ll fix him once we’re on board the lost light.“ the doctor’s optics then fixed themselves on another wounded’s figure. “i’m going to regret saying this,“ he started with a slight grimace, “but we’d best bring whirl along too. we can’t risk leaving him... well, anywhere, really.“

rewind glanced around quickly, before starting to turn around. “i’ll, er, catch you guys up... i’ve just got to say goodbye to someone.“

ratchet and chromedome nodded in acknowledgment at the minibot's words, before soon busying themselves with carrying the two battered bots; though chromedome's gaze stayed fixed curiously on rewind as the latter’s frame disappeared in quick strides towards only he seemed to know where. 

two cybertronian figures stood in an alleyway between wordown buildings.

“yeah, yeah, i got ‘em. wasn’t easy, though. you’re gonna have to pay me double.“

rewind scoffed, almost snatching the disks from the hands of the con before him. “swindle, i’d be happy to— provided these are genuine.“

swindle put his hands up in defense with a sly grin at the subtle accusation, “hey, you can’t fake this stuff.“ he tapped the objects with one of his digits, before tilting his head. “i gotta say, i didn’t think wholesome little autobots like you were into this kind of thing.“ 

the decepticon chuckled. “you’re sicker than i gave you credit for.“ 

the smaller bot glared slightly at swindle's words before glancing down at their reflections in the golden disks he held. for once, rewind’s camera was not on.

aboard the lost light, rodimus prime sat in the captain’s chair, hands resting on the armrests placed on either side of him as the ship prepared to finally take off. his second and third in command stood only a few ways behind, busying themselves with checking, and double-checking that everything was in order for the launch.

“red alert wants to talk to you. something about ratchet bringing a weapon of mass destruction on board...?“ drift trailed off in slight confusion at the words he himself was reading, looking up from the datapad.

“it can wait,“ rodimus assured, optics still fixed forward, “it’s time we were off.“ 

“incoming call from bumblebee.“ magnus stated. “want to take it?“ he turned his head towards his captain questioningly.

rodimus’ optics narrowed slightly, before blankly answering; “no.“

cybertron’s skies had grown dark; thousands of stars were now perfectly visible against the deep shades of blue. prowl and bumblebee stood amongst a small crowd of bots; sky lynx and mirage not far from the two. even from multiple miles away, the lost light was perfectly visible.

a loud rumbling resonated amongst the plains as the rear thrusters began emitting bright blue lights; preparing for the take-off, at long last. the huge ship slowly lifted off the pillars which had been supporting it thus far.

prowl’s frown seemed to deepen as he looked on. bumblebee’s face, on the other hand, was blank. although, his hands, which were clasped on his cane for support, had a particularly tight grip this time around.

once at a high enough distance from the ground, the lost light angled itself towards the skies. the bright light of the engines now facing the crowd, shining upon their figures.

bumblebee turned his head towards prowl, “i thought you said you had a plan.“

bumblebee’s head snaps towards the skies once more however at the booming sound of an explosion, horror filling his optics at the sight they’ve all been met with.

only then does prowl glance down at the smaller bot’s frame, optics fixed on the latter's reaction.

the lost light had disappeared in a gigantic, fiery explosion, only mere seconds after its take-off. 

[ elsewhere. ]

amongst the darkness of space and the thousands of stars stands a lone planet. craters of various sizes, ranging from obscenely large ones to smaller joint patterns, cover its surface. a trail of greenish gas follows the planet in its slow course.

a large, bright blue light flashes only a few miles before it. with tendrils of energy crackling around, the lost light appears. 

flashing red lights, a blaring alarm; panic fills the command chamber of the lost light. multiple bots have to resort to clinging onto nearby objects to stay afoot as their ship suffers rough shakes. the more unfortunate knock against walls or end up thrown against the hard floor.

a disoriented rodimus attempts to stay upright as best as he can, leaning most of his weight on the tilting side of the ship. “would somebody please tell me what just happened?“ he demands loudly, trying his best to be heard over the loud, blaring sounds. “perceptor? mainframe? highbrow? anyone?“ the captain glances around frantically. “COME ON!“

“we quantum jumped before we were ready!“ finally answered mainframe, tapping away at the ship’s control pannels, desperately attempting to fully understand the current situation. “we’ve hopped halfway across the galaxy and we’re flying blind, and i’m sorry but i don’t know why!“ he concluded agitatedly.

“damage?“ rodimus asked through gritted teeth. this wasn’t going well.

mainframe grimaced. “one of the rear thrusters exploded, deck 6 is in flames and—“ a horrified look spread across his features as his optics locked with a particular something on the screen before him. “oh no.“

rodimus’ head snapped towards the bot at the latter’s alarmed tone. “what? what is it?“

“we’ve got a hull breach— one of the hangars on the upper decks.“

the captain’s optics widened with evident panic. the hangars were filled with passengers. a breach meant there was a high chance multiple of them had either been seriously harmed or sucked out of the ship entirely. this wasn’t just an unfortunate start to their quest anymore; cybertronian lives were at risk.

“resealing... now, structural integrity restored. heat shields in place. rodimus?“

rodimus’ fists clenched. “set us down,“ he ordered. “we’re not going anywhere until we find out why the quantum engines malfunctioned.“

he didn’t need to insist. the piloting team immediately got to work, and the lost light entered the nearby planet’s atmosphere soon after his words; flames licking at the front portion of the starship in its fast descent towards the plain, rocky ground below.

drift, who had managed to get back up once the lost light had calmed down on the shaking, checked the command screen, blue optics taking in as much of the information present as quickly as he could. “sensors indicate we’re missing fizzle, polaris, waverider, hyperion, rad... we’re 40 autobots down, all told,“ he glanced worriedly at his captain. “they must have been... i mean, the breach must’ve—“

rodimus didn’t let him finish. “they’re not dead,“ he declared, as if stating a sure fact. “i’ll tell you that now. no one dies on my watch. no one. not this time,“ despite the determination in his words, his voice shook ever so slightly as he assured the last part. “we’ll find them. as soon as we touch down, we’ll find them...“

“...we’ll find them and we’ll fix them and we’ll get back on track, and we’ll make this day a good day.“

“big place,“ rodimus remarked, leg propped up on the rim of a nearby crater and optics scanning the surroundings. there was only rocky uneven wasteland as far as they could see. two rather large planets, similar to the one they were on, could be seen in the skies. “where do we start?“

ultra magnus, who was standing a little closer to the ship, tilted his head. “how about over there?“ he proposed, pointing somewhere before the two of them.

rodimus’ gaze followed magnus’ digit. raising his hand to shield his optics, he stared curiously at the dozens of lights seemingly raining from the planet’s skies. “under the meteor shower?“ he questioned in slight confusion.

the second in command glanced at his captain, an unreadable expression on his face. “that’s not a meteor shower. that’s fizzle, polaris, waverider, hyperion, rad... they’re burning up as they enter the atmosphere.“

a deep exhale escaped rodimus, as he let himself crash down on a nearby boulder. “not a good start,“ he muttered with a grimace, digits pinching the bridge of his own nose as he let his optics offline.

“sorry?“

the captain groaned. “i said not a good start.“

[ cybertron. prowl’s quarters. ]

the table which had been thrown multiple hours before still lays on its side. datapads and the such are scattered around, untouched since they had landed from their fall in their respective spots earlier in the day. amongst those, a transmitter crackles to life. scrambled, buzzing sounds can be heard, echoing through the dimly lit room until, slightly clearer this time—

“hell— kzzk! hello...?“ speaks a barely distinguishable voice. “can anybody hear me? it’s— kzzk! of the lost light.“ 

multiple miles away, amongst purple rocky plains, a large, cleanly cut hole is visible. rubble of various sizes surround it. only a few steps away, the ground is cracked and partially shattered. a metal horn still lays on the broken surface. though, no cybertronian is in sight.

the transmission continues. “this message is an experi— kzzk! a failed experiment, i think. because if it had worked, i wouldn’t have had to send it in the first place... i’m calling from the future and— wait a second— and i have a— kssk!— for rodimus: abort the mission. do not leave cybertron. there are terrible things out here, we were not prepared.“

a long distance away, at the lost light’s launch pad, bumblebee sits quietly. his helm is held tightly between his hands. prowl stands only a few steps away from him, optics blank and mouth forming a thin line, simply looking on at his fellow autobot’s mourning. he finally lets his gaze wander, optics landing on small, orange forms not far from the two of them; models of arks, spacecrafts.

��but if i’ve miscalcula— kssk!— and we’ve already left, please find a way to get this message to him now. it’s a list of dos and don’ts. actually it’s just a list of don’ts. don’t open the coffin. don’t let them take skids. don’t go to delphi. and do not— i repeat do not— look in the basement. and for the sake of the cybertronian race itself, please dont— KZZZZZZZK!!“

the unoccupied room falls deathly quiet.

[latte-to-go]

the art of loving you [alcina dimitrescu]

summary ━━━ sometimes, it was difficult for you to tell if what you and lady dimitrescu, or alcina as she has allowed you to call her, had was love. it remained a lingering thought in your mind as her daughters continued to call you their mother’s ‘human play-thing’ and most days, you let it not get to you. but, it was difficult to ignore that fateful night and the lady of the house had easily noticed something was upsetting her little pet.

pairing ━━━ alcina dimitrescu x reader.

words ━━━ 1612

fandom ━━━ resident evil.

warnings ━━━ pure fluff, honestly. but, it has some hints of nsfw vibes but it doesn't go into them.

author's note ━━━ lady dimitrescu owns my heart and I have spent so much time reading fanfics about her that I just needed to write one of my own. who knew a tall sexy vampire lady would be what broke my hiatus and brought me back to tumblr? but, I am here to stay and I am so excited to write more reader inserts! and to continue to fill requests! for now, my requests are open! but, I will probably write a lot more for alcina as well! so, I haven't finished resident evil village yet because of how busy I am with work and that might make the characters a little out of character! but I couldn't wait to write about alcina! hopefully, I will have the game finished soon! some things have been spoiled for me already, but a lot of the game is still unknown because I am still in the very beginning of the game where ethan just gets to the village. but, I still hope you all enjoy this one-shot! it's just fluff between the reader and our lady!

DARK CLOUDS LOOMED AGAINST THE HORIZON, matching the catastrophic thoughts that lingered in the back of your mind as you numbly flipped the pages to the book you had tried so hard to distract yourself with. But, your mind had not retained any of the words written on the yellowed pages as your mind stayed on the woman that held every inch of your heart. With a sigh, you turned your gaze out the window instead. The window pane was cold to the touch, courtesy of the snow that remained a constant of the land.

It had only been two years since you had arrived at Castle Dimitrescu ━━ a mistake, truly. At least, at first, it had been as you stumbled across the maidens that the grandiose home belonged to. It should have been the last night of your life, but the lady of the house had taken a keen interest in you. You had not understood it at first, but you had grown attached to Alcina Dimitrescu and her… mysterious ways. Perhaps, you would even go as far as to call it love at first sight. And, you had thought she had felt the same way with her sweet words and burning touches. But, then doubt had become to creep into the dark crevices of your relationship with the woman.

It was often her daughters teased you, complaining about how they couldn’t stand to hear the beat of your heart. But, their mother had explicitly forbidden them from touching you. Though, you did not feel unsafe around them and had grown to trust and like each of them. But, their words tended to hurt whenever they referred to you as their mother’s play-thing. It was as if there was a timer on your life and it wouldn’t be long till Alcina grew bored of your presence and decided it was your time to join the dead.

“The day has come and gone and you have yet to leave our bedroom,” the regal voice belonging to Alcina echoed throughout the room, startling you at your spot in the window sill. She stood tall with her golden eyes watching your every move, making you hold your breath as you waited for her to speak. With long strides, she quickly reached the window as she looked down at you with an unreadable expression. Regardless of your height, you always dwarfed in comparison to her as she stood taller than most she came across. But, she looked even taller whilst you sat. She leaned down, placing a gentle kiss against your lips. When she pulled back, her gaze met yours. “Has something happened?”

“No,” the word quickly left your lips as your felt your cheeks burn at the sudden closeness. Her scent of her old vintage lavender perfume with hints of blood filled your nose ━━ the old mixture had become a comfort for you. With a clear of your throat, you continued to speak. “Everything is fine.”

A hum left her red lips, seemingly vibrating every sense of your being. With two fingers, she trailed against your jaw as she continued to stare at your parted lips. “You should know better than to lie to me, my darling.”

“I do not wish to bother you with my human problems,” you muttered bitterly, pushing her fingers off your skin. For a moment, her eyes flashed with an unknown emotion but she did not utter a word as she took a step back to create space between the two of you.

“So, something has happened,” Alcina commented, standing to her feet as she towered over you again. It made you feel small in every sense as a wave of tears made their presence known. Hiding them from her was futile as she continued to watch, making you sniffle as you tried to wipe them away. “Tell me, who has hurt you?”

“No one.” It wasn’t like you to throw her daughters underneath the bus because of some harsh words. After all, you needed to be stronger than that.

Her hand reached forward, wiping away the stray tear with her thumb before she caressed your cheek. It took everything in you to not lean into her touch, refusing to place a kiss against her tender skin. Despite your lack of reaction, Alcina moved closer as she took a seat on the window sill. It was difficult due to her size, but she made it work as she continued to run her thumb against your cheek. “Then, why the tears?”

She waited for you to speak, listening to the shaky breaths that left your lips as you tried to gather your thoughts. “I’ve been having doubts,” you confessed, biting the inside of your cheek as you met the woman’s eyes. “About… us.”

“What do you doubt about us?” She asked softly. And, for the first time, you could hear worry in her tone as she slowed her movements. Her sharp gaze had softened, lingering on your saddened expression.

With a deep breath, you took her hand off your cheek as you held it close. Her hands were larger than an average person’s, but you still fit perfectly in them. “I fear that you do not love me the way that I love you,” you whispered, keeping your eyes on your interlocked hands. “I feel as if I am something that you use to pass the time. Someone to warm your bed at night for the time being before you get bored and move to the next.”

“People say I’m heartless,” she started off slowly, taking your words deep into her heart as her gaze flickering to your hands as well. “They call me a monster ━━ a frightening legend that mothers tell their misbehaving children. And, for a long time, I believed in those legends that painted me as a cruel vicious beast. That is, until I met you, my darling.”

Her words made you look up, daring to meet her eyes as she stared at you unblinking. Her beauty had always taken your breath away, making her perfect to you at anything that matters. Still, you remained quiet.

“Perhaps, I did not love you at first,” Alcina confessed, ever so slightly tightening her grip on your hand as she let out a heavy sigh. “But, you came into my life like a storm and I had learned how to dance in the rain. Regardless of what you think, my love for you is true. My darling, you make me feel whole ━━ the missing piece I had unknowingly been searching for.”

“Do you really mean that?” you asked softly, barely finding your voice as you faced the woman. Her words were like honey, dripping sweetness onto your tongue as you tried your hardest to believe her.

Her free hand caressed your cheek, moving closer to you before she left a chaste kiss against your forehead. “Have I ever lied to you before?”

“No, but…”

“Cease your doubts, my love,” Alcina said, staying inches away from your lips as her breath fanned against your cheeks. She whispered your name, letting out a deep sigh as she took in your scent. “What can I do to convince you that my love for you is true? To convince you that I want to spend the rest of our days together? To convince you that my heart yearns for you and only you?”

"Alcina…” you whispered softly, closing your eyes as her lips hovered over the skin of your neck. She didn’t move, waiting for some indication from you. “I love you more than anything in this world and… I wish to spend the rest of my life with you. If you would have me, that is.”

The soft words caused Alcina to open her eyes as she faced you, showing no emotion as usual. It made it hard for you to predict her next move as you waited for her to say anything. But, then a soft smile presented itself to you as she leaned in close. “Of course I would have you, my darling,” she whispered, meeting your eyes. “I would do anything for you.”

Her words brought a smile to your lips, pushing you forward as you engulfed her lips with your own. She was quick to pull you into her lap as she held you close, kissing back with the same intensity that you gave her. It made you feel warm with her love as any doubts you had begun to vanish as she held you. There was no doubt that Alcina Dimitrescu was hopelessly in love with you as you were with her. Yet, the sweet moment had ended too soon.

There was a knock at the door, causing a deep growl to leave Alcina’s lips as she pulled away from yours. It left you breathless as the two of you looked to the door to see Cassandra. She wore a sadistic grin, moving deeper into the room as she regarded the two of you. “Forgive me for interrupting,” she cooed, stealing a glance at your flushed expression with playful vice. “But, he’s back.”

A frown marred your features, causing you to glance back at Alcina and see the irritation blooming. “Who is back?”

With a sigh, Alcina looked to you as she forced a smile to her lips. She moved forward, leaving a chaste kiss against your lips that had become stained the same color as hers. “Only a nuisance that you needn’t worry about,” she whispered softly, moving to stand to her feet. “I shall be back soon, my love.”

At her words, you smiled. “I will be here waiting for your return.”

[lantsovsupremacist]

nikolai lantsov request of exes to enemies to lovers with angst and fluff (happy ending pls)

blondie writes for nikolai lantsov and him alone. i simply translate! 😉

part 1/2 🧍‍♀️you get happiness later!

nikolai lantsov: sad beautiful tragic

time is taking it’s sweet time erasing you, and you got your demons and darling they all look like me.

cause we had a beautiful magic love there; what a sad, beautiful, tragic love affair.

with footsteps pounding down the stone staircase, you locked your eyes beneath you to avoid falling victim to one of the chipped steps. the tears collecting at the forefront of your irises did little to mitigate the matter. the castle still confused you but as long as you could flee from wherever he was, you would manage. for every passageway you put between yourself and the place you left him you breathed a little deeper.

he did not call after you.

he did not care to fight for you.

he did not want you to come back.

perhaps, you would not have acted any differently, but his actions—or lack there of—still stung immensely. it took no longer than a blink of an eye for him to break your heart. the strong hands that had once held you tore it into two without leaving behind a shred of remorse.

you felt overwhelmed and dizzy. you started to hold your breath in an attempt to delay the sobs smoldering in your throat. any more oxygen and they would surely be set ablaze.

when the door finally closed behind you and things quieted, you allowed yourself to tolerate the tears. how unfortunate it was that you fell apart behind four unfamiliar walls. the room was more of a formality than anything else, given you had not spent a night apart from nikolai. that would all change now, of course.

it had been easy to fool around with sturmhond. you did not have to care if every word he spoke was a lie. you were not responsible for either his feelings or your own. you entertained each other for a time.

a knock came at the door. with your fingertips gripped across the back of a chair, you looked up into the mirror ahead of you. puffy eyes hanging above red and splotchy cheeks reflected back.

“go away.”

ignoring your command, the door swung open.

genya shuffled inside, hands behind her back. you started to cry again. it was not nikolai. your breathing grew despairingly shallow. your mind wanted to forget nikolai, but your heart was crumbling without his other half to support it.

“oh,” she whispered, immediately beginning to wring her hands at her sides, “oh, honey.”

your chest battled gravity as it rose up and down repeatedly, “he doesn’t want me anymore.”

genya sunk down on her knees alongside you, bringing a quick arm around your shoulder. she brought your hair behind you shoulders and wiped the tears that had already fell. with furrowed eyebrows, she brought a hand to your wrist. stroking her finger over your pulse point, you began to find yourself relaxing your breathing. she kissed the top of your head, a spot where a crown might have one day rested.

“nikolai is foolish and confused,” genya comforted you, “i think he wants you more than anything else, so much so that he doesn’t know what to do.” a sad smile lined her features, exposing a dimple just beneath one of her scars.

“so many people want him,” you began, rising from the ground with a sniffle, “the entirety of ravka depends on him, and i’m just me.”

“i happen to believe he’ll disagree,” she offered, “i know i certainly do.”

genya sighed, tugging on your elbow with a nod to the door. you tried to dig your heels into the floor, but she guided you elsewhere. you allowed her to carry you forward.

“don’t take me to him,” you hiccuped, “please, genya.”

“no,” she refuted, “you’re not leaving it like this.”

“he did,” you whimpered, finally tugging your hand out of her grasp, “why shouldn’t i?”

“because you either have to let him keep your heart or make him give the other half back.” her words were even and carefully considered.

—

genya disregarded the royal guards. you followed behind her, sparing them a single glance. they settled back into place. you almost laughed. you had become such a permanent fixture of nikolai’s life that his guards relented to genya barging in because of your presence.

nikolai was slouched in a chair, appearing rather exhausted. his hair hung a mess over his eyes. you bit your lip at the sight of his leg bouncing restlessly.

genya sent him a look more threatening than you would have ever been able to accomplish in your current state. he caught himself before he could roll his eyes or argue, unwilling to sacrifice a member of the triumvirate. you supposed he could simply justify your loss as collateral damage.

your eyes trailed genya’s form until she departed entirely from your view. only then, did you dare take nikolai in fully. he looked about as awful as he had made you feel.

“you didn’t come after me,” you phrased your words as a question, begging him to answer.

he shifted, leaning back in his chair to look up at you, “i didn’t want to.” it left you looking down at him.

you breathed out in disbelief, shaking your head at his tone. he knew exactly what he was doing to you. you wanted to rip your heart away from him. maybe if you cut away the remaining strings, he would not be able to control you like he did now.

“what if i wanted you to?” your voice increased an octave, clattering against the walls as an echo.

a scoff left his mouth as he resigned to engage in the breakdown of another fight, “it wouldn’t have mattered. you wouldn’t have listened to me.” before you could respond, he spoke up again, “i don’t have to follow after you.”

you shifted your gaze to the glass of water on his desk. no matter the desperation building in your chest, you wanted to feel angry, instead. it was easier to manage. so, you lashed out at him. building the water pressure in the lone glass, you watched it shatter on his desk and saturate the paperwork.

“missed me,” he mumbled wearily.

feeling like a child, you stomped your foot and sent the water to splash against his face. it dripped past his lips—a sight you chose to ignore, lest it elicit a response rather inappropriate for the current circumstances. they caught in a smile as he laughed bitterly, bringing his hands across his mouth.

“i told you i would marry you,” nikolai pressed onward carelessly, running a hand through his hair as if to dismiss your actions, “certainly not my fault you said no, now is it?”

“because it sounded like something you’d resigned to accept! something that had to be done!” the words tore through your throat painfully, “it should be a privilege. it should be love.”

you detected the exact moment he comprehended the final line. he straightened and swallowed harshly. nikolai lantsov looked inexplicably afraid.

“it should be love?” he questioned quietly. now, he was angry and afraid. you knew it to be a fragile but dangerous combination.

“you assume marriage is enough for me,” your voice grew louder, daring him to fight, “marriage won’t make you love me again, nikolai lantsov.”

“you’re putting words in my mouth!” the fervor in his voice did not go unnoticed.

“someone has to,” a moment of silence passed, “you haven’t talked to me in weeks,” you clung to a whisper, “not really.”

you watched his eyes carry themselves across the room. you cursed your heart for hoping they would find land in you. they kept searching elsewhere, drifting further out to sea.

“again?” his voice was broken.

“what?” you questioned, clearing your throat as the sudden shame washed over you for barging in on the king.

“you said marriage wouldn’t make you love me again,” he dared a step closer, “have you stopped loving me?”

you took a trembling step back from him with your heart beating erratically inside your chest. you could not find the control to move your fingers, not even to curl them into reluctant fists. suddenly, everything felt heavy, and you did not want to carry the weight alone.

“i don’t know, nikolai,” you answered somewhat truthfully, unable to gather an honest answer.

“i suppose that’s fair,” he relented.

“i suppose it is,” you whispered with a frown.

you turned to leave after a moment, taking his soundless stance as an indication of retreat.

“you broke my heart,” nikolai realized aloud, hands deep in his pockets as he stared at you.

“yeah well,” he titled his head at you, “you broke mine first,” you spoke coldly, hardening yourself to ice against his warm body.

taking a step away from him, you gasped as his hand found your jaw. although his grip was firm, you refused to melt at his feet. you did not belong to the whim’s of nikolai lantsov’s heart any longer.

“i’m leaving you, nikolai,” you stuttered out as you backed away, gasping at the shiver in your chest enacted by his touch.

his jaw tightened, “you can’t.” his voice was a ghost of a severe whisper, and you knew it would haunt you forever.

“i have to,” you spoke clearly.

“i-,” he fumbled fervently for any semblance of conviction or persuasion, “you can’t leave me.” he had ran out of personas to pull you in with.

“i already have,” you granted him a final look out of pity before you left his room behind and with it, his wavering silhouette.

[buckyownsmylife]

Is she with you? - Bucky Barnes smut

The one where Bucky isn't used to being in the spotlight, but you're a welcome distraction

Warnings: celeb!bucky, slightly dominant reader, breeding kink, smut, praise kink, reader reminding bucky that he’s not a monster while believing her hips can cure him, (yes we all know what he really need is therapy), p in v, words of reassurance, crying during sex (but only like, two tears)

Word count: 1k

A/N: thought this would be a fun change for those of you who don’t read RPF! In a world where the Avengers are seen as celebrities, here’s how Bucky adapts to it ✨ Special thanks to @sinking-in-mercury​ for giving this a read for me!  This was written for my own birthday celebration challenge! Like I explained here, I was trying to fill every single AU I listed with the characters I picked for the challenge, and these fics would be posted randomly, as I finished them, instead of on Thursdays, which are my usual one-shot posting days. This is one of the last ones I had ready to post. Hope you guys like it!

Bucky’s P.O.V.

Sighing as soon as the limousine’s door closed, I rubbed my face in an effort to get rid of all the noise and the white flashes that blinded me. I didn’t know why I kept going to these events. It’s not like I couldn’t just threaten Tony to leave me out of all of it.

But still, I persisted. Maybe it was Steve’s soft encouragement, maybe it was the fear of making myself more of an outcast by being the only one who refused to participate. I honestly didn’t know.

What I did know was that at the end of the day, there was one good thing about all of those fancy galas and celebrity events. And that was her.

Seeing her all dressed up was always a given. Well, any day I got to spend by her side was a given, but getting to take her as my date to those fancy events, seeing her eyes widen at getting to meet the people she admired, it all made my heart grow twice its size.

God, I loved her. I loved her, and I couldn’t believe she was all mine.

“How are you feeling?” She asked once I was able to relax back against the seat. I looked to the side to find her smiling patiently at me, her eyes denouncing just how worried she was.

She knew better than anyone how these things affected me, so when I reached out for her hand, she came willingly, settling over my lap after glancing at the partition to make sure the driver wouldn’t see our new position.

“I’m better now that I’m between your legs.” Her answering giggle had my heart jumping, skipping a beat when she bit her lip and looked up at me from under her eyelashes. “Have I told you that you look fantastic tonight?” She really did. Her golden gown had a slit on the right that allowed me to palm her thigh, squeeze it to hear her adorable little surprise gasp.

“Yes, you have,” she informed me. “Countless times.” The little addition had my lips twitching up, amusement clear in my features. Tilting my head, I thought about teasing her, asking her if she was getting tired of my endless comments, but I refrained from doing that.

There was something much more important in my mind. Somewhere I needed to be, urgently. With that in mind, I chose to remind her, “You’re the only thing that makes this entire thing worth it,” while unzipping my slacks and pulling her underwear to the side. Then I was inside the warmest, most perfect tightness I’d ever felt.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I tightened my grip on Bucky’s shoulders, silently pleading with him to wait for a bit as I adjusted to his thickness. Even after so many times of having him, the first invasion still hurt me - but I adored the pain. The stretch was as close to heaven as I believed I could get, so I took every opportunity I had to relish in it.

When I opened my eyes again, it was to find his eyes darkened as they stared at me, always reflecting his state of mind. He could never hide it from me - not his demons, not his nightmares, never the way he felt about himself.

I always knew what was going through his head, which is why I knew what he needed from me right then. “You know no one hates you anymore, right?” I asked as I started to undulate my hips on top of his, clinging to the lapels of his suit as I set out to ride him with all I had.

If I couldn’t make my words settle deep in his brain, the very least I could do was fuck his brain stupid, leave him pliant and soft underneath my fingertips for every word of praise I had to give.

“Everyone knows you were one of the victims, Bucky,” I reminded. “You’re a good person, baby. And I love you. I love you so damn much.” He panted at my words, head falling back against the seat as I kept on rising my hips and letting them meet his once more. Goddamn, I was so fucking wet.

Only Bucky could get me like that. So I’d do anything for him. I tried to cure all the injuries his soul had sustained with each roll of my lips, leaving him breathless, hoping to make him want me even more.

Because that’s what he did to me.

“You’re never gonna leave me?” He asked, breathless and sweaty, but eyes still fiery as they met mine.

“Never,” I reassured him, not stopping my movements for even a second. “I’ll be yours forever, honey. I never want to live without you.” My words had him groaning, teeth carving patterns on his bottom lip as he struggled to contain himself - or so I thought.

“Does that mean you’ll let me cum inside of you?” He asked, bright eyes searching mine for any indication as to what my answer would be. “Give me a family? Show everyone that you’re mine and mine only?”

The idea was so surprising it lit a fire inside of me, adding to the one of desire that was always burning whenever Bucky was near. I gasped and moaned, trying to plead with him so he wouldn’t make me say it, hoping he’d understand what I wanted and needed without any words, but he wasn’t having it.

“Tell me, baby,” he insisted. “Tell me you want to have my baby.” His words were my undoing, but not only because of the meaning behind them. His tone also did something for me, the way they came out all whiny, like he was a little kid begging me for a treat.

I’d give him anything he wanted.

“Yes, Bucky,” I relented. “Give me your cum. I want to give you a child.” I knew he was cumming even before I felt the warm ropes shooting inside my sensitive channel. Tears - of relief, or maybe it was pleasure, I couldn’t really tell - ran down his cheeks as he slowly moved me on top of him, milking his own orgasm until he had nothing to give anymore.

“You take my cum so well,” he complimented after our eyes connected, a boyish smirk on his face that I was quick to kiss away.

“It’s ‘cause it belongs inside of me.”

[reidandweep]

Stitching

Spencer Reid x Reader (female)

A/N- Much like Adam Driver, I have been a huge fan of Matthew Gray Gubler and criminal minds for years. With quarantine, I decided to re-watch the show from the beginning and I had some inspiration. My writing tends to take a while but if you have any requests or idea for Spencer Reid, please send them my way.

Word Count- 6286 words

Warning- Angst, mentions of violence and torture, fluff, tears, and the usual criminal minds details.

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? -William Shakespeare.

QUANTICO, VIRGINIA

“Good morning my lover and friends. As of 8:45 am, yesterday morning, four bodies have been found across the Washington State area. Locations confirmed to be Pomeroy, Baker City, Salem, and Mill Creek. All victims were very similar in physical appearance; Caucasian, red hair, brown eyes, approximately 5ft 4’.”

Garcia swiped her tablet to display family photographs of the victims on the screen. The team watched, in the debriefing room, as they scanned through their own tablets; reading through the details. Spencer’s eyes flittered over the images as his fingers scanned across the words in his paper file; still adamant on not working with technology like the rest of his team.

“What about the cause of death? How were they found?”

Garcia shivered at Rossi’s question.

“It’s not a pretty image. Each victim was dismembered at the elbows, knees, neck, and stomach. Further cuts were made vertically down the stomach and across the face, arms, and legs. Not deep enough to cut through bone, but deep enough to bleed out. Where the unsub cut our victims, he then sewed them back together.”

Emily looked up at Garcia.

“Are you saying the lacerations were made before the victim’s died?”

“Precisely. Each autopsy report came back the same with the cause of death pointing to the direction of blood loss; specifically, from the throat.”

The team looked at the new images before them. Multiple pictures appeared on the screen, showing the bodies of the victims. The pictures showing the women laid out in the same pose, thick thread holding together the pieces of their corpses. All had their eyes closed, except one.

“Garcia, the last victim, zoom into her face.”

Garcia did as Spencer asked.

“Her eyes are closed.”

Spencer nodded, glancing towards JJ as she spoke.

“Meaning that he felt remorse for this murder.”

Derek scrolled through the pictures on his tablet.

“The other three victim’s eyes are open, indicating that he wanted them to look. To watch what he was doing, whatever it may have been.”

Spencer looked across the table at the questioning faces.

“So, what changed between the third and the fourth victim?”

Hotch stood from his seat, indicating the others to grab their belonging.

“We can discuss further on jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

WASHINGTON STATE

Being greeted by the local police department in Clagstone, Spencer and the team began their investigation into the murders. Spencer did not know what it was, but the stitching on the bodies felt familiar. Like he had seen them before.

Looking up from his files, Spencer watched as Derek walked into the room, ending a call with who he could only presume to be Garcia.

“Garcia has just completed background checks on our latest victim. Lily Trent visited local film screenings at the Southview Centre religiously, to watch horror movies in particular. Seems like the girl loved anything horror and Halloween; according to her roommate and her computer history. It seems that are other victims did also.”

Spencer stood from his seat and walked towards the whiteboard at the back of the room. Writing down the details Derek stated, his brain began to filter through the relevant information needed.

“Halloween is ranked the ninth most celebrated holiday in the world. With different interpretations of the holiday occurring according to country and culture. Wearing costumes at Halloween did not even become an occurrence until 1585, with the first instance recorded in Scotland.”

Derek chuckled at Reid’s excitement. He knew the boy loved Halloween.

“Well it all looks like they were pretty huge fans of the holiday and horror films. Maybe our unsub was too.”

Spencer looked down at the photos in his hand, scanning his memory for any correlation.

“Maybe, it’s not just horror, but a particular film. If all the victims were presented in a certain way, maybe the unsub is trying to replicate what happened to a character in a particular film.”

Derek crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ll call Garcia to search through all the victims search history to see if any particular horror films come up in each one. Do you know of any films that the unsub could have replicated?”

Spencer shook his head.

“I can collate his actions to hundreds of films but, the method of torture and look of the victims, I can’t think of one horror feature that pinpoints all that the unsub has done.”

A thought unexpectedly popped into Spencer’s mind. Derek cocked his head at the sudden halt from the resident genius.

“But I know someone who might.”

UNIVERSITY OF WASHINGTON

“The importance of genre in film alters many of the other aspects. The characters and their narrative arcs, the music score, cinematography, the edit, and so much more. Sometimes genre even dictates the director who signs onto the project. Dennis Dugan would not have a directing career if Adam Sandler stopped making comedy movies. Because that is what he directs. He doesn’t direct comedies; he directs Adam Sandler comedies. Which, in my opinion, are a whole genre on their own.”

The class chuckled.

“Genre plays a part in everyday life. Sometimes, your day will be led by romance, or grief, or action. There may be drama, or comedy, or even silence.”

The class looked on in concentration as Y/N walked across the floor. If someone who did not attend the college walked past the classroom, they could’ve presumed that she was a student. She looked young enough.

“It controls the way the characters talk, act, and move. How the plot thickens and pushes forward and…”

The doors at the back of the auditorium opened. Y/N looked up at the sound of the intrusion to see figures that she could not recognise, and one that she did.

Clearing her throat, she continued.

“And how it even ends. We shall leave it at that today. What I want you to do in the meantime is research a genre in particular and come up with examples that counteract the stereotypes that have been enforced upon the genre itself. Hand it in to your professor first thing Monday morning. Thank you.”

Y/N watched as the students collected their things and filtered out of the room. The figures waiting till she was only left before they walked down the steps.

Coming to a stop in front of her desk, Y/N crossed her arms and waited. Spencer stepped forward with a crooked smile on his face.

“Hi Y/N.”

Y/N couldn’t help but giggle.

“Long time no see stranger.”

Spencer’s cheeks burned at Y/N’s words. The team shared looks between them at the unfamiliar display. They had seen Spencer blush at people before, but not for a long time.

Spencer cleared his throat, preparing himself to act professional.

“This is Dr Y/F/N Y/L/N. Y/N travels across the country to guest speak at different universities on her topic at hand. She specialises in film studies, more importantly the focus of characters and genres. If I can’t connect the unsub’s actions to a film, Y/N most definitely can.”

Y/N smiled at Spencer’s praise.

“Nice to meet you all. So, what are you here to talk to me about Doc? Obviously, you’re here on a case and if you are asking for my help, I’m guessing it’s going to be pretty gruesome.”

Spencer blushed at the nickname; caught off guard by the word slipping of her tongue.

Sending a raised look towards Reid, Hotch began to explain why they were there.

“Were looking into a case of connected murders. All victims were found to have been mutilated and tortured in the same way. As well as showing resemblances in their physical appearances. With research, we’ve found that each victim was particularly fond of horror films and Halloween. We would just like for you to take a look and see if you could recognise if the ways in which they were harmed stemmed from a film in particular.”

Y/N nodded her head.

“Of course, anything to help.”

She reached for the files from Spencer’s hands, ignoring the tablet pushed in her direction by JJ.

“Sorry, I prefer to use paper. I only really use technology for my lectures or to watch films if they cannot be purchased in physical form.”

Derek smirked, shooting looks to his team, as his eyes landed on Spencer. He never thought he would meet a technophobe like Reid.

Y/N scanned through the pictures and documents, looking in detail at the lacerations at hand. She identified the similarities between the victims, as her mind swirled through the images and characters from the films, she knew held similarities.

“What were the names of all the victims?”

Emily looked towards the woman.

“That information is classified.”

Y/N did not blink at her abrasiveness.

“Were any of them called Sally?”

The team looked perplexed at her question.

“No. Why that name in particular?”

Y/N continued to scan the pages as Rossi questioned her.

“Because the unsub isn’t replicating anything from a horror movie. The unsub is replicating the physical appearance and staging of a character from an animated movie. A Disney one to be more specific.”

A light bulb flickered in Spencer’s mind as he stared at Y/N in realisation. The hair colours. The stitches. It made sense now.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas.”

LOCAL POLICE DEPARTMENT

“The Nightmare Before Christmas is a 1993 American stop-motion animated musical Halloween-Christmas fantasy film directed by Henry Selick and produced and conceived by Tim Burton. It became a cult classic during the early 2000s with orchestral concerts occurring every year to celebrate the spectacle of the film.”

Spencer indicated for JJ to change the monitor as he and Y/N stood in front of the team to explain the information.

“Originally, the story began as a poem written by Tim Burton. Both narratives follow the protagonist, Jack Skellington, into his journey to Christmastown, and how he tries to make Christmas his own. The character in question that your unsub is replicating is the love interest of our protagonist. Created by Dr Finkelstein, Sally is a ragdoll-esque character whose body is covered with stitches to keep her together. The form in which all the women were found is identical to this scene in the movie.”

The screen changes to show the scene in question; paused at the precise moment to prover her point.

“All red haired, all Caucasian, all eerily the same. The stitches are exactly the same and the pose in which they are in the pictures are also.”

“We now know which film our unsub is mimicking, but how can we produce a distinguished profile of our unsub? All we can say is that between his third and fourth victim, he suddenly began to feel remorseful of his crimes.”

Y/N looked towards Spencer, waiting for him to speak as he knew more details about the case.

“Garcia checked into the victim’s computer histories and found that all four victims attended a horror convention in the Washington state area over the course of the past month. The convention in particular runs every other weekend, focusing on different horror films to highlight. However, they always make an exception for one film; The Nightmare Before Christmas. Whilst reviewing receipts for the tickets, they were all brought through the convention’s website, which is run by its board of organisation every year. Up until recently, the board has held the same members.”

Derek tapped on his tablet to the convention’s website.

“Last month, the website released details stating that a distinguish member was no longer part of the board due to unforeseen circumstances.”

It suddenly dawned on Y/N who Derek was talking about.

“Dean Faulkner.”

Spencer whipped around towards Y/N.

All eyes laid on her as her breath increased.

“You know him?”

Y/N nodded at Hotch.

“I guest spoke at a panel with him a few years back at a separate university. We were both there, amongst others, to talk about the works of a genre that are expertise were in. I was there to basically provide loose ends for what they could not answer. Dean’s specialised area was horror. The whole time he spoke about what he described as the true villains of horror and of the world.”

Y/N gulped, her mouth going dry.

“Women.”

The wheels began to turn in the team’s heads.

Spencer stepped closer towards Y/N in assurance, seeing that her thoughts were becoming overwhelmed. He quickly stepped back after he realised what he had done.

“He went on a raging tangent about the damsel in distress and the final girl. Going on and on and on about how women are weak and would never be the last one standing if faced against the monsters in real life. How they manipulated the men and made the monsters seem worse than they truly were. The only time he spoke positively about women was when we finally calmed him down and, during a Q&A session, a student asked him who the perfect horror movie character was. He said Sally because she was forgiving and would do anything for Jack; even if that meant falling apart and being sewn back together. I tried to justify that the film does not necessarily fall into the genre of horror. But he rebutted saying that it most definitely did, because of the fact that Jack’s dream did not come true.”

The room was silent for a second, taking in the information.

Suddenly, Y/N grasped the pen from Spencer’s hands. Her finger scribbling across the whiteboard.

“I need to know the names of the victims. Get Penelope on the phone and tell me the names.”

The team shocked at her erratic movements, sat in silence.

“Do you want to capture this guy?”

Spencer licked his lips and repeated the victim’s names.

“Susanna Cole, Alice Dawes, Liberty May, and Lily Trent.”

Y/N swiftly wrote the names on the boards. Each name below the other. Underneath the last name she wrote the letter Y.

“Can you ask Penelope to track any females with the first name beginning with Y who have purchased a ticket to the next convention?”

Derek quickly began to type to her. The rest of the team looking on in disbelief.

“There were twenty-three purchases, but with cross referencing with the similarities in the other victims, one matched. Her name is Yasmine Driver.”

Y/N wrote the name on the board. Circling all the first letters of each name, it became clear there was another connection with the victims.

“Their initials spell Sally.”

Y/N nodded at JJ’s disbelief.

“Reid, when is the next convention being held?”

Spencer diverted his attention to Emily.

“Their schedule every two weeks, so that would make it… tomorrow.”

The team swiftly moved into action.

“JJ bring together the police force for a debrief. Derek and Rossi, go to the convention centre and question the board about Dean. Ask them how often he visited and if they have any knowledge of the victims visits to the convention. Spencer and Emily, contact Penelope for Faulkner’s address. Once you have visited the home, if he is there, bring him in. We’re going to try and catch him before he gets close to his goal. I will locate Yasmine and bring her to the station for safety. We don’t know how far he is going to go and what the end goal of his fantasy is. But we are going to stop him.”

The team swiftly did as they were told, leaving the room with only Spencer and Y/N behind. Just before the door shot, Hotch leaned back in.

“Thank you, Dr Y/L/N, for all your help. If possible, could you stay here with JJ and look through the documents? You know this guy more than we do, so any more information that comes to mind, please let us know.”

Y/N and Spencer watched as Hotch left the room, the door shutting behind him.

As the silence engulfed them, Y/N and Spencer were hyper aware that they were now alone and had been for the first time in weeks.

Spencer swiftly walked towards Y/N and embraced her in a tight hold. Wrapping her arms around the slender man, Y/N breathed in his scent.

“I’ve missed you.”

Y/N chuckled at Spencer’s muffled words, as his head rested on top of her own. Pulling back, Y/N slowly released Spencer, letting her hands drop to her sides.

“I’ve missed you too Doc. We can catch up later, I will be waiting right here. Now, go and save the girl.”

Spencer chuckled at her words but did as Y/N said. Throwing her a smile, Spencer quickly walked out the room, leaving Y/N behind.

Y/N sat in the room, looking over the files as the time passed, waiting to see Spencer return with the rest of the team. A knock on the door startled her from her search.

Looking up at the door, Y/N saw JJ walk into the room with two cups of coffee in her hands. JJ outstretched the one hand, placing the cup in front of Y/N, as she took a seat and began to sip at her own.

“I didn’t know how many sugars you took so I estimated.”

Y/N smiled at the woman’s kindness.

“Thank you. Have you heard anything from the others?”

JJ sat up in her seat as she watched Y/N look over the documents. Her fingers moving across the pages ever so quickly. Her hand that wasn’t tapped continuously on the table in a rhythm.

“Spencer and Emily located Faulkner’s home, but it was vacant. They’re looking around the premises for clues for where he may be; as we speak. Hotch and Derek just called saying they are on their way down with Yasmine now.”

Y/N nodded at her words. Glad to hear that the girl was safe, but the main priority now would be to locate Faulkner. She wanted to truly help them, before anyone else could get hurt.

JJ grabbed her tablet and began to search through the files for any missed out information. Silence befell across the pair, until JJ could not help but ask what they had all been dying to know.

“How did you and Spencer meet?”

Y/N had been waiting for the question. She had seen the looks the team had shared throughout the day. The questioning gazes towards the pair.

“Spencer and I were both guests speaking at the University of California a few months ago. He must have finished his lecture early as he was wondering the halls when he came across the class I was teaching. I was stood on the desk, encouraging the students to do the same. Spencer thought I was a student causing trouble whilst the professor had left the room. He ran in sprouting facts about the percentage of people who fall and severely hurt themselves whilst standing on tables. Telling me that I should get down before he reports me to my professor.”

JJ chuckled at Y/N’s story.

“Sounds like Spence alright.”

Y/N giggled in agreement. As she spoke, Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the memory of their first encounter. JJ noticed the smile on the woman’s face. She knew what that smile meant.

“So, I told him that he better stay there to catch me, just in case I fell, as I was trying to teach my students about the importance of character actions, and how doing something as simple as standing on a desk can amplify the tone of the scene. Like in the film Dead Poet’s Society. Spencer finally realised that I was also a guest speaker and he actually stood there for the next 40 minutes of my lecture. I didn’t need to stand on the desk that long, but I wanted to see if he would stay. Once the lecture had finished, he apologised for jumping to conclusions. I apologised for making him wait for 40 minutes in case I fell. He told me I didn’t make him wait; he chose to. We’ve been in contact ever since.”

Just as Y/N finished her story, the door to the conference room opened once more. Looking towards the door, Y/N watched as Hotch entered, followed by Yasmine. The young woman looked scared, but unharmed.

Y/N stood from her seat, unsure of what to do as Hotch insisted for Yasmine to take a seat.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Hotch nodded his head.

“We shouldn’t be long. The rest of the team are outside in the bullpen. You can go ahead and join them. JJ and I will take it from here.”

Y/N nodded her head, leaving the room. She watched as Hotch and JJ questioned spoke to Yasmine through the glass, before she turned and walked down the corridor to find Spencer and his friends.

Turning the corner, Y/N failed to stop herself before bumping into a tall figure. Looking up to apologise, her eyes suddenly widened at the familiar face. Before a sound could leave her lips, a blunt force knocked her out cold.

Spencer and the team discussed where Faulkner could be when Hotch strode into the bull pen.

“How did it go?”

Hotch walked towards his team, ready to answer Derek’s question.

“It seems that Faulkner had been stalking the victims for some time. Yasmine detailed seeing him turn up at the conventions, even though he was no longer allowed. She had previously complained about his behaviour to the board before his dismissal. Stating that Faulkner had sexually harassed her. Rossi, did anyone at the convention mention anything about Faulkner that we don’t know?”

“It seems that Yasmine wasn’t the only one. The other board members went into detail about why he was fired. It turned out that all of our victims, including Yasmine, had filed lawsuits against Faulkner for sexual harassment. The charges were ultimately dropped and never recorded to keep the convention’s reputation clear. But they fired Faulkner and banned him from being able to attend any further conventions. Taking away the Nightmare Before Christmas dedicated stand was just a coincidence. They felt that the convention needed something new as they had been celebrating the film for over eight years.”

Just as Hotch was about to declare what the next step would be in finding Faulkner, JJ burst through the ball pen.

“Guys, you have to come quick.”

The team, in shock, watched as JJ ran back towards the conference room. All quickly on her heels. Entering the room, she took control of the laptop, streaming the image to the projector.

Spencer could no longer breathe as he looked at the image on the screen.

“Y/N.”

The screen showed Y/N tied to a chair and bent forward; clearly in pain. Her surroundings empty and dark.

Suddenly a voice was heard.

“I sense there's something in the wind. That seems like tragedy's at hand isn’t there Dr Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The team watched in horror as Dean Faulkner yanked Y/N’s head back, her body letting out a strangled cry at the pain caused by his actions.

Spencer felt sick, he felt like he was watching himself when Tobias Hankel had held him captive.

“Emily, call Garcia to track his location. We don’t have much time.”

Emily did as Hotch told her to. Talking as quickly as she could on the phone.

“She can’t track it; he’s re-routing the IP address every thirty seconds.”

“She needs to track it. She needs to find her now!”

They all jumped at Spencer’s outburst, watching as tears filled his vision and his hands began to shake.

“Spencer, you need to calm down, we are going to find her. He can’t have taken her far.”

Spencer took in Derek’s words. Taking a breath, he looked back at the screen as he tried to distinguish any recognisable features of where she may be.

Faulkner moved his face to rest against Y/N’s hair, smelling the tresses. She tried to pull away only for him to yank her back again.

“Why did you kill them Dean?”

Faulkner let go of Y/N’s hair. Walking to her side, he grabbed her face in a vicious grip. Yanking her to look at him.

“Why? They ruined my life, everything I ever worked hard for. You all did.”

Y/N looked at him in confusion.

“I did nothing to you.”

Y/N’s breath increased at the vicious look he sent her way. Her eyes flickered to the camera, knowing that Faulkner was streaming what was happening to Spencer and his team. She had to find a way to tell them where she was.

“You made them question my authority. My position. My integrity as a member of the board. You ruined my reputation by belittling me in California.”.

“That’s because you know nothing about horror Dean. You think you know everything about it, but you don’t.”

Spencer couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Why was Y/N taunting him?

“Garcia’s looking to see if there’s any abandoned properties around the area that he could have taken her to.”

Spencer didn’t even acknowledge Emily’s words.

Faulkner reeled back at Y/N’s taunt.

“I know everything there is to know about horror. I’ve seen it all. I’ve lived it. I’ve created it. Ask me anything about it, I know the right answers.”

“But you don’t. You have an idea of horror, your own idea, that is wrong. You believe that women are the reason you lost your job and became the monster that you are. But they’re not. The reason you’re a monster is because of your sick and twisted fantasies. You made those girls feel small and weak, didn’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The team watched in apprehension.

“Garcia, the location, we need it now.”

Rossi looked between the screen and the phone in Derek’s hand.

“I can get the area he’s holding her, but not the specific building. The whole town is basically abandoned. She could be anywhere from a shop to a house.”

“Keep looking.”

Spencer chewed on his lips. He had to think rationally. If the unsub was upset about the changes and losing his job, what could have been the last straw?

“Derek what was the film they replaced Nightmare Before Christmas with at the convention.”

Derek and Spencer shared a look.

“Cabin in the Woods.”

Spencer ran across the rooms to the files at hand.

“In the location that Garcia has tracked her too, there are three cabins, all within a walking distance of the other.”

The team began to rush out the room, transferring the livestream to a tablet so they could monitor Faulkner and Y/N.

“You’re weak Dean. You’re just like all the horror movie villains. Ghostface, pinhead, jigsaw, all of them. You feed of fear and feeling in control. But the only thing you have in common with them is that you’re not going to win.”

Faulkner scream in rage. Pulling Y/N’s head back, he punched her in the jaw. Striding to the camera, he pushed his face to the lens.

“The party’s over!”

Spencer watched in horror as the feed went off.

“Hotch we have to hurry!”

Hotch sped up the car. Quickly arriving to the location, the team split up into pairs, taking a cabin each to inspect. Hotch and Derek, Rossi and JJ, and Spencer and Emily veered off to their targeted locations. Spencer followed Emily, trying to stay calm, as he slowly walked into the cabin to find it empty, when suddenly a gun shot was heard. Looking in the direction, the pair ran to the cabin that Derek and Hotch had been assigned. The rest of the team already there, looking into the cabin in shock.

“No, no, no, no. Y/N.”

Spencer pushed in front of them, tears pooling in his eyes as he a waited to see the horror before him. He looked in disbelief as Y/N stood from her position on the floor, the gun dropping from her hand as they shook. Faulkner laid a few feet away, in a pool of blood, no longer breathing.

Y/N looked towards the team. Raising her shaking hands towards Spencer.

“I didn’t want to kill him but he was going to shoot whoever walked through the door.”

Spencer rushed forward, grabbing her in a bone crushing hug. His hands stroking her hair as he soother her cries. Leading her out of the cabin, he allowed his team to sort out the rest as he continued to calm Y/N down.

The movement of the team were a blur as ambulances and police cars came. Taking them to the hospital as they sat in the waiting room as Y/N was checked over.

Spencer sat in the waiting room, his leg bouncing up and down with nerves.

Derek excused himself from the groups conversation as he went and sat next to Spencer. Clapping him on the back, Derek squeezed Spencer’s shoulder in re-assurance.

“She’s going to be fine pretty boy.”

“Physically, she has a concussion, bruising along her jawline, and needs stitches on her forehead. Mentally, I don’t know how she is going to handle this. When I suggested asking for her help in the case, I didn’t presume the risk of her being hurt. I should have.”

“Spencer, listen to me. We would have done everything to make sure she lived okay. She not only saved herself but she also helped save Yasmine and this team. Any one of us could have been shot if she had not thought fast and got the gun out of his hands. You know, better than anyone, how to help her deal with this.”

Spencer took in Derek’s words, nodding his head in appreciation, as he leaned against his friend in a comforting hug.

“Probably wasn’t the ideal way to introduce your girlfriend to the team though.”

Spencer stuttered at Derek’s teasing.

“We’re profilers Spencer. We’ve all noticed how you’ve been happier these past few months and seeing how persistent you were for us to consult Y/N, it gave us all an idea why. Seeing you together only confirmed our suspicions. So, how long has pretty boy had his pretty girl?”

Spencer chuckled at Derek’s words. Ringing his hands together as he spoke to Derek.

“Tomorrow is actually our six-month anniversary. She was going to be flying back today so we could celebrate; unless I got called on a case.”

“We can still celebrate.”

Spencer looked up as Y/N walked through the waiting room, fresh stitches on her forehead and an ice pack resting in her hands.

“The nurse said that there was no internal damage. That my body will just be sore for a few weeks. My concussion is light, so I am alright to travel home.”

The team gathered around to check on her. But her eyes could not leave Spencer’s as he rose from his seat. Spencer walked forward slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. Carefully he cupped her face in his hands, and to the surprise of Y/N and his team, Spencer bowed his head and placed a careful kiss on Y/N’s lips. Slow, protective, and full of love.

Pulling back, Spencer wrapped his arms around her as he looked at the beaming smiles of his teammates. Y/N couldn’t help the blush across her cheeks or the giggle that followed. Soon, everyone was chuckling at the pair.

“I would like to thank you Y/N. From the entire team. Your actions saved a young woman’s life, and what could have been one of our own.”

Y/N smiled in appreciation at Rossi’s words.

“You’re Spencer’s family. I would do it all again if I had to.”

“Statistically speaking, around 2,000 people a day are reported missing in the US. Approximately, 600 of those would be reported or considered kidnappings. It is highly unlikely for you to be put in a situation like that again.”

Y/N looked up at her boyfriend.

“I never thought I would say this, but your talk about me being kidnapped again is really attractive.”

The team laughed at the girl’s statement, seeing Spencer become physically embarrassed.

“Just to inform everyone, the jet will be ready to depart in forty-five minutes. As I was informed that today you would have been heading home, Y/N we have sent for your belongings to be collected; you can fly back with us.”

Spencer smiled at Hotch in gratitude, the older man knowing he would have only worried if she had flown home alone.

“Thank you, Mr Hotchner.”

Hotch let out a brief smile.

“Call me Hotch. Your part of Spencer’s life, that means your part of this family.”

BAU JET

It had been an exhausting few days for the team, and it showed, as they all were sporadically asleep throughout the jet. Silence encompassed the steel capsule, with only the sound of sleep filled breaths being heard.

Y/N laid fast asleep, with her head on Spencer’s shoulder, as the boy genius sat up wide awake. Looking down at the woman next to him, all Spencer could imagine was what could have happened if they weren’t quick enough. How many days he would have lost with her. All the things he wanted to tell her.

As though she could sense his deep thoughts, Y/N slowly awoke, rubbing her eyes as a yawn escaped her mouth. Blinking her eyes rapidly, she waited till she was fully conscious before she spoke.

“What time is it Doc?”

Spencer jostled out of his thoughts to check the watch on his wrist.

“It’s 2:36 am. You’ve been asleep for approximately 3 hours and 22 minutes.”

Y/N quickly sat up in her seat, wide awake.

Spencer turned towards her in worry, wondering what had made her so alert.

“What wrong? Are you feeling nauseous? Do you need some painkillers, as your due to have…”

Y/N grabbed Spencer’s face and placed her lips flush against his own. Their mouths moved in unison, as Spencer’s own hands moved to circle around her waist, bringing their bodies as close as they could be in the small space they had. They hadn’t kissed since the hospital, and before then it had been weeks. Spencer never realised until then, how much he truly missed her touch, her taste, her as a whole.

Coming to a point where they both lacked breathe, the pair pulled apart. Their eyes fluttering open as Y/N’s hands caressed Spencer’s face. Her one hand travelled to his hair, feeling the tresses that had grown since she had last seen him. She looked at him in a way no one had before. Spencer shared the same expression.

“Happy six-month anniversary Spencer. I love you.”

Spencer looked at Y/N in disbelief.

“Before you start spouting of facts about transference and how I am probably only saying this because you saved my life, you’re wrong. Because then I would be telling Hotch and Morgan the same thing.”

Spencer couldn’t help the watery smile that graced his face. For the second time in the past day, his eyes filled with tears. But this time, they were good.

“I’ve known I have loved you for a long time. For five months actually. I knew I loved you when we made pizza in your apartment and we ended up burning it, so we ordered one instead.”

Spencer laughed at the memory. It was the first time Spencer had initiated their make out. He had watched her cooking, in his apartment, and he had never found her more attractive than he did seeing her in his home.

“I knew that whilst you were spouting of facts about the invention of the pizza that I loved you and that I could listen to you forever. I love you Spencer.”

Spencer pulled Y/N closer to him as he rested his forehead against her own. The pair basked in each other’s presence.

“Past surveys show that men wait just 88 days to say those three little words to their partner for the first time, and 39 percent say them within the first month. Women, on the other hand, take an average 134 days. You knew after 31 days that you loved me. I knew after our first date that the way I felt when I was with you is a feeling that I could not even describe with my vast vocabulary. I knew after 8 days that the way I felt was stronger than liking you and that was a frightening thought. But its scarier to think what could have happened to you yesterday. That I could have lost you without you ever knowing. I made that mistake before. I will never make it again. I love you too.”

Y/N couldn’t help the smile and giggle that overtook her. Spencer, feeling high of the serotonin that was coursing through his body, couldn’t help his laugh either. Soon the pair were a giggling mess, unaware of the team who had all begun to awaken whilst the pair were talking.

The team congregated to the back of the jet, allowing the couple to stay in their own bubble.

“It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him truly happy.”

The group nodded at Emily’s words.

JJ smiled as she watched her best friend rattle of the possible movies that he and his girlfriend could spend their anniversary watching as she recovered. Her smile growing even wider at Y/N’s enthusiasm to watch the film’s in their original language. None of them could miss the look of adoration beaming between the pair.

“Yeah, it really has.”

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. -Lao Tzu

A/N- It isn’t the best but I really enjoyed writing this one.

[marvelhero-fics]

Snowman

Series - Chapter One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You’re a HYDRA assassin that’s worked closely with the Winter Soldier, to each of your dismay you’re reunited with Bucky after the blip. 

A/N: I haven’t posted in like 300 years, but I hope you guys enjoy this new series! This follows parts of TFATWS so expect spoilers! (Also I’m sure all the Russian is absolutely wrong, if you’d like to correct it please send me a message!)

Word Count: 1,815 (future chapters will be wayyy longer)

Snowman Masterlist || Full Masterlist

New York

2023

“So tell me about this-” the therapist looked down at her notes briefly, “(Y/N).” She finished.

Bucky paused momentarily, “No.”

“James, for these therapy sessions to be effective, you need to open up to me. I can’t help you if I don't know what’s wrong.” His therapist responded, laying her pen carefully on her small notebook.

Bucky thought for a moment, taking in the ambience of the room. What would he even say about (Y/N)? He hadn’t seen her in years. Bucky was kicking himself for accidentally bringing her up in his session last week. “I- uh-” he stammered, shifting his weight on the couch, “I met her in 2011. At least I think it was 2011. Date’s get kinda fuzzy sometimes, with all the cryo.” Bucky’s hand pressed against his head, feeling dazed as he tried to think back. “It was at the big HYDRA base outside of Moscow. We had to go on a mission together-” he was cut off,

“Did she work for HYDRA?” Dr Raynor interjected.

“Yea. She was an assassin too. She went by the alias the Viper.” Bucky pretended not to notice his therapist tense up. Anyone who knew anything about HYDRA knew who the Viper was. She was one of the most prolific assassins after the Winter Soldier.

“Tell me more about when you met her.”

“We were instructed to take out a terrorist organisation forming against SHIELD. Which was ironic because we were working for a terrorist organisation. But at this point SHIELD was being run by HYDRA and they couldn’t risk any slip ups, so they put 6 assassins on the job. HYDRA usually didn’t have their assassins working together, we were all too volatile. But we had to take out over 70 people in one night. It was (Y/N), a few assassins from the Red Room, and a few agents that HYDRA had trained personally, and me.” Bucky stopped.

“Where was (Y/N) trained?”

“At a secondary facility run by HYDRA. She was trained from a really young age. It’s all she’s known.” Bucky seemed somber. But his therapist continued,

“What happened on the mission?”

“Nothing. It went exactly to plan. The targets were taken out and we all left without a trace. But (Y/N), she- she kept trying to talk to me, or get to know me. I was the Winter Soldier. No one in their right mind ever tried to ‘get to know me’.”

“Why do you think (Y/N) did that?”

“She told me she was bored.” He replied bluntly.

Moscow

2011

The poorly lit conference room was filled with a myriad of assassins and officials. The only illumination came from old LED lights hanging from the concrete ceiling. The mossy green paint on the walls looked as if it hadn’t been patched up in years. The only new-ish part of the room was the large, oak conference table, surrounded by black, leather seating. It was difficult not to notice the red HYDRA symbol holding a spot on almost every piece of clothing in the area.

“TITAN terroristicheskaya organizatsiya, formiruyushchayasya protiv nas. (TITAN is a terrorist organisation forming against us.)” Kuznetsov spoke, “Izbrannyye budut otpravleny segodnya vecherom v Ukrainu dlya vypolneniya postavlennoy zadachi. Uberi ikh. (The chosen ones will be sent to Ukraine tonight to complete their given tasks. Take them out.)”

That was all it took. You stared at the file in front of you. You had read through it multiple times, going over every single name, every single skill set your targets had. You were more than certain you could complete this job on your own. But you had no choice on the matter.

Your eyes darted around, taking in the faces of the assassins that were to accompany you on your mission. Two youthful females, dressed in black leather sat next to each other. The older, grimacing woman behind them was Madame B., the head supervisor of the Red Room. You moved your gaze to the two agents in dark green uniforms and red, soviet berets. Neither looked particularly menacing.

You finally landed on the last assassin. His dark hair fell like curtains around his face. Gloomy blue eyes searched their way through the room. His sharp jaw seemed tense through his stubbled cheeks. He was large, extremely built. Covering his frame was an amplitude of black clothing and gear.

“Play nice.” Your mentor spoke softly over your shoulder, breaking you from your train of thought.  

“I always do.”

~

Your padded snow boots ripped through the thick snow covering the ground. The six of you had hiked your way to the set point on your GPS systems, the clouds of snowfall covering your vision held the illusion that there were absolutely no structures nearby. A large helicopter had dropped the group a few miles out from the hideout to ensure nothing was compromised. The trek was in utter silence, fighting against the harsh temperature in mid February.

The waypoint became closer on your map, a tiny building slowly appeared in your vision against the foggy downfall. It was a small, wooden cabin. Everyone hustled their way through the unlocked door. It was barren, it held no furniture, no blankets, no means of any life. There appeared to be a few doors that led to small, empty rooms. The entrance only held a small fireplace, filled with old cut down logs that had been eaten by bugs.

The group quickly dispersed, you headed to one of the rooms alone, throwing down your belongings onto the floor. The bag you carried was mainly filled with weapons and ammunition, along with a very warm sleeping bag. You knew too well you wouldn’t be sleeping tonight, but you would need the extra heat for now.

There was no chatter anywhere in the house. Your mission would begin in 6 hours. Everyone was likely putting together their artillery. You decided to cozy up in your navy sleeping bag for a moment of comfort.

Someone had lit the fire in the lounge. A warm, orange light crept through the cracks in your door. The ambiance was strangely calming for a shitty cabin in the middle of nowhere.

Snow continued to fall against the tiny glass pane of your room. You weren’t a fan of assassinating in the snow. It was low vision, harsher climates, and it lessened the ability to move. Snakes weren’t creatures of the cold. Conveniently you’d been grouped with someone who called himself ‘The Winter Soldier’. I’m sure he loves the cold, you thought.

You’d heard a lot about him. Everyone had. He was the perfect assassin. He never failed a mission, his body didn’t reject cryo, every form of enhancement HYDRA had used on him had been a success. He was what every assassin had aspired to be.

Without thought, you grabbed the glass bottle laying next to you and walked off to the room the Winter Soldier had claimed for the night.

“Privet (Hello)”. You announced, pushing his door open with a creak. His head didn’t turn towards you. He sat on the floor, the sound coming from him indicated he was sharpening knives.

“Khochesh' vypit'? (Want a drink?)” You asked, motioning the bottle towards him.

He stayed silent for a moment. Finally he turned, looking up at you from his position on the floor. “What is it?” His dark tone asked back. The amber light from the fire crashed against his features. His strong jaw was covered with a dark stubble, his brunette hair tucked behind his ears. His most obvious feature was the hauntingly blue eyes that sat in sunken sockets, he looked drained.

“It’s vodka.” You stated, honestly. You were surprised to hear he wasn’t Russian, he sounded… American?

“You’re drinking before a mission?” He queried.

You shrugged. “Alcohol doesn’t freeze.” You sat down next to him. “Plus it takes the edge off.” A faint clinking noise announced as you placed the bottle on the floor between you two. He stared at you for a moment, before quietly going back to his knives.

“Wanna play 20 questions?” You interrupted the silence.

“No.”

“What about truth or dare?”

“I’m not 14.” the soldier replied, his eyes not leaving his handy work.

“How old are you?” You shot back,

“Why are you trying to get to know me?” He dodged your question.

“I’m bored.” You shrugged, taking a deep swig of the vodka. “And by my calculations,” you peered down at your watch, “we still have 3 hours and 27 minutes until the mission starts.”

He gave a shallow sigh, “93.”

“What?”

“I’m 93. How old are you.”

“93?! You were born in 1917?”

“Mhm. How old are you.”

“25. You look great for 93.” You chuckled.

“You look old for 25.” He jabbed back. His knife sharpener still grinding across a 6 inch blade.

“You flatter me.” You replied sarcastically. “So what’s your story? How’d you make it to 93?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”

Bucky looked over at you. “I’m telling you, you don’t want to know.”

“C’mon old man,  I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” You smirked. He once again, went back to his knives. It almost seemed as if he was trying to threaten you, pulling out larger knife after larger knife.

You huffed, opening your mouth to speak, “I was born in Hungary to a drug abusing mother, and an absent father. I was kidnapped and sold to HYDRA when I was 6. I was placed under the care of the Kraken. Not sure if you’ve met him, he’s this large guy-”

“I’ve met him.” Bucky stated, interrupting your spiel.

“Right, well, he trained me for years. Eventually HYDRA got involved again and I was tested on, experimented on, messed with, ya’ know, all that fun stuff.” You explained.

“Are you enhanced?” Bucky asked, almost as if he was actually interested.

“Yea. I have this whole snake venom trick. It’s great for up close combat. The experiments really should’ve killed me though. But maybe that’s what makes us so good-” Bucky looked over at the woman next to him, her bright eyes stared back at him as she spoke “ya’ know, the best assassins are the ones living off borrowed time. Because we’ve met death before, so we’re not afraid to do it again.”

Bucky quickly grabbed the Barrett M82 rifle next to him, his metal arm making faint whirring noises. “I’m going to scope out the base.” He stated bluntly. And with that, his large black boots walked him out the bedroom, and out the door.

You let out a faint sigh, creeping back to your room to sort out your weapons. You were sure it was something you said that scared him off. I guess at 93 you have to be living off too much borrowed time, you speculated. You absentmindedly set up your pistols, your mind not being able to wander from the Winter Soldier. Maybe annoying the Red Room girls would get your mind off it.

[bonny-kookoo]

Cat Eyes (JJK x Reader) ❤️☁️🔞🐾

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Hybrid!AU, Human!Jungkook, Hybrid!Reader, Fluff/romance, Strangers to lovers?, slight angst, smut

Warnings: discussion of homelessness and unfairness against hybrids, mild mention of past abuse, trust issues, Sweet Koo, smut because duh, lovemaking it’s so sweet yall, dirty talk but only minor, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, doggy style, mild biting, yeah that’s it this time wait for part two oh my

Summary: on the streets, cast out. Just another week for you, but somehow you wonder if this stranger might mean a change for you.

Or alternatively: Jungkook feeds you and you’re kinda grateful for that.

Its cold, but you've been preparing for that outcome for a long time already. Being born as a hybrid, a simple housecat at that, you had nothing special or rewarding about you, making you just a pet getting passed around from person to person as soon as you got too boring to keep around.

This was a regular thing for you. The fact that you got kicked out so many times already made you wary of actually possessing any belongings at all, not even owning a phone or clothes you could consider your own- merely the things you currently wore, drenched in the water that had been dribbling from the skies in rough speeds, hood over your head already useless at keeping your hair and ears dry. But it was okay. This was normal for you, after all.

Sitting down between two glowing vending machines located behind a small convenience store, you tried to warm yourself up with the small amount of heat radiating off of the two metal machines- not really being successful, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

It's been three weeks already like this, trying to find a place to catch some sleep before roaming the streets again, searching for food and sometimes even finding a bit of money on the street. You didn't have a collar, so you had to hide your hybrid features well- not like you'd like to show your dirty fur anytime soon anyways.

Yawning before turning a bit, shoes squeaking a bit with the amount of water inside them, you closed your eyes, mind focusing on the buzzing next to your head, trying to use it as a form of lullaby to soothe you into sleeping a bit. Yet you were disturbed by someone pressing the buttons and inserting money into the vending machine, the loud noises of the soda can banging against the metal interior loudly enough to make you press your ears flat against your skull. You hoped whoever was craving the beverage was a human or didn't pay attention to you; but again- you were out of luck.

"Huh?" Came the humming question of a male voice, and you instantly tensed up as a warm hand was placed on your wet shoulder. "Hey.. you okay?" The voice asked, and you imagined his Umbrella shielding him from the rain, the pitter patter of it on the plastic fabric an indication that he probably used one. You weren't an impressive predator like a Tiger or a Leopard, but you certainly could distinguish noises from one another to see things around you, even without using your eyes. "Can you hear me?" He asked gently, and you wanted to turn around, scoff in his face that yes, you did, you just chose not to. "Do you have an owner.?" Well, piss. Seems like hiding your features didn't do much as well.

You only turned a bit, hood catching on a pointed piece of metal from the vending machine, making it reveal one of your wet ears to him, as well as a piece of the side of your face. You only saw him with one eye, but you already knew he was on the far opposite of the food chain- expensive suit and sparkling rolex on his wrist, connected to the tattooed hand holding his black umbrella almost mocking you as he looked at you with pity. You spotted his ears, or more lack thereof, already wanting to cry at them; a human like him didn't know the things you were going through. That's probably why he'd asked if you were owned immediately, and you wanted to laugh. Yet your croaky voice didn't say these things. It only stated the obvious. "No." Because you really didn't- the official timespan was two weeks, after that, a formerly owned hybrid was officially considered a stray if it went missing. You didn't belong to anyone other than the state itself- which was why you had to hide so well, to not get thrown into an adoption center again.

The stranger furrowed his brows a bit, before leaving. Well, at least he took the hint, you thought, before he came back again, placing a white bag with some plastic items down in front of you, before putting his umbrella over your head, the rain suddenly stopping from falling down on you. You looked downwards, at the plastic container- sushi? Dumplings? And another one that steamed a bit- rice? You didn't get it, but still turned around a bit, watching him warily as if you were waiting for him to yell sike and run away. Yet he didn't, simply scooting a bit closer to not get the rain onto his head, and waiting. The sound of cars passing by and some music being played somewhere was the only noise surrounding you for a bit, before you hesitantly reached out for the containers, always keeping an eye on him. He simply smiled when you started to unpack the plastic foil of the cheap chopsticks, digging into the hot rice as if it was a five star meal. You could practically feel it warming up your belly, making you suppress a sigh as you got lost in consuming the food he'd bought.

Only once you were finished, not being able to eat everything, did he actually move. He grabbed some of the leftovers, eating them until he took the boxes and put them into the trash nearby. You looked at him with a questioning gaze. Would he want anything from you now? You didn't trust his angelic features at all if you were being honest. "You're probably not gonna want to come home with me and thats fine." He said, before looking at you. "I'll leave the umbrella here, alright? Lets hope the rain stops soon." He mumbled, getting up, making you look up to him as he slowly turned around, giving you a small wave. "Goodnight. Stay safe." He simply said, before jogging to his car.

Huh. What a weird guy.

Jeon Jungkook was his name as he'd introduced himself on the second day of visiting you behind the convenience store, and he was indeed a weird human. He made it a simple casualty- visiting you every day after work with food, having full conversations with you, and asking about your day and life in general. He himself noticed a slight spark returning to your eyes, interest peaking in those orbs as you talked to him more and more. You were a quiet girl, not really giving away much about you, but managing to make him feel like he knew you. You were smart, and he liked that. After almost a week of daily conversations, he finally popped the question.

"Do you want to come home with me?" He asked, making you look up from your can of soup he'd bought you this time. You thought for a bit before shrugging. At this point he'd invested so much into feeding you that it felt like you had to- simply as a form of repayment. He smiled, before leaning his head a bit to the side, voice low and serious. "You don't have to. I'm simply offering." He said, and you put down the empty can, nodding.

"Alright." You said, and he grinned, standing up and putting the trash away before closing the umbrella still hanging over the vending machines, turning around. His eyes widened a bit at just how short you were, yet he found it endearing. He led you to his car, not caring that his cream colored interior could be stained with your admittedly dirty clothing and shoes. He'd pay someone to clean it the next day, and all would be fine.

"So uhm.." You began, unsure what would happen now. "What am I supposed to do when we get to your place?" You asked, and after a moment of realization, his ears turned red.

"No no no, I'm, oh my.." He cleared his throat for a moment, before he threw one leg over the other, as to make himself seem more sure of himself than he actually was. "I'm not that kind of person." He explains calmly, as he waves his hand to the driver, who nodded, before the window to the front closes, giving you two some privacy. "I simply saw you there and.. I don't know. I couldn't just leave you there." He said, and you nodded.

"So it's for your repuptation." You said. "I guess you're an investor then?" You knew people like him. Their initial thought was nice, but at the end of the day it was only for personal gain. Well, at least he'd keep you around for some months before the public would slowly forget about you again. You've been through that as a young kitten.

But he shook his head. "I am an investor, yeah- but I don't plan on showing you to the public eye. I don't want anything of you other than your company." You opened your mouth again, but he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose for a second. "Not like that." He began. "My apartment is.. big. Huge. But it's also empty. A friend of mine had told me I should get a hybrid, and I genuinely considered. I was actually at a shelter the day we first met." He explained, and you nodded. "I didn't find anyone I was.. okay with, I guess. I can't just let anyone into my life, you know. Most people only want something, just to leave right after. When I saw you, yeah, at first it was pure pity, I won't lie." You nodded, watching him. "But the more we talked, the more I realized how compatible we were." Well, this was new. "I won't be home much, because I work a lot, but I don't like being lonely." He turns to you, serious. "If you're comfortable with it, I'd like you to simply be a companion. Someone who shares my home with me, accompanies me to those absolutely boring dinners I have to endure every week or so, and who sometimes maybe comes to work with me. If you simply want to stay home however, that's fine as well." He says, and you nod.

"Can I.. think about it?" You ask, and he nods, a gentle smile adoring his lips. The rest of the ride is filled with comfortable silence, and you almost drift off to sleep, but you arrive at his apartment complex before you can fully float away. There's nothing said between the two of you as he leads you inside the hallway of the building, a hand on the small of your back as if to make sure you won't get lost, his figure always close to shield you from wary eyes of the security and other residents walking by. Inside the elevator, silence is still present, until someone joins you two; a tall man, a little older than your now soon-to-be Master, who looks at you, and then at your Master.

"Ah, so you have finally found someone for you? I'm happy for you Jungkook." He says,a smile on his lips. "My name is Kim Seokjin my dear, may I ask yours?" He speaks, and you look at Jungkook close to you as if you were expecting him to answer for you- like it was typical. But he only smiled as well, nodding towards you in encouragement, so you, quietly, answered with a small bow of your head. "Ah, a shy one isn't she? But very pretty, I have to say." He said, and Jungkook chuckled as if to accompany that statement. "Ah, well. Please think about the company dinner next saturday, and oh!" Seokjin said as he left the elevator, hand holding the elevator door open for a moment as he looked at you one last time. "Bring her along, yeah? I heard that Jimin is bringing Yoongi as well. A good chance for her to make friends.!" He said, before winking, and waving goodbye- leaving you and Jungkook inside the elevator to climb a few more levels higher.

"Don't feel pressured now, please." Jungkook said, as the elevator chimed, the two of you stepping out as he walked past you to open his apartment door. "You don't have to if its too soon." He said, before opening his door.

He didn't lie when he said his apartment was big, but you never truly saw a skyline like that. It was a breathtaking view outside the windows, and it took a moment until you could finally avert your eyes to scan the rest. It felt.. almost sterile, in a way. Nothing truly screamed his name at you, neither the furniture, nor wall decorations. A few pictures were hung up, but other than that, the apartment looked like it got pulled straight out of an interior design magazine. "It's pretty bland, isn't it?" He lowly said, as he turned on some of the lights, hanging up his coat on the hanger next to the door as he untied his shoes. "I know it does. I.. hope that'll change, maybe." He said, before he made his way into the open kitchen. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can just show you your room and leave you be as well, yeah, that would probably be a good idea. Let me show you." He said, and you followed him after taking your own shoes off as well.

It was a rare occurence to have a room for yourself- so much so, that you only remember having one as a kitten, when it had been necessary. Stepping inside, you noticed the crisp air; he'd opened the window to air it out, it seemed. There was a bed in the corner, a wardrobe and a mirror- as well as a door that connected to a bathroom, right now void of light. "I'll leave you be for now. There are some of my old clothes so you have something to sleep in- don't worry, I washed them so you won't get my scent on you just yet, I know it makes hybrids a bit fussy." He chuckled, and nodded towards you with a smile. "If you want to, you can come out, if you don't stay inside, I won't be mad. I'll have the day off tomorrow and after, so we should use that time to get you some clothes if you want." He suggested, and you nodded into his direction. He bowed a bit, before leaving the room, and you alone.

You waited a bit so his footsteps got out of reach, before you walked around a bit. The room was bigger than the one you had as a kitten, but still small enough to be considered a guest room. Your first goal however, was the bathroom. Grabbing the clothes he had left you, you noticed immediately that it had been washed with hybrid proof detergent- a brand called 'noscent' which was typically used for newly homed hybrids so they wouldn't get overwhelmed. How he knew of that was unclear to you, but maybe he did have a hybrid before, or a friend told him. It didn't matter though, because you knew this was timed. Better make the most out of it. So as you climbed into the bathtub, soapy scent around you as you washed yourself squeaky clean, you felt okay again. Now was the time to mend yourself together, figure out what your master liked so you could make your stay as comfortable for everyone involved as possible, and just enjoy the good sides while rushing the bad.

But somehow there was a weird feeling in your gut.

Maybe things were really about to change this time.

The next morning was calm. Apart from something clattering in the kitchen, you awoke by yourself, shocked to see it almost being twelve. Why had he not woken you up, when he so clearly implied yesterday that he had plans with you today? For a moment you wondered if maybe this had been a test, but judging by his whistling in the kitchen, he was in a good attitude still.

So you went for it.

Simply brushing your hair and tail, you stepped out the room, smell of food immediately meeting your nose. "I was about to wake you." He said without turning, as he grabbed another bowl to fill. "I figured I'd let you sleep after all that change so you could rest well. Good morning." He said, finally turning around, making you gasp internally a bit.

You knew that his hand was tattooed, but what now showed was his entire forearm covered in ink. Completely different from yesterday, he wore a simple grey sweater and sweatpants combo, hair in a messy tiny ponytail on his head. He looked so.. young, yet masculine, not at all like the businessman you had encountered before. But it was a nice change; because if he let you see himself like this, he really was intending to have you around for longer, and was working towards a more personal companionship. Maybe he really did want you as a companion for himself, not his outside persona.

You sat down at the table before stopping immediately, eyes widening. He seemed to notice this however, chuckling as he placed a warm hand on your shoulder, helping you on the chair properly. "You can sit at the table with me, don't worry. Please move around freely; my home is as much mine as it is yours now, okay?" He said, and you nodded. "Thank you." He said, and you watched him for a moment, before you started to eat.

"How.." You started, and he wiped his lips with a tissue before looking at you, attention now on your words. You were grateful for that small gesture. "How do you know that much about hybrids?" You asked, and he smiled.

"Yesterday, Jin-hyung said something about Yoongi, you remember?" You nodded, a bit eagerly, since you were used to remember things that your master said all the time. "Good girl." He said, and it made your skin tingle a bit, as he cleared his throat, a bit shy after letting that slip. "He uhm, Yoongi-hyung is a cat-hybrid as well. His owner is Jimin, who's my coworker. Yoongi was a rescue a few years back, who I asked a bit about what to do if I take someone in who.. you know, wasn't from a shelter. He told me a few things." He explained, and you nodded.

"Why are you calling him Yoongi-hyung though, if he's a hybrid?" You asked, before taking another spoonful. You liked warm food. It made your belly warm.

"Ah." He mused, as he finished his plate, leaning back. "I'm not really following the whole foodchain-order stuff, to be honest. Yoongi-hyung is older than me, my hyung, so that's that. Oh, that reminds me, how old are you?" He asked, and you answered.

"I think.. 22?" You said, and he seemed a bit sad. Did you say something wrong? Did he want someone younger? Someone older?

"Ah, sorry.. but, you think?" He said. "So.. you haven't celebrated your birthday, at all?" He asked, and you shook your head. "Ah thats no good. We'll celebrate it this year, promise!" He said. "You're a bit younger than me, by the way. I'm 25." He said, and you nodded, saving that information inside your brain for future reference. "If you're done we can either go shopping, or if you don't want to, we can shop online. We should do that now though, otherwise you'll have to wait too long for delivery and stuff." He said, and you nodded.

"Do you have a collar for me then?" You asked, and Jungkook grabbed your empty plate to put away. A collar wasn't something he could just not give you- he knew from Yoongi that it wasn't demeaning in any way. Wearing a collar was a form of comfort, it wasn't just an accessory, it was a physical evidence that you were claimed and safe.

"Yoongi gave me one of his older ones, but we can buy a proper one you like today." He said, and dried his hands on a dish towel as he looked at you. "Go and get your shoes, I'll give you one of my coats to wear, and then we can go, yeah?"

Shopping was always a hard one to crack.

This was when you would somehow have to figure out by simply picking the opossum on the road to know if its dead or not- in a sense of; simply point, and wait for the blow. With Jungkook however, there never was one, and it confused you how calm and somehow even happy he was. For example, when you pointed at a pretty expensive collar that wasn't your style just to see how he'd react, you didn't know how to react when he smiled. "Ah, let's look for something more delicate, yeah? The price doesn't bother me, but I doubt that heavy chains suit you kitten." He had simply said, and somehow, the petname made your ears turn towards him, making a nearby bunny hybrid and her owner chuckle.

He'd somehow managed to wiggle under your skin in just a day.

Because somehow, every time he looked at you, helped you reach something, or talked to you about what you liked, it felt so genuine. It felt like he really cared.

"Okay, how about.. oh, this one!" He said, pointing at a collar hidden behind glass- one covered in velvet, with a pretty pattern and a silver plate on the front where your name would be. It was expensive; absolutely mind blowing however, but what made your eyes glisten were his words. "There's a jeweler next door, so we can have your name and ID, as well as my emergency information stamped in." Because, until now, you only had the one's where you slide a paper with all needed info underneath a clear cover- it was easier to replace or give back. But, getting it stamped onto such an expensive collar was definitely something that would last- well, forever. "Or- wait, hey hey, whats wrong? If you don't like it we can buy a different one-"

"I love it." You said, and he led you away from all noise, into a more secluded part of the shop, where he squatted down to properly look at you. "I just.. I..it's..-" You began, and somehow he understood, and had this absolutely frustrating smile again, as he helped you wipe your tears a bit less harshly than you did yourself.

"I haven't said it clear enough yet, haven't I?" He asks, voice warm. "I plan on forever, not just for the moment. What I said when you first came into my apartment was directed at you. I hope you'll make my home feel like a home one day. How can I think about giving you away, when I just got you?" He questions, and you shrug. "I know trust isn't something you give away easily, and thats completely fine. I can also Imagine that you're not too sure of things right now, considering where you came from. But I promise you, I really do-" He says, and takes your hands in his. "I'll stay by your side for as long as you let me." He finishes, and you nod after a moment. "Alright? Alright!" He says, and takes your hand to buy the collar, your eyes still sparkling when you later on watch the lady at the jeweler stamp in your name- and his at the bottom.

Maybe this really was permanent.

At the dinner table with all his colleagues, and the infamous cat hybrid Yoongi next to you, you felt less awkward than you thought you would. Yoongi was a huge help, his calm demeanor helping you to stay composed as well, even under the watchful eyes of the rest of the people. Seokjin had been sweet as well, immediately making you feel welcomed. Jungkook never let you out of his sight, and it made you feel save as well.

It felt good.

Yoongi and you conversed here and there, and occasionally, Jungkook or Jimin, Yoongis owner would chime in, which made it feel as if you were always a part of this. You started to smile a bit, converse more openly, all until a waitress came and turned everything upside down.

"Would you like us to escort the pets to a different table, sir?" She asked Seokjin, who you had learned owned the company Jungkook and his coworkers worked for. He cleared his throat, and shook his head; almost an apologetic look in his eyes as he looked at Yoongi, you, and Taehyung- an independent Tiger-Hybrid with working license, he'd told you. He seemed to clench his teeth as to stay quiet, as the waitress left, leaving an uncomfortable silence behind.

"I'm sorry, please continue." Seokjin said, but the reminder of your status made everyone a bit.. uneasy the rest of the night.

"I'm sorry about the waitress, by the way." Jungkook said, as he helped you into your coat, when everyone was leaving. You shook your head, but he held his unsure expression. "No, I really am. It was uncalled for, and I'm genuinely upset that she phrased it like that." He explained, and you smiled.

"It's okay, Master." You said, which made Yoongis and Taehyungs ears shoot towards your direction, as if on instinct. They didn't look, no, they were discreet. But they still wanted to know what would happen next. "She probably didn't know- after all, it's still quite uncommon to keep hybrids as equal partners nowadays. Change comes slow." You said, but Jungkook suddenly seemed even more serious as he placed his hands on your shoulders, as you looked up at him.

"Jungkook." He said, and you leaned your head to the side in question. "Please, don't.. please just call me Jungkook." He explained, and you nodded, unsure why he was so upset by this. He sighed, before he traced your metal nameplate with his thumb for a fracture of a second, smiling again. "Let's go home." He said, and you nodded, walking after him as he lead the way, not noticing the way that Yoongi and Taehyung shared knowing glances at each other.

When Jungkook came home, he didn't know what exactly made him realize at first. Maybe it was the way your shoes were placed where there used to be none, or how the clothing hangers held your coats and scarfs as well now. Maybe it was the scent, or the rug that was placed on the lightwood laminated floor because your feet were always cold- or maybe it was your body on his couch, covered by a thick blanket he'd bought you recently when the winter became colder. No, it wasn't that- it was what came next. Your ears which flicked into his direction from their place ontop of your head, and the words you uttered next. "Welcome home Kookie!" You said, and he smiled.

He simply walked over to the couch, letting himself lean ontop of you as he squeezed himself behind your body on the couch, holding you securely to his chest as you turned around to face him. He looked tired, but happy and you took in his scent, so distinctive you could probably tell his from a million others just after a second. He sighed, before he ran a hand over your back, cold palm warming up slowly. You were both unsure what exactly you two were- but it was clear that this wasn't just an owner-hybrid companionship anymore. No, the way Jungkook looked at you had something in it that you knew only lovers had; which made you feel so comfortable around him, after all.

So it was only natural, in a way, that after a moment or two, or maybe more (you didn't really notice anymore), you two found each other in his bedroom, a place you had spent your nights before as well. But this time there was no sleeping involved, at least not in that moment, as his hands roamed around, lips chasing yours as you mewled underneath him needily. He wished he could record it, but even if he did it would never sound as sweet as it did right now. Everything felt so good he didn't even care about his own noises, as you two began to shed your clothes one piece after another, until there was nothing to cover you anymore.

"You're so sweet, you know that?" He hummed against your neck, as you squirmed underneath his hands, his inked fingers wandering down between your legs, were you were aching for his touch to make you fall apart. "Even right now, with my fucking hand between your legs, you look so cute." He chuckled, while you could only rut into his palm like a touch-starved pet. He was teasing, and in a way you hated it, but somehow you couldn't tell him to hurry. No, you didn't want him to hurry at all, because you were at the point of realization;

"I love you, Koo." You said, and he stopped for a moment, some seconds that made you feel absolutely humiliated, before he groaned, pushing your legs against your stomach.

"You can't drop something like that onto me like this, Kitten." He scolded playfully, with no harm intended. No, he simply took hold of his already leaking length to guide himself into you, making you squeal in delight before you sighed out. "I love you too, I adore you so much, I swear to everything I have.." He said, as he began to move, almost as if he was unable to quite control himself. Technically, you were the one to act like an animal; but instead, it was him nipping at your skin, and growling out curses that sounded way too filthy to be uttered out from those lips.

You loved it.

The way he held you, played you like a well tuned instrument, how he sped up his pace without warning because he knew you could take it. You were his good kitten after all, all his, and he knew you would be good. You were lost in your own little cloud as his hand went between your bodies again, fingers suddenly flicking your nub in a sadistic movement that had you scream without sound- pleasure shooting through your veins so violently you were unsure if it was pain or heaven that you felt.

"Ah- Koo- I-" You pressed out, but he simply moved his hand away, never stopping however. "I can't-" You said, but he pulled out before you could finish, flipping you onto your stomach where he pulled your lower body upwards, entering you again as he teasingly stroked your tail which flopped down to one side to make space and give him a clear view of where you were connected so intimately.

"You can, kitten. And you will." He growled out, noticing how you were slowly clenching again. "I can feel you, greedy kitty." He growled out, pace growing harsher and harsher as the sound of skin against skin got louder and louder. "Come on. Give me one more, yeah?" He said, and you were unable to answer him. "Come on- come on, there we go-" He pressed out, a whining sound leaving his lips as well as he grew more sloppy, more desperate as you came again, your clenching core pushing him over the edge as well as he spilled inside you, before he pulled out, watching almost hypnotized how his cum dripped out of you after a moment.

"I love you." He said, uncaring of how you two probably stained the sheets right now. "I really do." He said, whispered like a promise, as he pulled your body against him, palms still kneading your breasts.

Because if you thought he was done with you, you were very wrong.

I apologize for how short it was, but I only have my phone for now. Sorry if this sucks, it's not my best work, but I didn't want to leave you hanging and without content for this long.. :< Love, Bunny <3

[wnnbdarklord]

EDIT: so I started writing this like a week ago, but honestly the finale killed any desire in me to interact with this show in a fannish way. So have these half assed notes. I think it's obvious where I lost steam. These ideas are free for use for anyone who wants them in fic, have at you. As it is, I don't think I'll interact with this show as a fan any further than this.

How I would write a Loki show in bullet points (and a mishmash of short scenes and dialogue, let's be honest) for my sanity!

Presuming some disney exec came down from on high and forced the inclusion of EG!Loki and the TVA (because otherwise it'd be IW!Loki that survived and it'd be all about him finding his best life away from Earth, Asgard, Thor and the whole Thanos/EG situation. Or if I only had to include the TVA, it'd be IW!Loki dealing with the TVA, not EG!Loki):

Fair warning: this will likely be a mess since I'm not entirely motivated to not have it be so. 

[cut for length]

Ep1:

- Loki escapes to Nidavelir and uses the tools there to get rid of the chains and muzzle. A CONTROLLED use of the Tesseract, thankyouverymuch

- the TVA comes for him and Loki is wary and on the alert, exhausted from the whole Avengers thing so he immediately makes a clone to interact with the TVA and observes from afar

- the TVA fall for it when they try to bitchslap him like in the show, but immediately regroup when it goes through the illusion and start a search pattern. Their tech can scan for his temporal aura and they close in on Loki quickly (show the TVA as at least somewhat competent or they're shit antagonists for Loki)

- Loki, who still has hold of the Tesseract, portals out of there

- what follows is a quick chase scene across multiple planets and realms, but the TVA are always on his heels. The longest time they take to find him is during an ongoing apocalypse on a random planet that's enough for Loki to get a quick breather. but you know, disaster's on the horizon, so he has to leave eventually. but this is the first clue both we as an audience and Loki get about potential hiding places.

- when an exhausted Loki finally turns to fight, he manages to take several minutemen out  (justifying B-15's hate on for him) before one of them gets in a lucky shot and freezes him

- "Who are you people?" [short flash of Loki's eyes flashing green and the entire scene getting a strange cast, floating energy swirling around everything. It's beautiful, but the TVA people's energy is out of sync, out of touch and strangely jagged compared to their surroundings]

- they slap the collar on him and march him into the TVA

- Loki immediately tries to pull the same illusion trick but it doesn't work cause no magic in the TVA (maybe some visual indication of what he's trying to do, but it doesn't go past his skin. You know, like Sylvie managed in ep 3 -.-)

- he doesn't wildly panic, but we see his breathing speed up and he immediately looks at his left hand and relaxes when he sees it isn't turning blue. 

- okay so the TVA have caught him, he's on their shit list, no magic, exhausted, no idea what's going on, who these people are or how powerful they are - he chooses to play nice for now and bide his time

- the whole intake process is spent in quiet observation mode, only speaking when spoken to

- discomfort at being out of his clothes, but maybe only a wry joke about them wanting to strip him naked (making him a participant in all the thirst jokes)

- he doesn't ask if a lot of people don't know they're robots like a child wanting validation and he's not visibly afraid. Instead, we see him look at his hand again and try for wry humor when asking. But he steps into the device without much hesitation. It's death vs certainty and we already know he's chosen death once before.

- the propaganda cartoon is much shorter and plays in the background so we can see Loki's incredulous eyebrow raise at it. the ticket thing gets an eyeroll, but ready compliance since it's not worth it to argue

- when he sees the other guy get "pruned", he immediately reaches for the ticket to reassure himself it's there, but doesn't wave it around triumphantly, just sighs in relief

- trial can stay mostly unchanged, just no stupid magic attempt in the middle

"It's not your story, Mr. Laufeyson, it never was" (AND THIS SHALL BE PROVEN FALSE, you know, unlike in the show where it turned out to be their fucking mission statement) also, Loki gives her murder eyes for calling him that

- in fact, instead of trying magic, Loki holds up the controller he stole from  B-15 as she was escorting him to the trial and waves as he disappears through a door backwards

After that scene is the church scene with bodies, establishing Mobius as a hunter of dangerous variants. Someone is killing TVA officers

Mobius gets called back as in canon, but arrives too late to stop our Loki from leaving

Sidenote: Loki still has the tesseract since it was in his pocket dimension during the fight the TVA nabbed him in

Ep 2:

- it's now a few days/weeks later. Loki is back in his own clothes, a simpler outfit not geared for war. He's in the biggest library in the universe, the depository of almost all knowledge, looking for information about the TVA. there is Nothing, suspiciously so

- once again, the TVA shows up and he has to run yet again. maybe he kills this team too, to buy himself more time. he steals a melt stick and more time pads and reset charges

- he needs more information and the only place he'll get it is at the TVA it seems, so he shapeshifts into his female form, dressed as one of the many paperpushers at the TVA and we see her being relieved that the spelled clothing is holding once she passes through the time door

(another aside, but ideally the female form is more like Eva Green or Katie McGrath. AND NOT BLONDE)

- acting like she belongs, Loki effortlessly manages to snoop around the TVA for a few hours

- there's only one close call with C-20, but Loki manages to deflect suspicion by parroting the motto at her, which Loki reads from a nearby propaganda poster (cause Loki is good at lying, manipulation and flying by the seat of their pants)

- eventually, she ends up at the archive area and begins researching. We see that Loki is competent at this and is quick to pick up the filing system. the variant number from the papers she signed the episode before becomes relevant to finding the appropriate files

- before she can dig too deep into her own life story as laid out by these people, just as she finds the Ragnarok Report, Mobius finds her (maybe there was a silent alarm triggered by unauthorized access or something. Slightly more competent TVA)

- there is a scene where Mobius and Loki play a game of chicken and manipulation, wordplay and lying until it becomes clear Mobius knows who Loki is (actually establishing some camaraderie)

- Loki gets a little hoisted by their own petard since they're enjoying the banter so much, the backup Mobius called for catches them a little off guard, collared again

- since info gathering is still the name of the game, Loki doesn't try to get away just yet

(during this entire scene, Mobius is the same offhandedly condescending prick he is in canon, but it's very obviously framed that way)

(also featuring confirmation of the genderfluidity thing because fuck you disney)

M: "Nice disguise. Really had me fooled for a second there."

L: "It's hardly a disguise. I am always myself."

[Loki shifts back to male, though the clothes remain the same (shifting =/= magic)]

M: "Yeah, well, next time you want to go undercover at the TVA, maybe don't choose a face we already have from several other of your variants."

[Loki twitches a little, since that wasn't a form he openly wore a lot (even when he wanted to) cause Asgard is a dick about shifting genders] 

L: "And how does that work exactly?"

M: "Got your entire life on file, buddy. But you know, sometimes Asgard isn't a complete stick in the mud the day you gather enough courage to show up to dinner in a dress. We usually have to prune those timelines quickly."

[Loki's grin is more like a snarl, frozen on his face, since he picks up the implications loud and clear (the implication being that him being too happy is not allowed in the Sacred Timeline)]

M: [picks up the files Loki was looking at] "Come on, I've got something to show you."

-cue time theater scene

-that little scene of looking out at the TVA does not feature Loki being impressed or awed at the TVA's tech. It features him being scared/uneasy because the TVA is completely dead to his senses. Loki's eyes do the same flash as before, but everything is completely dull, no energy anywhere. He can barely see some swirls on his own arms]

-Loki asks why this charade, Mobius tells him the TVA is willing to come to an agreement with Loki for his help

"You're not the only one running around messing up the Sacred Timeline. Come on, job interview time."

(it's really really not)

- Mobius tries the same schtick as before, but it's both less and more effective. Less cause Loki has had a bit more time to collect himself since the invasion, more cause he's more aware of the TVA's power and has been chased by them for a while now

- we see Loki being affected by the Frigga thing BUT he also picks up how edited the reel is

- still, he lets Mobius do the "only thing you're good for" bit until we see him look up with murder in his eyes, even through the tears

- "I am going to burn this place to the ground and I am going to start with you. That is my bargain."

"Yeah, cause your "bargains" [Mobius full on air quotes here] work out so well for you," he says, offering Loki a hand up

-cue alarm and Mobius rushing out

-Loki grabs the files Mobius left behind, and also the tape in the hologram projector and escapes

- no infinity stones scene, cause Loki still has the Tesseract and doesn't go to look for more

- cut to the TVA running around in a panic, multiple branches forming on the displays. It's the same bombing plot as in the show, but now serving as a distraction for Loki to get away

- when they figure this out, Ravonna: "You should have just pruned him when you found him. There's a reason we don't reset Loki variants. Our luck always runs out eventually with them. Fix this, Mobius. Or you'll have to answer to the TimeKeepers."

- back to Loki, he steps out into chaos as something explodes behind him. He's in another apocalypse. During his running from the TVA, he noticed it takes them longer to find him whenever there's a lot of chaos around him, death and destruction. He finds a still intact building, seems high tech. Everyone else has already evacuated

- he takes the Tesseract out and blue and green energy surges around him and engulfs the building. It's suddenly quiet and we see outside the windows are pitch black 

- Loki quickly looks away

"Finally, some peace and quiet."

He slumps down to the floor, files scattered around him, tesseract nearby and curls up, dejected and exhausted 

Side note: Loki doesn't need to worry about recharging tempads since he has the tesseract, which was established in Avengers as able to provide infinite energy

Ep 3:

- he finds out about the variants in this episode, maybe goes looking for other variants before the TVA finds them

-how Loki finds out the TVA are all variants: he'd knocked out B-15 for a bit to interrogate her

-they're found by another team of minutemen, led by B-16, who is wearing B-15's face. Several of the other minutemen we've seen Loki kill in earlier episodes as well. They attack *both* of them cause they assume B-15 is compromised. Loki and B-15 work together and kill the whole lot, staring at each other incredulously

"You're Variants! You're all Variants!"

[B-15 collapses to her knees in shock] 

End episode

EDIT: My basic idea for episodes 4 & 5 were Loki and B-15 working together and travelling through various timelines trying to get to the TimeKeepers, but realizing something was wrong the further they went. Time begins breaking down, paradoxes are all over the place and the TVA keeps pruning some specific place so much that sometimes two teams are on top of each other. Stuff like that. 

I also had a few scenes where Loki meets other variants (that aren't him), but who actually like and even love him. Men, women, variations thereupon, and one or two who would mistake Loki for their Loki. So we get bi confirmation without actually including romance in the show itself, because 6 episodes isn't enough to develop that along with everything else that's going on.

Vaguely outlined here: 

My "how to include the bi thing without the main story being a romance and also indicating that Loki is able to be liked and loved by people who aren't just variants of himself, please and thank you":

(note to self, rewrite this so it makes sense lol EDIT: lol, don't feel like it so this is all you get, folks!) 

a variant significant other, male: kisses Loki

Loki: You are clearly my type, but I'm sorry. I'm not him.

[heartbroken expression on the variant]

from another timeline Loki visits:

woman holding a sword to his head after looking at him suspiciously: Change back!

Loki: Into who?!

woman: Her!

[Loki shapeshifts into his female self]

woman lets go of the sword

"You escaped! When Odin took you away, I thought he would kill you. Why did you never come back to me, my love?"

EDIT: My "twist" ending was that the Time Keepers were dead, not that they never existed. Some sort of mcguffin exists to just break the whole TVA and free the timelines. Idk, maybe the TVA was just a test to see if it'd work, but the system just kept perpetuating itself after the power hungry losers kept it going beyond the bounds of the experiment. Either way: 

villain plot twist: the time keepers are long dead. the TVA is a terrible system that perpetuated itself on its own, only a few judges were aware that the timekeepers had ever died. The entire System Has To Go (lol like disney would ever go there)

The system is literally Killing the Universe, since the universe's natural state of being is a multiverse. But the system don't care, system don't give a shit. System only exists to perpetuate itself, system's survival is the most important, catastrophic universal failure need not apply

(this is way too on the nose for disney, but since this rewrite's motto is Fuck Disney, it shall stay)

EDIT: this was how I imagined the climax of the series.

Mobius or Ravonna (i never decided): "All the chaos, all the possibilities? How can you stand the uncertainty? How can you believe the world will be any better than it is now?"

Loki: "Because it has to be!" [smashy smashy TVA]

series ends with the timeline breaking free

we see various scenes of the variants in their former lives, happy

and AU scenes of the previous movies:

Loki gets pulled up on the bridge

Loki accepts Thor's offer during the Avengers

Loki gets up on Svartalfheim, bleeding heavily, but doesn't go to Asgard but to Thor

Loki tricks Thanos during IW

Loki as an Avenger

Loki as a kid

Loki as a girl

Loki on jotunheim, fully jotun

Loki on Asgard, jotun

faster and faster, all sorts of different AU scenes until the screen goes dark and we see our Loki, smirking

"But...well, those are stories for another time."

and he steps back into the shadows.

[disgruntledspacedad]

The Rules of Engagement (3/5)

The Better Love Series

pairing: Javier Peña x fem!reader/ofc (Ears)

summary: (slow-burn, sexual tension, angst, a little bit of h/c in later chapters) He’s a DEA agent. You work for Centra Spike. Peña’s not your boss, exactly, but you’ve been fwb long enough that certain people are starting to think of you as An Item, and that just won’t do. 

words: 3.4k 

warnings: 18+ for alcohol, language, smut, violence, body horror, general trauma. Please, please heed the warnings on this chapter, guys. It gets pretty intense.

a/n: Unbeta’d. I know I said this was going to be three chapters, but I lied. Sorry, my dudes - this one got away from me. Inspo credit goes to @tiffdawg​, as always.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

MASTERLIST

Well, fuck. You bite back a massive sigh.

You really, really don’t want to walk through that door.

It’s been a month, and you life has changed profoundly.

For one, you’re not at the office as much anymore - Stechner had made good on his promise to consider you for more flyovers, and boy, has Centra Spike been busy. Some new vigilante group is terrorizing Medellín, and while it’s not Search Bloc’s priority to go after them, they’ve undeniably kept Pablo and his sicarios busy. The radio frequencies are hot right now, and you’ve been doing eight, sometimes ten flights a week. 

You absolutely love it. The hours are less predictable and definitely more shitty, but listening to a radio from the cockpit of a plane is much more fun that listening to a radio in a stuffy basement office, so you consider it a fair trade.

It keeps your brain busy, too.

Your social life has taken a massive kick to the nuts. Ana is back at university, and you miss her more than you thought you would. You’ve reverted to communicating with Emilio with gestures and smiles more than words. It’s nice because he’s nice, but you miss actual conversation, stilted as it was. Ana wasn’t all that bad, either.

And then there’s Javi.

You haven’t spoken to him since That Morning, not even a polite 'how are you?' in the hallway. Granted, you’re not seeing him as often anymore, given your new position and hours, but then again, you haven’t exactly sought him out, either.

The memory claws at you every time you relive it - and you relive it often. That anger, that wounded expression. The slammed door, his retreating footsteps. Each time you’re in that building, the walls seem to close in on you, and you have to stop yourself from looking for him, actively keep your gaze from roaming straight to his desk.

God, as if you could make it more awkward.

You’d had one nasty conversation with Murphy about a week after the incident - you’d told him in no uncertain terms that he could either mind his own business or fuck right off, you didn’t care which. He’d left you be, throwing his hands in the air and muttering something about how “you two deserve each other.”

Asshole.

Still, that aborted conversation haunts you - so many aborted conversations haunt you - and you wonder what would have happened if you’d just taken the bull by the horns and addressed the issue with Javi head on.

I’m sorry you caught me rubbing one off on the morning after you almost died, Peña. I can assure you, it won’t happen again. Your friendship means the world to me.

Yeah, right.

God, though, but you miss him.

You miss him so much it aches, a gaping hole that reaches right down to the core of you, but there’s nothing to be done about it. You’d fucked this one completely and thoroughly - any chance of restoring your friendship had drained away with the shower-water, and the more time you spend fretting over it, the more awkward - and pathetic - it would be to say anything.

So, you’d cut your losses, held your head high, and tried not to waste too much time wishing you’d have just kept your fucking fantasies to yourself.

Now, though, you’ve got no choice.

You’d been on Centra Spike’s early morning flight, just another routine scan over Medellín. The shift wasn’t intended to be more than a training run for you, but as luck would have it, the Medellín cartel’d had a busy night, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

Your plane had just touched down half an hour ago, and now you’re standing on the front steps of the embassy building, fingering a shoebox cassette player loaded with a freshly taped recording full of juicy intel destined for the desk of DEA Agent Javier Peña - an entire, private conversation featuring none other than Verdugo himself.

You’d know that voice anywhere. You’ve studied it for hours, what few snatches you’d been able to glean from the embassy archives. It’s almost as if Verdugo is smart enough to steer clear of the city, or to just avoid phone conversations all together, the absolute fuckwad.

Until early this morning.

On the plane, you’d intercepted a new signal and tapped in on a whim, intending to practice your Spanish more than anything, but what you’d overheard was a fucking gold mine of information.

Verdugo is in Medellín. The sicarios are getting ready to move Escobar. He didn’t say where - fucking bastard knows not to spill all of the beans in one conversation - but apparently the plan requires a rendezvous in El Centro first. Verdugo is en route, and will be there until the next morning.

You’d worked frantically all night, tracing and retracing the signal, triangulating potential addresses, then back-tracking to account for environmental distortion. Each calculation had led you to the same place - an unassuming little house right smack in the middle of Medellín.

Bingo.

“You take it in, Aarons.” Torres had declined your offer to do the honors. “It’s your intel.”

So here you are, bleary-eyed and running on less than two hours of sleep, cassette player clenched tightly to your chest, summoning up all of your courage just to go speak with your ex... well, ex whatever-the-fuck Peña is.

‘This is your job,’ you remind yourself fiercely. ‘You can do this.’

As pep-talks go, it isn’t very effective.

Fuck it. You toss your head back, wishing you’d had time to at least grab a cup of coffee on the way in, and breeze around the corner.

“Agent Peña.”

He glances up lazily, thoroughly uninterested in whatever you have to say. When he realizes it’s you, he blinks once, dropping his cigarette in the ashtray and sitting up to eyeball you with a wary expression.

"What can I do for you?” he asks cooly.

You remember him saying that once before, but the context was totally different.

You shake it off. “Centra Spike has new intel that you’ll want to see right away.”

He purses his lips, tilting his head to indicate the growing pile of bullshit on his desk. “You can leave it here.”

Oh, so that’s how it is, then?

“I can’t.” You pin him with a stare, and he meets your gaze evenly, raising his eyebrows in silent challenge. You clear your throat and clarify. “I won’t.”

He scoffs as you carefully rest cassette tape on his desk, along with a map of El Centro. “We intercepted a four minute conversation with Verdugo this morning. He’s here.” You point to the safe house on the map, which you’ve already circled in red ink. “Feo and Limón are with him. They’re leaving early tomorrow.”

Peña frowns down at the spot where your finger rests. “And can you corroborate that information?”

Oh, the motherfucker. “I verified his voice personally, Peña,” you say carefully, doing your damndest to keep the annoyance from your tone. It’s well within his right to ask questions, after all. “It’s a direct match for the audio samples we have.” You tap the tape for emphasis. “You’re welcome to listen for yourself.”

He doesn’t make a move for a long time. Something hot and painful burns in your gut as you wait.

God, he knows you, knows you better than anybody else in on this goddamned continent.  He knows that you know your shit, that you want to catch Escobar as desperately as he does. And this evidence that you have spread across his desk, recorded on tape and marked plainly in red ink, is irrefutable, undeniable - it’s a huge break. He knows that, too.

His apathy is palpable, and it’s driving you up the fucking wall.

When he finally glances up at you, it’s with a doubtful little smirk on his face. “Hmm.”

And oh, wow, you’re shocked by just how much that hurts.

All your life, from the moment you were born into a family of brothers, you’ve had to fight tooth and nail to be taken seriously. It was a fact of life as early as you can remember - ‘look after your sister,’ or, ’she’s just a girl,’ or ‘wow, you’re really great at math, for a woman!’ You’d settled on your career as an analyst because you’d wanted it, not because you’d had something to prove, but still, the military is a male-dominated field, and from the start, the odds had been stacked against you.  Landing this CIA gig had been the achievement of a fucking lifetime. Still, the bar is set high in the Colombia, and it’s set that much higher for a woman. You’re well aware of this; you’re reminded every single day.

Point being, you’re used to defending yourself and your abilities; it comes as natural as breathing.  

But until now, you’ve never had to fight this battle with Peña. He’d taken you at face value from the moment he'd laid eyes on you, treating you like just another operative. Sure, he might take a crack at you every now and again, but that's all in good fun, and you’ve never been one to shy away from a laugh.

Christ, you never realized just how much that respect meant to you until suddenly, it’s gone.

“If you have something to say about my skills and qualifications, Agent Peña, then I suggest you say it.” You lean over his desk, speaking quietly, enunciating each syllable with deadly precision. “Otherwise, I think we both know that it’s in the best interest of Search Bloc and the Colombian people that we collaborate quickly, so we can put boots on the ground and land this motherfucker behind bars where he belongs.”

Peña’s eyes narrow, and he cocks his head, studying you. You meet his gaze, biting back a snarl. You won’t back down. You won’t allow him to intimidate you.

When he nods sharply and reaches for his phone, you know you’ve won.

♠

Ten minutes later, you’re situated in a conference room with Peña, Steve Murphy, Martinez, and a couple of the other higher ups of Search Bloc whose names you haven’t memorized. Your maps are spread over the table, your tape displayed for all to see, and every eye is on you.

“Verdugo is here,” you say, leaning over the map to indicate the marked house. “He and his entourage arrived late last night, and they’re planning to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Plenty of time to get a team together.” Murphy interjects, glancing between you and Peña with open curiosity.

You narrow your gaze at him. Drama-mongering bastard.

Peña’s not moving. He’s standing with his hip cocked toward the desk, frowning down at the map with his fingers curled to his chin like he’s totally oblivious to everything happening around him.

You know he’s not, though. That’s Javi’s thinking face, the one he makes when he wants people to shut the fuck up and forget about him until he can work something out. You’re pretty familiar with that one.

The others are babbling in Spanish, discussing logistics and the likelihood of this being another trap.

It’s not. You know this deep in your bones. You’d heard that conversation in real time, had translated, triangulated it.

This is legit.

You’ve just decided to leave them to it when Javi snaps his eyes open.

“I agree with Aarons,” he announces out of nowhere. You’re startled by the confidence in his tone. Curious, you glance up, but it’s difficult to get a read on him. He’s pinning every person in the room except you with a hard stare. “We need to move out now.”

Several of the others make noises of protest, but Peña shuts them all down, one by one. Finally, his eyes flicker up to meet yours, just for a brief second, but there’s something different in his gaze, something new and heavily guarded.

You think it might be an apology.

“Let’s end this.”

♠

He’s on a plane to Medellín within an hour, wearing that stupid bullet proof vest. For just a split second, you wish that you were going, too. You don’t have enough experience, though - you’re not an agent; you haven’t handled a gun since basic. You’d be useless in a real fight, a liability, even.

Still, you feel some ownership in this operation, today more than ever. You don’t even try to kid yourself about Javi anymore, either. Those fucking feelings haven’t faded in a month, not a bit, not even after the awkward conversation you’d had in his office.

‘But he stood up for you, too, afterward,’ something whispers in the back of your mind. You replay that little glance in the conference room over and over as you watch Search Bloc board the plane.

He’s looking for you this time, standing on the ramp with his eyes shaded like he knows you’ll be waiting. He doesn’t nod and you don’t wave, but you make eye contact for a lingering moment, and again, there’s something in his expression that you don’t recognize.

Then the plane takes off down the runway, and you feel as if your heart is swooping away with it.

♠

You volunteer for the late shift at work, monitoring the radio lines in case something comes up. It’s an unusually quiet night, as if all of Bogotá collectively holds its breath, and you mostly spend it watching the clock, calculating the hours in your head.

One to land in Medellín. Two more to mobilize the men. Another half to get in location.

From there, your speculation gets fuzzy. There’s no way to predict the outcome once Verdugo is engaged. Javi’s told you a million stories, each more unbelievable than the last - car chases and rooftop shootouts, standoffs in the street, a fistfight in a church sanctuary, bodies of children littering dark alleyways… you cut off the recollections. They aren’t doing you any favors.

Verdugo is a dangerous man. Anything could happen.

By seven am, your brain is mush and your eyes are hyper-focused in that bleary way that happens when you’ve gone too long without sleep. Your third cup of coffee has gone cold, and people are starting to trickle in. You wave half-heartedly to Torres as you slip out of your headset, rubbing your fingers over your scalp to ease the tension that comes from wearing heavy earphones all night. A shower sounds nice, you decide, and maybe a quick nap afterward.

Somebody will page you with news.

Getting out of the building does a lot to wake you up. There’s something oppressive about the CNP headquarters that seems to abate when you step into the streets of Bogotá. The city buzzes with life even in the early morning, and air is warm in a way that seems to energize rather than sedate. Optimism is easier to invoke as you walk down the street in broad daylight.

Javi had looked at you, at least. He’d listened. He’ll call in to the office as soon as he can. Your intel was good, and they’ve flushed out the rat, he’d promised you that.

Everything will be okay.

You round the corner of CRA 70 and Circular, waving to Emilio, who is working the register of the pharmacy today.

“Orejas!” He shouts, reaching below the counter to hold aloft another bottle of aguardiente. “¡Mira! Solo para ti!”

You grin back at him, raising your voice to shout a greeting, and then, with absolutely no warning, the store explodes.

A loud boom.

A whoosh of impossible heat.

A massive orange fireball billowing from the windows.

Your body flying, flying through the air.

Bright blue sky, and then darkness.

♠

You find yourself lying flat on your back in the middle of the street. Your ears are ringing. There’s a pat-pattering in the air, soft like falling rain.

You blink hard.

It’s not rain, you realize dizzily.

It’s fucking ash.

The air is dark with it, hot and heavy. It coats your tongue and stings your eyes. It’s hard to catch a breath. Your throat hurts, your chest aches. You cough weakly. The smell is terrible, acrid and bitter like burned metal. You can taste it on your tongue.

Slowly, you tense your muscles. Your chest is still burning, but there’s nothing sharp to suggest a serious injury. Your back is sore, your head fuzzy.

You sit up, wincing a little, relieved to realize that you’ve just had the wind knocked from you. You’ll have some bruises tomorrow, but that’s all.

Sound slowly filters in. The hiss and crackle of flame. A shout in the distance. Further away, a wailing siren.

Reality slams into you all at once.

Emilio!

You stand, wobbling more than you think you should, but you push past it. Reality seems to pitch and roil, as if the ground is hitching its breath beneath you. Rubble coats the street, dust clouds the air.

Oh god.

A gaping, smoking crater is all that’s left of Emilio’s pharmacy. The windows are blown out of the businesses on either side, their outer walls bowing under the pressure. Your apartment on the top floor is demolished, the roof caving in, flames licking at the the collapsed floors.

You gasp one long, shuddering breath, taking it all in, and then you’re running, sort of, picking your way through hunks of concrete and twisted metal.

“Emilio! Emilio!”

Your voice is hoarse, the world hushed. Nothing sounds quite right. Your legs are shaking and you can’t catch your breath. Some of the rubble is hot to the touch, and you feel like you’re moving underwater, slow and awkward and stupid.

You approach what’s left of the store, and the smell hits you first. Like cooked meat - charred, greasy, heavy.

You press your hand to your mouth to stifle a scream.

You found Emilio. He’s pinned beneath part of the collapsed roof. You look away quickly, but not before you catch a glimpse of blackened flesh, of bone, blood, and pink frothy tissue.

Acid rises in your throat, and you stumble to your knees, stomach clenching painfully into your ribs as you vomit onto the street. It goes on and on, over and over for an eternity, tears and snot and bile and ash leaking mingled down your face until there is nothing left in you to expel.

The encroaching wail of a siren draws you to your senses. You glance up, suddenly painfully aware of your situation. The ceiling is arching above you, just to your right, and it’s creaking ominously. The fires are still burning, and your shirt is clinging painfully hot against your back. You stagger to your feet once again, dizzy, almost drunkenly. A small crowd has gathered, pointing and gawking, calling out to you in Spanish that you are far, far too overwhelmed to translate.

Gasping, you raise your hands and side-step away, careful of the debris that litters the street around you.

A firetruck arrives on the scene, squalling to a stop between you and the onlookers, and you leap at the opportunity, ducking down the nearest alleyway before anybody can follow.

♠

You aren’t sure how much time you waste in the alleyways of Bogotá.

Seconds?

Minutes?

The time after the explosion is all a blur, and you run until you literally can’t anymore, until you’re doubled over and wheezing, coughing, hacking, panting.

Some primal survival instinct clicks in your brain then, and suddenly, your mind is clear. You glance around, swiping at your cheeks and brushing the ash from your shirt.

Now what?

You take a shaking breath and think.

Okay, first order of business, you’re absolutely disgusting. You need a shower before you can even think about doing anything productive.

Your bathroom just went up in flames, along with all of your clothes. Your heart clenches as you think of Ana - she’s at university, so that’s out. The embassy has a nice bathroom, but no showers that you’re aware of.

There’s only one place you know to go, and that’s Javi’s apartment.

You glance up at the sky. The sun is still pretty low - it can’t have been more than an hour since you’d left work, and that was around seven am. Javi obviously isn’t home, and you don’t have a key, but if you hurry, there’s still a chance that you could catch Murphy before he leaves his flat.

It’s a long shot, but you decide there’s nothing to lose for trying.

[scullydubois]

that terror that keeps me brave: a sex education fic

hi, hello, now that I am riding high off the excitement of season three, i am finally gonna start publishing the sex education fic that I began writing in uhh...february! it primarily follows jean, maureen, and jakob as they deal with the ramifications of the season two finale. again, i started this months ago so it is not influenced by season three, and you can read it without watching that. it will focus on jean's pregnancy and maureen exploring her sexuality in the wake of her separation.

chapter one is under the cut! 1.5k, rated T. read it on ao3 here.

I:

Jean taps her pen absentmindedly against her soft leather notebook, misery on the faces of the couple in front of her. It’s a classic story: the once-adoring wife who has seen the dream crumble in front of her and her unshaven husband. Jean’s eyes train on him as he squirms in his seat.

“So, to clarify, you experienced a nocturnal emission from a dream about your co-worker, and then when Cecelia asked what the dream was about, you told her the truth.”

The man nods. Jean shifts her focus to the woman.

“And now, Cecelia, you are mad at him because you believe that he cheated on you.”

“Yes,” the wife squeaks. “He got off on another woman! Am I supposed to be okay with that?”

Jean pulls her lips into a poorly drawn line. “But you don’t have any other evidence of his cheating, correct? You’re using this dream as the sole reason for your accusation?”

“The dream is the cheating, there doesn’t need to be nothing more.”

Jean glances at the woman over her glasses. “Let’s ask Brian, shall we?” She crosses her legs, turning her attention warmly toward the poor man. “Have you ever engaged in sexual intercourse or anything of the sort with this woman while you were awake?”

“No.” He shakes his head violently. “Never.”

“Would you ever do so?”

“No...Addison--that’s her name--is fine-looking, but I’m married and I love my wife. I would never do such a thing.”

Jean has seen her fair share of men who are bullshitting. Brian is not one. She closes her notebook. “See, Cecelia? You are the one he wants. Nocturnal emissions are involuntary physical responses to subconscious stimuli. Addison is Brian’s co-worker, which means he probably sees her quite often. This makes it more likely for her to turn up in his dreams. It’s neither an affront to you, nor a compliment to her.”

Cecelia pouts. “I just don’t feel right about it.”

Jean rests her glasses on the crown of her head. “This could easily have been you who had the dream about your co-worker, and what then? How would you feel if Brian were accusing you of something you couldn’t control?”

“I never have those nasty dreams,” Cecelia counters, scoffing. “Not even about my own husband.”

Jean can’t help but fight back a smirk. “Well, Cecelia, that may be an issue for another session.”

“Like hell it will be! I’m giving you money to tell me it’s okay for my husband to make love to another woman! What do I look like, a fool?”

Jean folds her hands over her lap. Nothing she hasn’t heard before.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, Cecelia, but I’m glad you and Brian could come in and have this conversation today.” She exchanges a sympathetic look with Brian. “My ears are always open.”

“Thank you, Jean,” the man says, ushering his wife out of the office. “We’ll see you next time.”

And Jean’s sure they will, because they’ve had this exact session about five separate times. The only thing that ever changes is what woman features in Brian’s dream. Once, it was even Jean! Now that was a session. You’d think, by now, that Brian would just tell Cecelia that every dream is about her. The honest men are always the ones who can afford a little dishonesty.

This is what’s on Jean’s mind when she jaunts into the foyer and finds the most honest man she knows standing there like he’s waiting to be checked in. Grease streaks his clothes; he’s stopped by in between jobs.

“Jakob!” Her voice is taut and uncompromising.

“Jean!” His is cordial and languid. “That nice couple let me in, I hope it won’t be a problem.”

Jean shifts her weight onto one heel, stretching her free leg. “I have another session in a few minutes. You should go.”

“Such strict avoidance of an ex-partner is not healthy, you know. I’m sure they taught you that in therapy school.”

“And continuing to show up at your ex-partner’s home after they have indicated they do not wish to see you is called stalking.” Jean strides into the kitchen. His clunky footsteps follow her. “I didn’t need to go to ‘therapy school’ to learn that.”

“We didn’t have those kinds of laws in Sweden until very recently. It was viewed as an expression of fondness when I was growing up.”

“That’s a view universal to men around the world,” Jean retorts. “They can’t all be right.”

“I was let in here, remember?” Jakob points out. “I don’t believe that makes it possible to prosecute me for any crimes.”

“Well, if I see you grab a kitchen knife, I’m going to assume the worst.”

“If I touch a kitchen knife, you may arrest me.”

“Wonderful.” Jean starts the coffee pot and pulls her beloved honeycomb mug from the cabinet. Despite herself, she grabs another one and offers it to Jakob. “Coffee?”

“No thank you. I had my smoothie this morning.”

“Ah.” She should’ve known. She stands on her tip-toes to slide the rejected mug back on the shelf. When she turns around, her visitor is gone. This isn’t of particular concern to her, though it is rather strange.

She sets her mug beneath the coffee pot and lets it run. As the steamy liquid spews out, she surveys her kitchen. Following the trend of the day, curiosity gets the best of her. “Jakob?” she calls.

A familiar head pops out of the pantry. “You have not used your pan shelf.”

Jean takes her coffee and shuffles over. “No, I have not,” she confirms, mimicking his charmingly formal way of speaking.

“Is it not adequate?”

“I told you, I don’t need it.” She turns on her heel, gliding toward the table. “Now, can you get out of my pantry?”

With an amused smile on his face, Jakob slips out and shuts the door.

“How was the session?”

Jean casts a downward glance at him. “I’m not supposed to share--”

“My mistake.” Jakob sits down and settles his hands on the table, the epitome of patience. Jean feels a nagging tug in her stomach, and she can’t discern one potential cause from the other.

She sighs. Jakob’s eyes have always struck her as those belonging to a guard dog who’s sworn to protect. Their inability to deceive is a great comfort, and so different from most of the men she has known.

She presses the mug to her lips, drinking in the miracle roast that she has been meaning to cut back on. 200 milligrams per day, that’s the recommended maximum intake for expecting mothers. She’s keeping herself right at that.

It is hard to steel herself against Jakob when he looks at her with such genuine eyes, especially knowing that she can’t offer him the same.

She swallows her sip, sets the mug against the table. “Do you feel that a husband who’s having wet dreams about another woman is cheating?” She eyes Jakob like he’s one of her clients, someone she must pick apart.

Jakob eyes her in kind, deducing that this is not a trick, but an honest question. “Yes,” he responds in his frank tone. “That would be an emotional betrayal at least.”

Jean leans back in her chair. “Why do you say that?” She may as well have her notebook and pen in hand.

“Because he’s emotionally attached enough to this person to have those sorts of dreams.” It sounds completely sensible, Jean thinks, when he says it. And it makes her sound like a bitch for what she has to say, but a situation where she must leave her emotions out of the equation is exactly what she needs when it comes to him.

“Dreams occur in our subconscious, unbeknownst to our waking selves. We cannot plan them. And the physical response is involuntary. Nocturnal emissions happen without our intervention. He is neither choosing the subject of his dreams, nor is he choosing his sexual response to them. Therefore, no cheating is taking place.”

“So cheating is a choice then,” Jakob muses. The weight of this statement hangs between them. He searches Jean’s face for signs of apprehension.

She stiffens in her chair but holds firm. “Yes. It is.” She understands the implications of admitting this, and she hopes he does too. She has done him wrong, and the worst they can do is let it keep happening. Even this choice, though, does him wrong, and for that Jean is sorry.

The doorbell rings, no doubt the next sexual conundrum she must untangle. She slides her chair back, grabs her mug, and gives Jakob a look that’s almost apologetic.

He returns the look, his eyes both fire and ice. “Another pair whose relationship you will save.”

Jean breaks eye contact when she realizes he’s being serious, for that’s simply too sweet a thing for him to say. She walks him to the door, and it strikes her as all too familiar.

“Thank you for your help,” he utters when she opens the door to her clients. She sees what he’s doing and plays along.

“You’re welcome. See you next week.”

“Yes,” he says, fixated on her. “See you next week.”

[ichigo-daifuku]

Alone Together

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Pairing: Hawks/Todoroki Fuyumi Genre: Time Travel, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Suggestive Themes

Synopsis: A Quirk accident prompts Fuyumi to travel back in time in various intervals, where she does her best to keep a low profile so as not to alter the future timeline.

Except Keigo catches feelings for her a year earlier than scheduled.

1 | ☆ Chapter One: A Fine Mess Word Count: 5.2k

恋の予感 | こいのよかん | koi no yokan

premonition of love; the sense one can have upon first meeting another person that the two of them will inevitably fall in love.

At five in the morning, Hawks stirred in his sleep and shivered.

The air was frigid. He concluded the heater must have ceased functioning sometime in the middle of the night. If it didn’t, how else could he explain how frosty the temperature in his room was? He took a deep breath and exhaled through his mouth, rubbing a palm over his abdomen. It felt as if he was sleeping beside a block of ice. Groggily, he huddled further under his blanket and tried to fall back into slumber.

Five more minutes, he thought, and then, this early bird will catch the worm… no, the villains.

A shift on his bed followed by a yawn drew his attention. He froze. Eyes shut but conscious and alert, he spread out a number of his feathers and confirmed it: an intruder was on his bed.

Hawks opened his eyes and found a sight that made them go as wide as saucers. A scantily clad woman was curled up next to him, comfortably sleeping as if she was on her own bed. She mumbled something incoherently and embraced his torso, her hold loose but enough for him to feel the outline and curves of her body. A puff of breath from her parted lips tickled his bare chest. Her skin was as cold as ice, and for a second, he wondered if she was feeling unwell—until he came to his senses. He recounted the events of the previous night in search of any factor that could’ve led to this situation.

Hawks had gone through the daily grind of flying around and catching villains. It had been a busier day than usual. Exhausted after his final patrol, he opted to order take-out at a fast-food restaurant on his way home instead of dining in. He ate his dinner, freshened up, put a random pair of sweatpants on, and went to sleep. He failed to recall encountering her last night, and he was certain she wasn’t here when he plopped down on his bed.

Hawks had never met this woman before.

However, from what he was seeing, he slept beside this woman. He didn’t sleep with her, right? There was no way such a thing would slip his mind.

Was he going insane? Was he having his annual spring rut? Was he so sexually frustrated that he was having a realistic hallucination of a very attractive woman sleeping next to him?

“Good morning,” said a feminine voice, still husky from the early hour, near his ear.

Despite the silent questions he raised, the softness of the lips pressing on his cheek was real.

Very much so.

Languidly, the woman sat up, stretched her arms above her head, and let out a contented hum. She stepped out of the bed and left the room while combing her fingers through her snow-white hair, unperturbed.

Hawks, who was still dubious of the situation, left the bed and slipped on the first t-shirt he could lay his feathers on. He went after the woman and found her in the kitchen, browsing through the contents of the refrigerator with a frown.

She cocked her head to the side and scrunched her eyebrows. “Didn’t we go grocery shopping yesterday? Why is everything gone? Don’t tell me you got hungry in the middle of the night and ate it all.”

The two of them went grocery shopping? Yesterday?

Without waiting for his response, the woman grabbed two eggs from the shelf and closed the refrigerator. She set them aside and bent down to get a frying pan from the cabinet.

Hawks wondered how she knew where he kept his cookware, but before he could dwell on the thought, he found out it wasn’t all that she was cognizant of.

The woman knew how to operate the rice cooker and coffee maker easily and prepared breakfast with such familiarity that if he didn’t know better, he’d say it was her kitchen and not his.

All the while, he stood at the entrance, wary and ready to defend himself when she decided to strike—except she did nothing of the sort.

“By the way, have you seen my eyeglasses?” she asked, setting the plate of fried eggs on the table. “It wasn’t on the nightstand. I forgot where I put them.”

“Who are you?” Hawks finally uttered the question he was dying to find the answer to. He took a tentative step forward as a predator would when it stalked its prey. “How did you get in my place?”

She glanced at him but paid his threatening action no mind, filling two mugs with coffee. “Huh?”

“It’s a serious question, Miss,” he stated, his expression grave and stern. “Who are you?”

Silver eyes met his golden ones. For some inexplicable reason, he was taken aback, but before he could mull over the peculiar impression he sensed, the question that left her lips had alarm bells ringing in his head.

“What are you talking about, Keigo?”

Keigo.

She called him Keigo.

He launched one of his longer feathers to his palm and aligned it toward her neck as one would with a sword. The tip of the feather brushed a strand of her hair, from which he spotted distinctive crimson streaks from. It was a unique feature that would help confirm her identity if she refused to speak. “Are you a spy? Who sent you?”

Panicked, she shook her head and waved her hands in front of her in denial. “I’m not a spy! No one sent me!”

“How did you know that name?”

“Which name?”

“Stop pretending you don’t know what’s going on,” he snapped, glaring at her. “My real name. How did you know it?”

“You told me.”

His birth name was classified information. From the day he was instructed to live as Hawks, he had buried his past and told no one his real name. Nobody���save for his estranged parents, the Hero Public Safety Commission, and himself—should have been aware of it. Not even his sidekicks, nor his fans, and definitely not the woman standing in front of him. “You’re lying.”

“Keigo, are you okay? Did you hit your head or something?” The menacing stance he had did nothing to deter her. She stepped forward and touched his head in search of any injuries. When she found none, she retreated and put her hands behind her back. “If I remember correctly, we’ve been on a first-name basis since we met. Well, kind of.”

Why would he reveal his real name to someone he just met? He would never do that. 

Was this woman a delusional fangirl of his? He had encountered a few cases of those, but none of them had gone as far as this woman. She wasn’t from around here, he noticed, as she wasn’t speaking in Hakata-ben. Regardless, this was a penthouse of an exclusive condominium in Kyushu. How was she able to get past the security?

“We’ve never met. I don’t know who you are,” he stated without room for argument. “Now, tell me how you got in, and I’ll turn you in to the police myself.”

She stared at his face quietly, deep in thought. After a long pause, an epiphany struck her, and she spoke in a hesitant tone, expecting the worst, “Sorry, but… could you, perhaps, tell me what year it is?”

“That’s an odd question, Miss. What year do you think it is?”

The response she gave him left him disconcerted. With an uncertain voice, she told him today's month and day correctly, but she added three years to the current year.

When he revealed she was wrong, she backed away and buried her face in her hands.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” she cried out with an apologetic bow, on the verge of bursting into tears. “We haven’t met yet, haven’t we? This must be so strange to you.”

“We’ve never met.”

“Yeah, not yet.” She paced back and forth and turned to him. “Do you mind if I look around for a bit? I just want to confirm it.”

He didn’t rule out the possibility she was unhinged, but he wanted to know what her deal was before handing her over to the authorities. Humoring her, he let go and returned his large feather to his wings, relenting. “Fine.” 

In case she had any funny business up her sleeve, he followed her. A few of his feathers hovered around her as a safety precaution, too. Yet as he observed her, he had to ask himself: how come she was able to roam around his place like she owned it? 

Similar to the way she acted in the kitchen, she barged inside his walk-in closet effortlessly. Stumbling upon rows and rows of men’s clothing, she mumbled, “My clothes…”

She peeked inside the bathroom and found a lone toothbrush on the sink and men’s products everywhere. “My toiletries…”

In front of an empty space in the living room, she stared and murmured, “My books…”

“None of my belongings are here.” She shook her head with a sigh, momentarily forgetting she had company as she glanced at the calendar on the wall. “I really am in the past.”

Keigo placed a hand on her shoulder, rousing her from her reverie. “Care to explain?”

The sound of her stomach grumbling interrupted her before she could speak. She covered her midriff in embarrassment, the skimpy nightgown she had on drawing his attention again. “Sorry.”

Keigo sighed. From a logical point of view, the current evidence indicated this woman as a threat. However, his feathers tingled in a different way than they would when they sensed danger was in the midst. He had gathered from her whispers that she believed she was from the future. Something strange was going on, and he would get to the bottom of it.

With a few small feathers, he grabbed a hoodie from his closet and offered it to her. “You can wear this.”

“Oh, thank you.” She slipped the hoodie on and awkwardly continued, “It’s cold, isn’t it? Not that I’m bothered or anything, though. I actually don’t mind the cold much, don’t worry! Haha…”

That’s not it, he thought but didn’t bother saying aloud. She already cooked breakfast, might as well let her eat it.

“You can enlighten me of the situation while you eat,” Keigo decided, leading her to the dining area. He pulled a chair out and instructed, “Sit down.”

She followed him wordlessly and watched as he set the table, brought the cooked rice, and sat in front of her. Upon noticing he wasn’t making any move to grab a serving, she spoke, “Aren’t you going to eat? I didn’t put anything weird in there, I promise.”

Keigo had witnessed her prepare them earlier. He didn’t see or smell anything weird in the food either.

She sensed his reluctance and lifted the chopsticks between her fingers. As proof of her innocence, she took a bite of the fried egg and swallowed. “See? It’s fine.”

Keigo acquiesced, putting a portion of rice and egg in his bowl.

“Thank you for the food,” they said in unison.

He took a much-needed sip of coffee and began with his inquiry, “Think you can tell me what’s up now, Miss?”

“Yesterday afternoon, a young girl’s Quirk went out of control and hit me. Nothing happened, but my companion and I went to the hospital to be sure. The doctors said it was a mutation type of Quirk, but they couldn’t confirm anything since the girl’s exact power was unknown.”

That companion was supposedly him. “And then?”

“Since nothing was wrong with me, they sent us home. We went to this penthouse, ate dinner, and slept. But when I woke up, I’m… here. In the past,” she told him. “One of the doctors did advise us to wait for twenty-four hours, so maybe, that’s my time limit.”

“You’re sure this is the past? Not an alternate universe?”

“I think so.”

“How are you going to come back to your own time?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? Why should I believe you?”

“I…” Contemplative, she paused before offering a suggestion. “I’d like to wait for twenty-four hours, at least.”

“And if nothing happens?”

“I’ll turn myself in to the authorities if you’ll insist, but I hope you’ll at least let me call someone for help.”

“Let me guess. A colleague? Perhaps, a fellow villain?”

“No, I’m not a villain. My—” she broke off mid-sentence again, carefully choosing her words, “—a family member would know what to do, I think.”

“How suspicious.”

“Look, I know twenty-four hours is a lot to ask, especially from the Number T...hree Hero, but I’m also confused right now. If I’m being honest, I’d like to go back to where I came from right at this moment,” she confessed. “I hope you can bear with me for a while. It will really help me. Please.”

Keigo felt the accusation he was about to utter stuck in his throat. Sincerity and anxiety radiated from her words. His instincts told him it was an honest appeal for his assistance. While he was still unsure, he was a Hero, and the woman in front of him, a suspected villain or not, was asking him for help. He couldn’t ignore it.

He grabbed his phone with a stray feather and dialed his secretary’s number. “Hello, good morning. It’s Hawks. I won’t be coming in today. It’s an emergency situation, and I’ll be on surveillance duty.”

“Roger, Sir. I’ll let your sidekicks know.”

“By the way, don’t ask why, but can you send a set of women’s clothes to my place? Toiletries, as well. Thanks! Bye-bye!”

“Thank you,” the woman told him as he ended the call. This time, she was unable to hold back her tears, and she wiped them immediately with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Thank you so much. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience, Keigo—I mean, Hawks!”

Silence reigned during the rest of the breakfast. It wasn’t the awkward nor the comfortable type. She was engrossed in her thoughts while he was on high alert. After they finished eating, she volunteered to do the dishes, and he allowed her to, knowing she needed a moment alone to collect herself. He stayed at a considerable distance in the living room instead, aware she finished the task without any issues.

Keigo looked up from the YAP! News article on his phone and observed as the woman plopped down on the other side of the sofa and grabbed the remote control on the coffee table.

As if she felt his sharp gaze on her, she turned her face to his direction, and realization dawned on her.

“Whoops, sorry! I just…” she blurted out, embarrassed at the faux pas she committed. “Nevermind. Do you mind if I watch TV?”

“It’s fine.”

“Thank you,” she mumbled, redirecting her eyes to the television. She flipped the channels to find something appealing to watch and came upon an animated magical girl franchise. “Oh, PreCure!” 

“I see,” he noted, caught off guard she chose that show over the morning news on one channel and a rerun of a documentary about the most recent Hero Billboard Chart JP on another. “You’re into these kinds of shows?”

“I happen to know a lot of kids. They love this show,” she replied, heat creeping up her cheeks. “Besides, there’s no such thing as being too old to watch anime.”

“Yeah.” An amused smile crept upon his lips. “You’re right about that, Miss.”

She would squint her eyes from time to time throughout the episode. In addition, since she had been looking for her eyeglasses earlier, he deduced she had poor eyesight. Keigo thought she might get a headache later on if she continued watching television like that. That would be bad, wouldn’t it?

It turned out, he had no need to fret about such a thing from happening. A couple of hours later, she ended up dozing off. He stood, turned the television’s volume down, and fixed her position in a way she could lay down and sleep properly.

How could she let her guard down like that? he asked himself, covering her with a blanket. She seems fatigued, though.

Unable to figure her out, he took a seat on the solo sofa and let her be, still on surveillance duty.

While she didn’t mention anything about being unwell, she was exhausted—that much was obvious. It was only at lunchtime when she awoke from her nap, the sound of the doorbell serving as her alarm clock. Behind the door, the pizza delivery man stood with Keigo’s order in his hands. Keigo settled the payment and brought the box to the living room. He set the box on the table and untied the string on top of it. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“I’m okay.”

“Are you feeling sick or anything?”

“No, just tired.” She shut her eyes and massaged her fingers over her temple. “It must be a side effect of the girl’s Quirk. I’m not usually like this.”

He didn’t know this woman, but he knew how being sick without medicine felt: miserable. “Tell me if you need anything. I’ll get it.”

Her eyes fluttered open drowsily. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not that bad. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want to freshen up after you eat?” He handed her a sealed paper bag through a feather on its handle. “The clothing and toiletries I asked for earlier arrived while you were sleeping.”

“I will.” She waited for him to release the paper bag with her palms wide open. When he did, she caught it and put it on her lap. “Thanks.”

Keigo decided to take his turn in using the bathroom after she did.

As soon as he stepped inside and shut the door, he was surrounded by her presence. Droplets of water trickled from the tiled walls to the floor. The delicate scent of floral shampoo and the fragrance of milk and honey body wash clung in the air; soft and sweet. No part of his house had smelled like that before. Another crack made its way through his composure. He was unused to having people over at his place. No, scratch that, he never had people over. Given who he was, he had a lot to protect, and to accomplish that, he must keep his secrets. It was a dangerous line she crossed easily. He found the experience daunting.

As quickly as he could, he finished showering, got dressed, and returned to the living room, where he was able to sense her presence. 

She sat in the same area she occupied earlier, flipping through a random magazine she found on the coffee table. The cream-colored turtleneck shirt and acid wash jeans she was wearing clung to her body in all the right places. Upon seeing him, she looked up from the pages and shut the magazine. “Hawks?”

“Y-Yes?” He cleared his throat. “What is it?”

“You’re twenty-two years old at the moment, right?”

“Yeah.”

She chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m still older than you.”

“Is that so?” he asked, unsure of how to respond to her statement. “Are you also older than me where you came from?”

“That’s right.” She returned the magazine to the table and stood. “By the way, do you mind if I wash my clothes?”

“Go ahead.”

“Thank you.”

She gave him a smile and left.

Dumbfounded by their bizarre exchange, Keigo stared at her retreating form and frowned.

She didn’t even ask him where the washing machine was.

The woman stood by the glass walls, the pad of her fingertips touching the surface as she stared at the carmine and amber hues of the setting sun.

Keigo made his way next to her and observed the view closely. The scenery was breathtaking from this altitude. He couldn’t blame her for being enamored by it. It was one of the reasons he picked this penthouse. The sky was fascinating, no matter the weather or the time of the day it was.

“Are you curious?” she asked out of the blue, her gaze still on the horizon.

“About what?”

“The future.”

“Well, I don’t really know if you’re from the future or not,” he admitted, an absurd idea popping inside his mind. “How about you tell me something that will happen a week or so from now?”

“Like a major event?”

“Something like that,” he said, although he speculated a definite answer from her would be unlikely. “Anything will do.”

“Okay, that would be an effective way to check.” The woman nodded. “If what I’m about to tell you happens, will you believe me, then?”

“It depends.” He turned to look at her. Her casual agreement caught him by mild surprise, his curiosity multiplying as the seconds ticked by. “But let’s say you do disappear and come back to wherever you came from after twenty-four hours. At that point, it wouldn’t matter, wouldn’t it?”

“It would. At least, to me, it would,” she stated, meeting his gaze. “I’ve got nothing to lose by telling you, but you have to promise not to meddle. If this is the past, the future timeline shouldn’t be altered.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed with a lighthearted laugh. “Sounds like a plot of a movie.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” She gave him a smile and fiddled with her fingers. The shift in the mood was palpable as she began, “A few days after the term at U.A. High School begins, a class will be attacked by a group of villains.”

“U.A.’s security system is top-notch, though,” he pointed out, not bothering to conceal his doubt. “I don’t see anything like that happening.”

“Everyone thought so, too.” Amused, she added, “Knowing you, by now, you’re already aware that All Might is going to be a teacher at U.A., aren’t you?”

“How did you—”

“I just do, okay?” She clasped her hands behind her back and leaned in. “Remember, you promised not to meddle.”

“Fine,” he agreed. “But if it does happen, who knows? You might have known of it because you’re a member of that ‘group of villains’ yourself.”

“I’m not! I’m not a member of that group of villains.” A chuckle fell past her lips, one tinged with amusement and melancholy. “That’s… not me.”

She returned her gaze to the scenery of Kyushu, and it gave Keigo a good view of her shoulder-length hair. The crimson streaks in it stood out against its dominant white color. When he thought about it, he couldn’t help but compare it to the color of his feathers. They were so alike that a smaller feather of his would blend in with them perfectly. He chided himself for thinking that way.

And so, instead, Keigo debated whether the crimson streaks in her hair were natural or otherwise.

The late-night news was on in the background as the two of them partook in their share of fast-food chicken meals. It was from the same restaurant Keigo visited last night except, this time, he ordered them online and waited for them to arrive after twenty minutes.

“I wish you didn’t have to have meals delivered all the time,” the woman lamented and took a sip of soda. “Eat healthier when you can, okay?”

“Aww, are you concerned about me?” he asked half-jokingly, setting the empty cardboard packaging aside.

“Of course.”

Keigo was quiet at that, once again blindsided by her candidness. He had only met this woman today, yet she cared enough about him to trouble herself about his diet. 

“Hawks,” she spoke, her voice gentle and hesitant, but of what, he didn’t know. “Are you doing okay right now?”

“Just peachy,” he answered promptly like he always did, pushing those strange thoughts aside. “Why would you ask me that?”

A long pause passed before she opened her mouth to respond. “You told me there were times you thought of the HPSC as a birdcage—sometimes, a shackle. Even if I know better, meeting you in this time of your life worries me.”

By then, the sound coming from the television was nothing but white noise. Everything she uttered was the truth. Those were sentiments he had hidden deep inside him and swore to keep to himself. This woman knew about them, though—she knew him well. He found no rational explanation for the way she was aware of specific matters he dared not to speak about. How else would she know them if he didn’t tell her? Maybe, not now, but in the future.

At that point, he started to truly believe her. One thing, however, kept creeping inside his mind once he came to terms with it. He stared at her intently, trying to unravel the mystery that came in the form of this woman. “Who are you in my life?”

“Uh, I am…” She averted her gaze, a blush forming on her cheeks. “That would be a spoiler, wouldn’t it?”

“I want to know.” Keigo was a sharp man. He already had an inkling of who she would be for him in the future, but he wanted the confirmation to come from her lips. “Tell me.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of a bell, similar to that of a cat’s, rang three times, diverting their attention.

The next thing he knew, the woman in front of him had vanished into thin air.

Keigo searched the entire penthouse but found her nowhere. He considered the possibility she had been a figment of his imagination, but he ultimately believed she wasn’t.

The cardboard container of her meal remained on the coffee table, in front of the seat she took earlier. The wooden chopsticks laid on top of a folded sheet of tissue paper, their tips dampened and darkened by the savory sauce of the chicken she ate and said was delicious. Inside his bathroom, the toiletries she used were arranged neatly on the corner of the sink.

The white cotton nightdress, as well as the hoodie she borrowed, hung on the metal clothing rack in the washing area, fresh with the detergent he liked best. A matching pair of underwear with a dainty ribbon—lingerie, to be specific—dangled beside them, mocking him for having thoughts he shouldn’t have had. He laughed them off as best as he could but didn’t know what to do with them. In the end, he decided to put them inside the unused drawer in his walk-in closet.

She might have disappeared, but she didn’t do it without a trace.

He checked his wristwatch and saw it was past midnight. If her assumptions and calculations were correct, it meant she had arrived on his bed last night around this time. He wondered if she made it to the future safely. 

He hoped so.

Hawks kept his feathers vigilant for any clues regarding the supposed surprise attack at U.A. High School. The mysterious woman would appear in his mind frequently because of the information she had given him concerning the near future. It piqued his interest because he found nothing about it. He couldn’t meddle at all even if he knew, which he could imagine, for her, was a good thing.

To his credit, he got the wind of the news before the press did. Class 1-A was attacked by a group called the League of Villains during an on-campus activity in the Unforeseen Simulation Joint training facility. People dubbed it as the U.S.J. Incident. The League of Villains aimed to put an end to All Might but failed in the end. Their leader, however, had gotten away. Hawks couldn’t help but consider what kind of trouble they would stir up in the future. He had to investigate further.

On the flip side, it further proved that the woman he encountered in his home was telling the truth. She was from the future. He opened the door to his penthouse and made his way to his bedroom, remembering her again. In retrospect, they had gotten themselves into quite a mess during the day she appeared. 

Not that he’d see her anytime soon, or so he thought.

It was a faint sound, but nevertheless, a familiar one. An invisible bell rang three times, and a feminine voice spoke beside him, causing him to stop in his tracks in wonder.

“Do you believe me now?” the woman asked, her head tilting to the side. Her doe eyes, framed with eyeglasses this time, twinkled with hopefulness.

“You’re here,” he blurted out, “again.”

“Yeah.” She leaned backward and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I have twenty-three hours this time.”

“One hour less than last time,” he pointed out. “But how did you know?”

“We had time to visit the doctor again. The young girl has a Quirk that sends people back in time. Time Quirks are rare, so existing studies about them are insufficient to undo the whole thing. I can’t elaborate too much on the details, but there’s nothing I can do but go through the whole time travel duration. After this, there will be twenty-two more instances when I will appear somewhere near you at a random moment, each time lessened by an hour.”

“For how long?”

“A year, more or less.”

“But out of all the places you could appear in, why does it happen where I am?” he asked, meticulously processing the information she had given him. “Not that I’m complaining or anything. I’m just curious.”

“I…” she paused, contemplating whether or not to tell him, “because you were the one closest to me when I was struck by the girl’s Quirk.”

“How close?”

“We were standing next to each other.”

“And?”

“We were… holding each other’s hand.”

“Ah.” He nodded. “So, we really do have that kind of relationship, huh?”

She rolled her eyes and averted her gaze, folding her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going to answer that.”

Despite her dismissal, the pink tinge of her cheeks betrayed her composure. It was all the answer he needed to his question.

They were together. Three years in the future, the two of them were in a relationship. How did such a thing happen?

Time would tell. For now, a cordial smile tugged at his lips, knowing exactly where to begin. “What’s your name?”

“If I tell you,” she said hesitantly, “will you promise not to look for me?”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to change the present—I mean, my present—where I’m from. The future, if you will, in your case.”

“Okay, then.” Keigo nodded. It was a reasonable condition, after all. “I promise.”

“Great.” She grinned, relieved he gave her his word. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Fuyumi.”

Notes: The three-year difference in their timelines and the sound of a bell ringing was inspired by Kimi no Na wa, one of my favorite movies.

I was actually working on a fic for another ship, but I thought of Huwumi again and ended up writing this instead.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Thank you for reading! ❄️

Alone Together

BNHA Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[immoral-tales]

The Coldest City

Yandere!Ougai Mori X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,750

Warnings: yandere tendencies; mild gaslighting; sexual tension;

Summary: an old acquaintance pays a visit to the head of the Port Mafia as they have a decent conversation about their shared past.

A soft, yet hesitant knock resounded in the large office, shattering the deafening silence. A muffled “come in” was heard from the other side of the wooden double doors. There was a delay as one of his subordinates opened the door cautiously, without producing any unnecessary sounds. He closed it behind him as he entered the office of the current head of the Port Mafia. It appeared the black-haired mafia boss was preoccupied with a rather unusual task; however, his subordinates were used to this eccentric personality and antics, but still feared him. The silence reigned in the air as the young man refused to speak, awaiting his superior’s command. Mori lifted his head up as his attention was directed towards the person who disturbed his quality time with his precious Elise. The head of the Port Mafia leaned against a leather swivel chair that was situated behind the mahogany desk. Quirking a brow, he beckoned the young man to approach him and tell him the reason he came here. His subordinate swallowed before he opened his mouth to start talking. “Sir, there’s a visitor and would like to see you.”

Furrowing his brows, he cast a glance at the blonde girl that was drawing idly on the carpeted flooring, then returned his gaze back to his subordinate. “You disturbed me because of this?” His voice lowered as it had a threatening intonation.

His eyes widened with fear, the young man started shaking his head violently. “No, Sir. She insists on seeing you. She told me you would refuse and asked me to tell you these words: ‘the coldest city awaits you.’” He opened his mouth to resume, but Mori raised his hand indicating he had heard enough. Upon hearing those five words, his eyes widened but quickly returned to his normal—neutral, almost unreadable—expression.

A sigh escaped his lips as he gave his order, “let her in.” The young man nodded his head and turned on his heel to leave the room. Elise sensed the black-haired man’s uneasiness, she opened her mouth to start talking but was interrupted when another soft knock resonated in the large office. Without waiting for permission, the doorknob twisted and the wooden double doors opened, revealing an attractive woman in her mid-thirties. A sly smirk danced across her facial features, her eyes held a mischievous glint. Her appearance could be described as breathtakingly beautiful. That black pantsuit outlined her every curve perfectly and black heels complemented her professional attire as her hair was styled into a low, messy bun. Mori’s gaze was fixated on her as he exhaled through his nostrils. He did not even realize he was holding his breath. An infamous smirk of his found its way to his face, he returned her gesture.

Her eyes scanned every centimeter of the large office, then they landed on the young girl that was located in the middle of the room. “It’s good to see you again, darling.” Her voice had always driven him insane. Ougai Mori was not the man who easily developed attachments and weaknesses, yet the woman in front of him was his weak spot. He attempted to sever ties with her, but it seemed impossible. She would always find a way to cage him in her endless maze. She was his weakness and both of them were fully aware of it. He could not escape her clutches, she had a tight leash on him and refused to let go. She would never agree to release him. She was a dangerous woman with a talent of disappearing and reappearing at will. She could have left him for years, but he would still have difficulty earning his freedom. Mori had always thought of ridding her from his life, ending his misery, yet life without her would be meaningless. There would not be any thrill of awaiting her return when she would be six feet under. Thinking about it made him shiver in disgust. Killing the woman that made his life interesting. How could he? Despite having Elise by his side, he still wished to have her, claim her as his. She always waltzed in front of him, yet he could not get his hands on her, the woman always managed to slip away.

He was in a trance-like state, her voice snapped him out of his reverie. Mori quickly gestured her to take one of the armchairs as he gave Elise a close-eyed smile, reassuring the young girl. His scrutinizing gaze was fixated on her, opening his mouth to start speaking. “What a pleasant surprise. What brings you here, my dear?” He watched as his gorgeous companion took an unoccupied seat and crossed her leg over the other, leaning against the armchair comfortably. Her relaxed figure indicated she was not frightened or tense. She never felt threatened when she was in his presence. Perhaps, saying she felt safe was an understatement, as well. The woman appeared to be quite indifferent. It was difficult to read her.

That half-smirk of hers ever-present on her beautiful facial features. A signature expression; a facade to fool many and conceal her intentions, her deadly intentions. Her eyes had never once left his face, meeting his gaze as she bit her lower lip sensually, allowing the silence to seep through the large room. A great tactical move from her side to create more drama. Mori could recall her fondness for grand entrances and her remarkable ability to turn any situation into a film noir. He still wondered to this very day, how a mere woman could have such an effect on him. Ougai Mori, the dangerous leader of the Port Mafia. His title held no meaning to her. Mere words that would be forgotten like the pharaohs of old. His eyes lingered on her lips more than necessary, both of them were aware that she noticed it.

A low chuckled escaped her full lips, she opened her mouth to start speaking. “I was passing by and decided to pay a visit to the most influential man in Yokohama.” Her Japanese could not get any more fluent. Those undertones of mockery. How could he forget his first meeting with her in the coldest city? The deafening sounds of gunshots, bullets raining down on him as if there was no tomorrow, the debris, the cries of the damned. He had seen it all, yet he was fascinated to see a woman on the front line. Ougai Mori was a doctor, he vowed to save lives, instead of taking them. And the woman sitting not far away was not bound by any morals. Ironically, her work ethic was stricter than his, and she was not even a doctor, nor a soldier.

The coldest city intertwined their lives the very same day, she shielded him from a bullet that was destined for him. He was young and foolish, yearning for power and achieving the impossible. The doctor could have anything in this God-forsaken world, but not her. He could not have her. She was unattainable, even for him. Mori did not have the power over her that would grant him the ability to call her his. He had become besotted with the woman that was so far away from him, yet so close. He could have easily ended his misery, but he would never bear the thought of not seeing her again. The black-haired man was tempted to execute his darkest desire, but his life would be empty without her. Thinking about it drove him insane. He had never felt such an odd sensation before. He lacked the expertise in this field and did not have the answer to his unanswered question. Ougai Mori had never felt more alive. His mind was crumbling, his infatuation with the woman grew stronger, to the point where the return was non-existent. The mafia boss would not allow her to escape his grasp, not anymore.

Mori flashed one of his infamous smirks as his hand traveled down to the mahogany desk, searching for a certain object. His piercing violet eyes were locked with hers, attempting to have a decent conversation with her. “Spontaneous as always, I see. You’ve always loved your grand entrances.” His smirk grew wider as he revealed a familiar pistol, raising his hand to get a better aim, he stood up from his leather chair, resuming to speak. “You’ve always had a knack for making men run after you and I was no exception. Why would you refuse to be treated like a queen? Stay by my side and no one will dare to touch you.” The pistol was loaded, his finger hovered over the trigger. His voice was strained and his smirk morphed into a lunatic grin. The black-haired man could feel how he was losing his composure and his mask was slipping. “You belong to me, my dear, and no one can change it.”

Her figure relaxed, she stretched her arms as she stood up. A low chuckle escaped her full lips, once more. “Aiming at the person who gave you that gun. You are such a cruel man, Rintarou.” Glancing at the blonde girl, she had stopped drawing and her attention was directed towards them. The woman’s gaze returned back to him. “You’re scaring her. Now, I wonder what she had to endure because of you. Your proposal is quite tempting, I will think about it.” Looking down at her Rolex, a victorious smirk danced across her beautiful facial features, adding the last part. “I love you, Mori, but a man such as yourself will never understand it.” Turning around, she stepped forward, and then walked away. Her slender fingers wrapped around the doorknob, twisting it as she opened the wooden double doors, she slipped through them and closed them behind her. Leaving Mori with his own thoughts.

Upon hearing her words, the black-haired man froze in one place as his entire body stiffened. The cruel reality washed over him like cold water, his deranged grin was replaced with the unreadable expression. A pistol in his hand fell to the surface of the mahogany desk with a clatter. Rather loud, maniacal laughter resounded in the large office, frightening Elise as she looked at the man standing behind the desk. Running his hand through his black locks, he stared at the wooden double doors. “Of course, she had to pull a stunt like that. Very well then, until next time, my dear; however, there won’t be any next time.”

[grilledcheeseandguavajelly]

“Somewhere Just Beyond My Reach, There’s Someone Reaching Back For Me” -- Wilhemina Venable x Mildred Ratched

Mildred Ratched already owns my heart. That’s just the sad truth. She shares the space with Venable now. Which means that I’m left thinking of the two of them together almost constantly. And eventually it got too loud and I had to write it. 

Please bear with me, the show hasn’t even dropped a trailer yet so this is just me having fun with the little I know about Nurse Ratched (and the little I am hoping for gathered from promo pictures/teasers). Also, I wrote it in maybe two days, so I apologize in advance for any typos.

Words: ~13,500

Warnings: None? I’m hesitant to say none on a fic with ~these women~, but yeah I think that’s where we are right now. Just a bit of smut (shhhh) 

~I really hope you all enjoy this one, it’s probably a bit different than everyone was expecting, but I couldn’t resist. Alright, LET’S DO THIS~

Wilhemina’s fingers twitched on her cane, thumb rubbing reflexively against the handle as she watched the line in front of her. Stagnant. And she had been waiting for almost twenty minutes. 

She was just starting to lose her patience, especially with the man she was behind. Too tall, smelling of cigarettes. The future of her day pressed against her, the knowledge that she was going to be faced with hundreds of these men, large and consuming and throwing too much ego around. 

This convention was entirely men, as far as she could see. And as she looked around, took in their shining shoes and their notebooks and their stares, she shifted, setting her posture on her cane and standing up a bit straighter. 

Until heels clicked through the room, tapping steadily and coming to a halt just behind her. 

And Wilhemina realized that they hadn’t been staring at her. 

Soft muttering, a huff, and then Wilhemina turned, her curiosity peaked. 

Her eyes landed on a woman, entirely too perfect for her own good, from the way her hat sat at an impeccable angle to the way her feet crossed smoothly, one in front of the other, as she dug through her purse. 

A second later, her mouth pursed into a thin line as she pulled out a neatly folded stack of papers. And as she looked up, straightening, her eyes met Wilhemina’s. 

A small smirk played over her lips, no doubt at the realization that Wilhemina had been staring at her. And all Wilhemina could think to do in the moment was pop her brow, quirking her head. 

Composure. Self-preservation.

A long moment where Wilhemina let herself look her up and down, take in her quartered sleeves, peter-pan collar, the row of thick buttons that ran a perfect line down to a flared skirt. And black, velvet gloves to match. 

And then she found her voice.

“I was under the impression that I would be the only woman speaking here today.” 

And this woman, so impeccably dressed, so impeccably put together, had the nerve to pop her brow right back. 

“Well,” she countered quickly, tipping her shoulders back. “One should never assume.” 

And this time, Wilhemina couldn’t help the smirk that pulled at her lips. She offered her free hand, tapping her cane as she spoke. “Wilhemina Venable. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

And to her surprise, the woman took it, gloved hand warm in Wilhemina’s grip. 

“Mildred Ratched,” she replied smoothly, eyes hot as a smile curved her lips. 

Wilhemina couldn’t help but shift as she shook the woman’s hand, some sort of victory, of smugness, folding into her from the power radiating through this simple gesture. Her nose twitched and then Mildred’s hand was falling away, finding the strap of her small purse and rubbing at it absently as she pulled her composure back around her. 

She watched Mildred’s eyes flick past her, and then immediately around the room. Watched the slight shake in her breath as she undoubtedly realized what Wilhemina had only moments before. It really was all men here, save the two of them. 

“What are you lecturing on?” Wilhemina asked, pleased when Mildred’s eyes snapped back to her. 

“Psychological advances made through study of post-trauma triggers and observances in the field of action.”

Wilhemina hummed, her fingers tightening on her cane as the implication of what the woman said settled around her. “You helped during the war?”

A smug look crossed Mildred’s face, but she morphed it into a passive smile. “Helped might be an understatement.” 

There was a long moment as Wilhemina realized that Mildred was probably entirely capable of handling herself around so many men. Commanding so many men. And then the woman spoke again. 

“And you?” 

Wilhemina swallowed, tapping her cane as she set her shoulders against inevitable backlash that always came when she admitted to never helping with the war efforts. 

“No.”

To her surprise, Mildred only chuckled. Shook her head. “I meant what are you lecturing on.”

She set her jaw, fingers twitching at her error. Her mistake. But Mildred hadn’t scolded her. Hadn’t judged. She was only curious. So polite. So focused. 

“I’m simply posing the question of technology versus consciousness. And somehow, I have a feeling that these men will not like it.”

A small laugh from Mildred, and then something settled over her that looked almost uncomfortable, an uneasiness radiating off of her like a wave. 

Wilhemina quirked a brow. “Perhaps you’re not fond of it either, Ms. Ratched?” 

But Mildred shook her head. “Nurse,” she corrected. “And it’s not that. It’s simply...” 

Her eyes pulled over the men surrounding them. Staring at them. Undoubtedly murmuring about them as they walked. Always together. Always in pairs. 

Mildred fingered the strap of her purse, teeth scraping over her bottom lip for a fraction of a second before she schooled her features.

Wilhemina let her eyes run over her once more, top to bottom and back again. The language of her movements, scribbled down in books on how to cover yourself from the world. How to block everyone out and set yourself atop the pyramid of society. 

“Well, Nurse Ratched,” Wilhemina tried, smirking as she tapped her cane once more. “Order on the outside does wonders to keep the chaos safely on the inside.” 

And then those eyes, those brown, piercing eyes, viciously slicing through Wilhemina. She knew that look, that shock. She had seen right through her. Exposed her, clear as day. Mildred was vulnerable. Mildred was broken. 

Mildred was just like her. 

~~~ 

There was an expression on Wilhemina’s face that Mildred couldn’t read. And try as she might, eyes searching and picking apart the minuscule eyebrow quirks and eyes narrowing and lips twitching, she was completely lost. 

And nothing set her more on edge.

Mildred had always been able to read everyone. It was her first priority. Get a feel for them, dig down into them. Find the thing that makes them tick and spin it on its head to stay on top. 

But Wilhemina had some sort of wall around her. Something that fuzzed out Mildred’s mind and kept her pulled in tight. A magnet against a metal strip. 

A soft, “I look forward to hearing you speak,” and then Wilhemina was turning away, stepping forward in line and giving her name to the man sat at the table just in front of them. 

She watched as Wilhemina handed over her papers, shoulders askew and tapping her cane. Impatiently, Mildred realized. And she schooled her features as she recognized the difference between this tap and the way it had clicked when they were speaking. Absently, an extension of herself. 

And then, with an irritated smile, Wilhemina was checked in and moving aside, fingers flexing on her cane as she sauntered past the table. 

Mildred watched Wilhemina walk away, handing her papers to the man before her. And her eyes stayed locked on Wilhemina as she paused just before she fell out of sight, turning mid-step. 

“Name?” the man asked, pulling Mildred’s attention from the smirk that sliced across her face. 

She took a deep breath, voice perfectly even as she replied. And as he sifted through files and documentation, Mildred let herself look up again. Wilhemina was gone. 

She shoved the pang of sadness aside, straightening out the hem of her glove and shifting her purse further up her arm. And only after clearing the woman from her mind and focusing back on the man before her, did she notice how careless he was being. 

“Excuse me,” she tried, voice suddenly firm. Still impeccably soft. “You’re wrinkling the edge of my papers.” Mildred indicated to the corner of the page, where the man’s arm was pressing a nice crease into the side of her registration documents. Her fingers twitched on the strap of her purse as she composed herself. 

“They’re just papers,” the man said, offering her a small smile as he finished scribbling. 

“They’re just things, Mildred. You don’t need things.”

“Daddy, please. Not mommy’s necklace.”

“You don’t deserve it. You haven’t been a good girl.”

Mildred pressed her mouth into a thin line, taking a deep breath against her father’s voice in her head. 

“They’re my papers,” she said firmly, pressing her hand into the table and leaning forward. “And good manners would indicate you having respect for others’ things. Would it not?”

The man’s smile fractured, and Mildred almost smirked as she watched him gulp. He straightened out the corner of her papers, handing them back to her. 

“Apologies, Nurse Ratched. Your first lecture is in room 42 B, just down the hall on the right.”

“There’s a good boy,” she drawled, pulling the papers from his fingers and frowning at the line down the edge. “And you’re going to be more careful with everyone else’s belongings, yes?”

“Yes, Nurse Ratched.” 

And then she was walking away, that nice little bubble of satisfaction wedging into her heart. 

~~~ 

“Eyes up.” 

Mildred’s voice rang out through the hall, and Wilhemina was shocked at how her heart leapt at the tone of it. So commanding. So dominating. 

“Our boys sacrificed their lives on these battlefields for us. The absolute least we can do is pay attention and listen and learn, to further the pursuit of medicine that they gave their lives for. Is that not correct?”

“I don’t think they sacrificed their lives for medicine, Nurse Ratched.” 

And Wilhemina smiled at the fire that licked over her eyes, watching the way her hands splayed out on her podium. The way she straightened out her neck as her eyes bored into the boy who had interrupted her. 

“What is your name?” she asked calmly. Too calmly.

“Jimmy,” he replied smoothly, and Wilhemina’s fingers itched at the smug look on his face. She could barely see him, sitting impeccably still in her seat and tracking him with her eyes. But she knew that tone of voice. She knew that type of man. 

“Well, James,” Mildred continued, stepping around her podium and crossing her legs as she folded her hands neatly in front of her. “They may not have gone to war with the intention of furthering medicine. But they did go to war with the intention of saving lives. And how we use these lessons that they have taught us, intentional or not, could change the course of humanity as we know it. So would we not be remiss to waste such a hefty sacrifice? Do we not owe it to our boys to take as much as we can from the lives they gave so freely?”

And the sound that followed as Mildred looked over the men, eyes tracking them sharply as her expression morphed from perfectly concerned to smooth and kind, made Wilhemina’s heart pound. Because you could hear a pin drop. And never in her life had she ever come across another woman who had the same affect that she did on a group of men. Another woman who was so commanding. And so impeccably composed. 

~~~ 

Wilhemina’s cane tapped with her words, punctuating points and emphasizing the way her eyes would narrow at questions. 

“So, are you saying that we could make robots, Ms. Venable? Like…from the movies?”

A few laughs threaded out through the room and Mildred shifted in her seat, nose twitching at the innate possessiveness that pooled in her chest. 

But as she looked up at Wilhemina, vision blurring, just so, her cane slammed against the wood. Mildred had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the way the men jumped in their seats. 

“If you were listening, Mr. Brannard, you would understand that not only is it a possibility, my colleagues and I have already accomplished it.” 

Her eyes narrowed, and Mildred hated the way that even that small act of dominance made her heart pound. 

Wilhemina pursed her lips, tilting her head and tutting softly. Condescendingly. “Or are you too naive to imagine that something this advanced could be achieved so soon? By a woman?”

The boy stuttered, looking to the man beside him for help. But he was head down in his papers, scratching out notes. 

Mildred took a deep breath, eyes falling back to Ms. Venable as she stalked around the podium. Slow. Practiced. She was making them wait, and she knew they would. 

And suddenly, just like that, in a moment — Mildred was addicted to her. 

~~~ 

The door shut behind Wilhemina and she let herself sigh, leaning onto her cane as her eyes fell closed. There was something about being surrounded by men, constantly, their eyes on her as she spoke, that always made her feel dirty. And it was exhausting, having to keep her steel walls up when Mildred was sitting in the back of the room watching her with so much intensity that she should have caught fire. 

It was sad when the only place that she could get a moment to breathe was the ladies’ room. 

That moment ended quicker than she would have liked, the squeak of the door opening forcing her to stand straighter on her cane and busy herself in the mirror. 

Strong. Unaffected. 

Heels clicked as Wilhemina wiped at the corner of her mouth, flicking off the smallest speck of stray lipstick. She waited for the woman to lock herself in a stall so that she could make a clean exit. But to her surprise, the footsteps stopped just short of her. And when Wilhemina threw a hot look over her shoulder at the intrusion, she was almost impressed. 

“Hello, dear.”

Wilhemina popped her brow, a small smirk making her lips twitch. “Ms. Ratched.”

“Nurse,” she corrected, tipping her chin up as her eyes lit from behind. 

“Mildred.”

A pause, Mildred’s gaze falling down Wilhemina’s form. “What are you doing?”

“Well I was intending to use the restroom,” Wilhemina replied, smoothing a hand down her skirt as she turned to face the woman. 

Mildred’s eyes were calculating, twitching almost imperceptibly at the corner. “Unacceptable.”

Wilhemina scoffed. “And why might that be?”

“You’re scheduled to speak again in ten minutes. You should be prepping your presentation in five.”

She gestured to the space around them, head tilting challengingly. “Hence why I’m using the restroom now.”

A beat. Mildred stared at her, fingers slipping on the strap of her purse. And Wilhemina had only spoken to this woman once, but she had watched her for almost three hours, and then another two during her own lecture. She knew why her fingers twitched. She could read her like a book. 

So she took a step forward, tapping her cane out in front of her and leaning on it, just enough to get in Mildred’s space. 

“Did you miss me, Millie?” Venable breathed, eyes flicking over Mildred’s face. And she didn’t miss the way the other woman’s breath hitched, body stiffening. “Were you hoping to get me all to yourself for a few minutes?”

Mildred cleared her throat, straightening. “And if I was?”

A smirk. 

“Do you have plans for dinner?”

~~~ 

Mildred had had plans for dinner. Of course she had. Very rarely did her schedule slip away from her, especially so when she was in a strange city around strange people. 

But somehow, for some reason, she had changed her plans. For a woman.

Slap. “Disgusting, stupid whore. Is this who you want to become? Disgrace. Pull yourself together.”

Pull yourself together. 

Wilhemina set the plate down before her and Mildred shifted in her seat, smoothing her already impeccably placed napkin on her lap. 

And only when she finally pulled her eyes off of Wilhemina, sitting down opposite her at the table and propping her cane against the wood, did she realize that this woman was an incredible chef. 

The dish was colorful, sausage swimming in pasta and decorated with fresh herbs. She comforted herself in the knowledge that she was eating better here than she would have been at the restaurant where she had reserved a table. 

A logical decision. 

They ate in silence for a few moments, Mildred fighting the shaking of her hands and trying to come up with a halfway decent conversation starter. But Wilhemina beat her to it. 

“Tell me about the war,” she said softly as she twisted her fork in the pasta, looking up at Mildred with such blatant curiosity and innocence that she couldn’t say no. Couldn’t bear to shove that wall up and bark at her and throw out her usual excuses. 

Which is how she found herself, almost an hour later, plate nearly empty as she covered her mouth with her fingers, swallowing around a bite that was just a fraction too large. 

“No no,” she corrected, taking a sip of water. “It wasn’t the bombs that were distracting. It wasn’t the gunfire. It was the screaming.”

Something flashed in Wilhemina’s eyes and Mildred stuttered, almost convinced she was about to smile. Almost convinced she was about to cry. 

“It was constant,” she continued, fingers playing over her fork as the memories flooded back into her mind. The smell of it, the sound. “Poor boys, too young to be fighting. And they never stopped. They never stopped screaming. Eventually you learn to tune it out. You have to. If you focus on them, if you let yourself hear it, everything else breaks away. You have to block it out. Or you lose the order of your surgical tent.” 

Wilhemina nodded, swallowing. “Seems impossible.” 

But Mildred shook her head again, shocking herself at how forward she was being. At how the words were spilling from her lips. Like she had known this woman for hundreds of years. 

She was almost certain that she had, the way Wilhemina’s eyes pierced straight through her every time their gazes met. 

“Logic and responsibility. That’s the key.” 

And to her surprise, Wilhemina laughed. A full, pretty sound that was too raspy for her own good. 

Mildred flushed, taking a long sip of water as Wilhemina spoke. 

“No, no. Rules. Clear lines and boundaries. A straight right and a firm wrong. It’s the only way to keep them all in line.” 

“You’re wrong,” Mildred stated, matter of fact. And when Wilhemina rose from her seat, she almost flinched. 

But she only stalked over, a smirk slicing across her face as she collected Mildred’s plate and walked it over to the sink. 

Cool. Calculated. Every one of Wilhemina’s actions had an equal, opposite reaction. They stalked around each other in perfect circles, and halfway through the dance Mildred’s mind was absolutely spinning. This time, she didn’t have a justification. Didn’t have follow-up. She was losing her grip. 

The silence was deafening, exacerbated by the tapping of Wilhemina’s heels and the clattering of tableware against porcelain. 

And then, just like that, she was back, pulling out the chair directly next to Mildred and settling down into it. 

“Most people don’t get the privilege of telling me I’m wrong.” 

Her voice had lowered, dangerous and sharp, a snake bite. And Mildred couldn’t help but dig her teeth into her bottom lip. Because this woman was so perfect, and so beautiful, and so intelligent. Sitting before her like it was nothing. Like the heat in Mildred’s cheeks wasn’t creeping down into her fingers and making them itch. 

Her eyes flicked down to Wilhemina’s lips before she could help herself, and her fingers dug into her skirt as she watched Wilhemina flick her tongue over them. Wetting them. So slick. So perfectly shaped. 

And then Wilhemina’s hand covered hers, skin soft and smooth and tender against Mildred’s. 

She looked back into Wilhemina’s eyes, suddenly dark, suddenly entirely too intense. She wasn’t prepared for this. She wasn’t ready. She wanted this more than anything she had ever wanted before in her life. 

And she silently thanked whatever gods lay above her for getting her through the war and straight to this moment. Because her entire life would be worth living if Wilhemina would just—��

Wilhemina leaned forward, and that was all it took. Just the slightest tilt of her chin. Mildred hadn’t realized how close they had gotten. But then Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, so firm and yet so, so delicate. 

She let her eyes fall closed, let herself sigh into the feel of it. The feel of her. Turned her hand and threaded their fingers together and squeezed because this was all she had wanted. Since the moment that fire-red hair had turned and she had looked up into those deep, brown eyes.

Wilhemina pulled away before Mildred was ready to let go, and she couldn’t help the half-whine that lodged itself in her throat. That she tried so desperately to swallow down. 

“Better?” Wilhemina teased, pressing their foreheads together.

She let out a shaky breath, thumbing at Wilhemina’s knuckles. “Infinitely.” 

There was a long moment of silence, and Mildred was almost getting accustomed to these spaces, these gaps between their communication where they just let their feelings hang between them. Let their hearts speak without words getting in the way. 

Mildred swallowed, licking her lips slowly as she looked up into Wilhemina’s eyes. 

“What are the rules now, Ms. Venable?”

Wilhemina hummed, nudging their noses together as her eyes flicked down to Mildred’s lips again. “You relax and let me take care of you.” 

A wobbling breath, and Mildred wet her lips again, hands trembling as she leaned into Wilhemina. So close to what she wanted. So close. “And if I say no?”

Wilhemina smirked, hand coming up to Mildred’s throat before moving to brush delicately over her cheek instead. And when she spoke again, her eyes were lidded and she breathed the words almost directly into Mildred’s mouth. 

“Now where’s the logic in that, Nurse Ratched?” 

~~~ 

Mildred toed off her shoes. Delicately. Carefully. And Wilhemina watched in awe of the woman before her. Perfectly pristine. 

She always strove for perfection. Perfectly presented to the world, perfectly protected. Perfectly hidden. And she had thought she almost had it. But now, watching Mildred, she realized that perfection was far out of her grip. Not when it looked like this. 

Wilhemina wasn’t perfectly presented, not compared to the way Mildred took care with every tiny pleat and line and cuff. Down to the perfectly straight earrings. Down to the parallel lines of her stockings that ran up the back of her calves. And Wilhemina certainly wasn’t perfectly protected when Mildred looked at her like that, eyes wide and lips pink as she slowly, purposefully started picking down the buttons on her shirt. 

Wilhemina was only and solely perfectly exposed, her heart entirely too vulnerable around a woman that she knew would protect it. Around a part of her that she didn’t know had existed until it had tapped its way up behind her in line and pulled the zipper on the curtain over her heart. 

She couldn’t stop watching Mildred. Not when she let her shirt fall to the floor. Not when she unbuttoned the top of her skirt and tugged at the zip, shimmying out of it and letting it pool around her ankles, leaving her in nothing but a thin, silk slip and black pantyhose. 

And then she bunched up her slip and rolled them down, Venable’s eyes tracking the way that perfectly straight line up her calf crumpled as she went, bending and morphing as Mildred let her walls down. Let her in. Let Wilhemina see her for who she really was beneath all of that perfection and obsession and compulsivity. 

Suddenly it was too much, and Wilhemina simply couldn’t sit on the edge of the bed watching anymore. She needed to touch. She needed all of Mildred pressed against all of her. Every inch. Every piece. 

Wilhemina walked up behind her, wrapping her hands around her stomach and pressing a soft kiss to her shoulder before resting her chin there. 

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”

Mildred turned, a smile flickering over her lips. She had been so serious when she was undressing, her mouth pulled into a line, eyes flicking between Wilhemina behind her and the mirror before her, her hands pulling over herself to smooth everything down, make sure her hair was still curling down her back, making sure her pins were all in place. But now she looked lighter. Now she looked like she had at the table, open and soft and pliant. 

“Show me,” Mildred whispered, and Wilhemina pressed another kiss to her shoulder before shifting her in front of the mirror. Her hands found the pins still holding her hair up, pulling them out slowly as she nipped and bit her way up Mildred’s neck, sucking just a bit to hard at the crook of her jaw. 

And Wilhemina couldn’t help but smile as Mildred sighed, her hand reaching up behind her and twisting through Wilhemina’s hair. 

Mildred knew when Wilhemina got the last pin out, shaking her hair out and fluffing it almost immediately. And then she turned in Wilhemina’s arms, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek as she reached around and pulled the tie from her own hair. 

It fell in heaps around her shoulders, and Mildred giggled softly. 

Wilhemina’s brow popped, sarcasm pushing through as a weak attempt at self-preservation. “Is something the matter?” 

But Mildred only laughed, shaking her head and running her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair. 

“Cinnamon sugar,” she murmured, twisting her finger through a lock and admiring it. And Wilhemina felt herself flush against her will. 

“I’m almost certain our hair is the same color,” she tried, fingers twitching on Mildred’s waist. 

Frustrated. Exposed. Worshipped. 

Mildred only shook her head, leaning forward. She hesitated for a brief moment before pressing a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s lips. And suddenly Wilhemina didn’t care if she was giggling or teasing or playing with her hair. As long as she was here. As long as she kept doing that. 

“You’re awfully sweet for someone who is supposed to be so intimidating, Ms. Venable.”

Wilhemina scoffed, rolling her eyes before Mildred grabbed at her chin, raking her eyes over her and making a shiver run down her spine. 

“Why don’t you take all of that purple off for me, cinnamon? Hm?”

And Wilhemina hated how deeply she flushed, the nickname getting under her skin like it shouldn’t have. But this was Mildred. And somehow, she knew exactly what Wilhemina wanted to hear before she realized it herself. 

It only took a few moments, untying the top of her shirt, pulling it up over her head. Sliding out of her skirt, peeling her gloves off. And Mildred watched her the entire time, eyes hot as they followed her fingers. 

She held out her hands as Wilhemina stepped out of her shoes, keeping her steady. Making sure she didn’t wobble. 

And this time, for the first time, Wilhemina completely forgot to feel exposed. She forgot to feel embarrassed about her back. She forgot to warn Mildred. 

But when Mildred kissed her again, this time a bit harder and a bit deeper, fingers wrapping up around Wilhemina’s neck and sliding down over her shoulders, over her spine, nothing happened. 

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t recoil. She didn’t even gasp. She just kept kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, until Wilhemina’s thighs hit the mattress. 

Mildred pulled back, breaking the kiss as her teeth dug into her lip, fingers rubbing together absently. Just like they had over her purse. Over her fork. 

Wilhemina gave her a small nod, tentatively grabbing for her wrists and guiding them to her stomach. 

She didn’t miss the way Mildred’s fingers flexed before she touched her, didn’t miss the glint in her eye as she hesitantly, delicately, grabbed Mina’s waist and pushed her down into the bed. 

And the way she touched her, warm palms pressing against Wilhemina’s sides before pulling away almost immediately, and then replacing them in an instant. This time firm. This time sure. This time pushing Wilhemina onto her back and smoothing up her stomach so that nails were pricking at the very bottom of her bra. 

Mildred crawled over her, pressing a singular, wet kiss just below Wilhemina’s jaw. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, squirming under her. 

“My name is Mildred,” she corrected, and Wilhemina let herself smirk, catching the way Mildred hardened and taking the opportunity to flip the switch yet again. 

She hooked a leg over Mildred’s hip, pushing her and flipping them and bracing herself above her. 

Mildred gasped, a soft whine pushing out of her as she was slammed back into the mattress. Wilhemina leaned down, nudging their noses together before flicking her tongue out and licking the tip of her nose. 

“What are you afraid of, Millie?” Wilhemina breathed, hands sliding slowly up her sides before locking over her ribs and pinning her to the bed. “Is someone losing control?” 

She couldn’t help but smirk at her own joke, amplified by the way Mildred’s eyes widened and hardened. 

“No. It’s just—“ 

Wilhemina bit down on her collarbone, cutting her off as she squirmed beneath her. She hummed, pushing her further into the bed. 

“Oh no? So you’re fine then, right?”

And after a second’s hesitation she nodded again, hands coming up to smooth out her hair as her eyes bored into Wilhemina’s. 

The word “yes” left Mildred’s mouth, but Wilhemina had already seen it in her face. The screaming. The need to dominate. The need to be dominated. The want. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina sing-songed, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. She wasn’t surprised it was warm, the flush already clouding her perfect, porcelain skin. She was surprised that it was scorched, Mildred’s teeth dug into her bottom lip as she watched Wilhemina carefully. 

“Let go, darling,” she murmured, nails scraping lightly down Mildred’s sides. “Let me be in charge of you for once, yeah? Let those pretty little walls down. I won’t hurt you. I promise.” 

~~~ 

Wilhemina kept saying it. That stupid little nickname. Over and over. She wouldn’t stop, and Mildred couldn’t think. And it was making her furious in the absolute best way. 

She was losing control. She had always been so careful. She had always tried her absolute best. But somehow, tonight, she could feel it slipping through her fingers with every kiss, with every gasp, with every moan. 

And she was okay. 

Her world wasn’t crumbling. Mildred was surviving. And to her surprise, the world seemed to actually sort itself in those small moments, the fractions of seconds where Wilhemina panted that little nickname and Mildred’s body responded of its own accord. Mildred was thriving, Mildred was being loved. Mildred was finally living. 

And so she let go. 

She twisted her fingers in the sheets, Wilhemina’s name falling off her tongue as she arched into her. 

Wilhemina hummed, a nice, satisfied sound, and then she was kissing down her neck, fingers scratching up under her slip, up the inside of her thighs. 

Mildred should have wanted to pull away. She should have wanted to clamp her thighs shut and pull her slip down and shove herself up against the headboard. But to her surprise her thighs fell open, and before she knew what she was doing she was lifting her hips off the mattress and reaching down, tugging her slip up over her thighs, up past her stomach. 

Wilhemina pulled off of her, for a split second, and Mildred froze. But then she wrapped her hand around Mildred’s and pulled her forward, pulled her up, kissing her temple as she helped slide the slip up over her head. Threw it on the floor. 

And then Mildred was completely exposed. Completely vulnerable. Her hands came up to cover herself instinctively, suddenly too cold and too naked without the heat of Wilhemina’s mouth on her neck. 

But she was right there, threading their fingers together and pulling her hands back down into her lap. 

“It’s okay. I’m right here,” she cooed, and something deflated inside of Mildred. She let out a long breath, squeezing Wilhemina’s hands as she swallowed. And then, in a desperate attempt to gain some kind of control back, no matter how futile, she tried something. 

“Touch me, Mina.” 

She watched the other woman gasp. Let pride fill her at the pure smile that made tears prick in Wilhemina’s eyes. Traced her thumb over the back of Wilhemina’s hand. 

“Mina,” she tried again, suddenly feeling more comfortable with this intimacy. Because now they were both exposed. Equal. Again. Just like they should be. 

Wilhemina lunged forward, mouth hot and hungry as she pushed Mildred back against the mattress. And her hands. Her hands. Everywhere, all at once. Like she was trying to memorize the shape of her. Like she needed to touch her or she would disappear. And Mildred understood. Because she had that same ache, the same need within her. If her fingers weren’t on Wilhemina, pulling her tighter to her, pulling her closer, she was absolutely certain that she would vibrate and explode into a billion atoms, right there in the middle of the room. 

It suddenly turned so desperate, Mildred just about to beg for Wihemina’s fingers, for more when she felt them brush against her, cold against the heat burning between her thighs. 

Wilhemina pulled back, just so, just enough to look her in the eyes. And Mildred pushed all of her emotion, all of her want through, nodding frantically. 

“Please—“

But no sooner had she opened her mouth than Wilhemina’s fingers pushed inside of her, filling that space there perfectly and making Mildred finally feel like she was whole. 

Wilhemina smirked, and Mildred let out a soft “oh” at the unfamiliarity of it all. The comfort. And then she was moving and Mildred was moving, hips rolling down against Wilhemina’s wrist as she curled her fingers and sped up. 

And before she knew what was happening, that heat was building in her stomach, toes curling where her heel dug into Wilhemina’s back. She didn’t know how she had gotten like this, one leg thrown over her shoulder, a hand in Mina’s hair as she pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs while her fingers pumped slowly, gently, intently. 

It seemed dirty. It seemed wrong. And Mildred couldn’t have cared less. All she could fathom was that little knot of control, holding onto it as it vibrated, threatened to explode. Gripping into it with her teeth if she had to, clinging to it until that exact moment, the perfect—

It snapped, Mildred scrambling to find purchase on something as she fell through the galaxy Wilhemina had built around her. She knew her mouth was moving. She knew she was probably whining for Wilhemina. But she couldn’t hear anything. Not over Mina’s voice against her skin. 

“Yes. That’s it. Perfect. Let go. I’m right here. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” 

It took too long for her body to come back to her, for her to regain her grip on reality and grab at some sort of control again. 

But as she opened her eyes on Wilhemina between her thighs, brow pushed up as the most beautiful, genuine smile graced her mouth, her perfect mouth, Mildred decided that right now, just for this one moment, she didn’t want control back. She wanted to just be. 

“Kiss me,” she breathed, and Wilhemina was right there, mouth pushing insistently against hers. And when Mildred tasted something tangy, something sharp and spicy and unfamiliar, she realized with a start that Mina must have put her mouth on her at some point. 

She hadn’t even realized. Hadn’t registered. 

She had given herself over completely into Mina’s mercy, and she had never felt so happy. So light. So utterly and completely protected. 

A small shuffle, sheets being rucked down, and then Wilhemina was sitting up against the headboard, and Mildred was right there, curling into her side and pressing herself in as close as she could. 

She smiled as Wilhemina’s arms wrapped around her waist. Almost possessively. 

They laid like that for a moment, Mina’s fingers tracing over her side as silence fell down upon the room, all remnants of Mildred’s screams dissolving into air. And then she finally, finally got her feet back under her.

“I want to take care of you,” Mildred said softly, pressing a kiss just over Wilhemina’s heart. But to her surprise, Wilhemina only shook her head. 

Lips against her temple, and then she spoke. “Not tonight, beautiful. We both need to be up early tomorrow.” 

Mildred wanted to say that she didn’t care. She wanted to argue and protest and throw something until Mina listened and let her feel her. All of her. 

But somewhere in the back of her mind she recognized that she would have to deal with those same men tomorrow, lecturing and commanding and spending too much of her energy trying to keep herself in control. So she nodded. Because they needed sleep if they were going to survive. 

“Tomorrow,” she sighed, looking up at Mina with eager eyes. And Wilhemina smiled, pressing another kiss to her temple. 

“Tomorrow.”

She curled further into Wilhemina, letting her hands wander just a bit further than they should have, suddenly feeling so entitled to this woman. She had permission to do whatever she liked to her. Just not quite yet. 

Wilhemina hummed, pressing one last kiss to the top of Mildred’s head, and then time slowed and the air grew thick as she started to move. 

Mildred felt her shift, turning just so and pulling an arm from around her waist as she reached for the lamp by the bed. 

“Don’t turn off the light, please. Daddy, please.”

“Why, are you afraid of monsters?”

A nod.

“Oh honey, the only monster you have to be afraid of is standing right here.” 

A sickening grin.

"You’re a big girl—“

“I’m not—“

“—you can handle this. Besides. Nothing is going to get you... As long as you don’t make a sound.”

Tears welled in Mildred’s eyes as she watched Wilhemina’s fingers inch closer. And how was she supposed to tell her about this? How was she supposed to explain that this one, tiny thing was her absolute weakness? She almost didn’t. Almost made it. But just as fingers brushed against the lamp, the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she tasted something bitter, bristling. 

Time sped up all at once then, Mildred clawing at Wilhemina’s hand and wrapping her fingers tight around her wrist to stop her. 

“Wait—“ she tried, but it came out broken and wrinkled.

Wilhemina froze, looking down at her. “Is everything okay?”

And Mildred couldn’t help the tears then, sniffing as they blurred her vision and letting her fingers fall from Wilhemina’s arm. 

“Please don’t turn it off just yet,” she tried, and she scolded herself for how weak she sounded. 

Unacceptable. Pull yourself together. 

Something crossed Wilhemina’s face that she couldn’t read, and her heart dug down deep in her chest as she braced herself. 

But then Wilhemina softened, brows raising, just so, as she stroked her thumb over Mildred’s side. A smirk pulled at her lips and she quirked her head. 

“My my, Nurse Ratched. Is someone afraid of the dark?” 

And the way she said it, almost laughing, simultaneously made Mildred feel like a child being scolded and a woman being loved. 

It was a blessing that she had used her title. It had given Mildred that shock to her system to jolt her out of her vulnerable state, building her walls back up as quickly as she could as she formed the searing negation on her tongue. 

Of course not. You’re mistaken. Don’t be ridiculous. 

But she couldn’t land on one that felt quite right. Because lying didn’t feel quite right. And Mildred told herself, assured herself, that it was only because she hadn’t thought of the perfect logical theorem to support her argument. She wasn’t prepared to have this conversation. Once she found one, she would be back in control and she could right her world back on its feet. And one time, maybe this time, they could turn the light off. 

She hadn’t realized how long she had been silent until she felt Wilhemina press a kiss to her hair. Mildred was still staring her down, nose twitching as Wilhemina’s eyes searched her face. 

A deep breath, a hard swallow. And then she nodded. 

And there it was. That was it. The most open and vulnerable and exposed she had ever been with another person in her life. 

And Wilhemina, her Mina, took it in stride, simply humming before threading fingers through Mildred’s curls and pulling her up closer so that she could pepper soft kisses across her face. 

“Oh, Millie,” she whispered, and Mildred was shocked to find a gentle smile on her lips. 

“It’s childish, I know.”

She shook her head, fingers playing over the edge of her face. “Not to me.” 

“You can turn it off once I’m asleep. I just—“

“No. If you prefer it on, we leave it on.” Wilhemina hooked a finger under her chin, tipping it up. “That’s that.”

A sniff. A shaky breath. “Are you certain...?”

“Anything for you.”

And that night, when Mildred closed her eyes and steadied her breathing and melted into the warmth of her lover, she somehow, some way, felt like she had finally found her way home. 

~~~ 

“That’s it, just like that.”

Wilhemina cooed, smirking as Mildred whined and rolled her hips down her thigh. A soft gasp, and Wilhemina tightened her hand in her hair, forcing her head back to expose more of her neck. 

“Oh my, Ms. Ratched,” she tried softly, ignoring the way her mouth watered at the sight of her muscles pulling taunt. The way she swallowed. 

“Millie,” Mildred gasped, letting out a small cry as Wilhemina latched her mouth to her neck. 

She hummed as she nodded, relishing the taste of her when she was unraveling like this. Sticky, hot. So different from that sharp, sweet, clean taste when she was still dressed and still protected and still in charge. 

“You’re learning.”

Mildred scoffed beneath her, and Wilhemina had a split second to brace herself before nails were raking up her thighs and up her lower back, Mildred’s hands splaying out and holding her close. 

“And you’re going too slow.”

Wilhemina was flipped before she knew what was happening, gasping as Mildred grabbed her shoulders and shoved her down in to the mattress. Hard. 

“Millie—“

But Mildred cut her off, pressing a chaste kiss to her cheek. And when she pulled back she was smiling. Sickly sweet. 

“Besides, I thought we had an agreement that I could take care of you tonight, yes?”

Wilhemina’s brow furrowed, the need to top Mildred too intense for her to think of anything else. Until Mildred spoke again, her voice threading through the air, slicing through Wilhemina’s need like a knife. 

“Unless you were planning on breaking the rules, Ms. Venable?”

And now it was Wilhemina’s turn to smile, laughing sarcastically as Mildred pinched at her sides until she squirmed. 

“Mina,” she corrected over a giggle, biting down on her lip to keep from completely losing herself. 

Mildred smirked, cocking her head as she repeated Wilhemina’s words back to her. 

“You’re learning.” 

“Shut up and fuck me.”

Mildred quirked a brow. “Language.”

But Wilhemina was too desperate, reaching for her hands and pushing them down over her hips. 

“Now, Millie.”

And when Mildred smirked, nails pricking into Wilhemina’s tender skin there, something caught in Wilhemina’s chest. 

Her eyes were razor sharp, lips twitching from a smirk to a smile, back and forth and back and forth. And just when Wilhemina was starting to think she looked almost sickening, she spoke, leaning down and pressing their foreheads together. Just out of reach. Just a bit too far. 

“Oh now now, cinnamon. You know better than to rush me. I’m in charge tonight. That was the agreement. And I decide when you get my fingers. Understood?”

And Mina found herself nodding. 

She was rewarded with a delicate kiss to her lips. Not nearly deep enough and entirely too sweet. 

“Just so long as we’re both on the same page.” A moment, a breath spent staring into those predatory eyes. “Now why don’t you spread those pretty legs for me, hm?” 

~~~ 

Mildred combed her fingers through Wilhemina’s hair, laid out so beautifully across her, head in her lap, fingers tracing the bones of her ankles. 

Intimacy entangled.

“What did they do..?” Mildred breathed, running her fingers delicately over the morphed skin. A fleeting touch. 

Wilhemina drew a slow breath. Calculated. Shaking. “First it was the brace. Screwed in. Stretched.”

“And the appointments for the table?” Mildred asked, her own breath starting to tremble at the idea. 

Wilhemina nodded. “Yes.”

“How old were you?”

“Seven,” Wilhemina said softly, gasping as Mildred’s fingers tucked under a soft piece of her spine, bumping along the gaps in her vertebrae. 

“And it hurt.”

It wasn’t a question. She knew it had hurt. Especially on someone so young. So pliant and vulnerable. 

But Wilhemina didn’t answer, instead plowing ahead. “And then the surgery when I was thirteen.” 

Mildred flinched, the images flashing through her mind. She had seen the slides. She knew what they did. Sliced tendons and ligaments. And there was rarely any progress. 

“It didn’t work.” 

Again, not a question. And this time, as Wilhemina shook her head no, Mildred found what she was looking for. The scars from the screws. Spaced evenly apart, marred by scars from the surgery. Exactly where they should be. 

Wilhemina’s breaths stuttered as Mildred’s fingers slid over them, and she found her own breath speeding up at the thought of this woman on a table. So small. So scared. So cold. 

“And the tethers?” Mildred asked, running through the typical steps in her head. Trying to remember what she had learned in her training. 

But to her surprise, Wilhemina shook her head. She was panting now, and Mildred could feel her chest tightening in response as she trailed her fingers further down, where the spine corrected and compensated and bulged in the opposite direction. 

“Electroshock therapy.”

Wilhemina had barely spoken, barely whispered. But Mildred heard her, completely and solely focused on this poor, fragile, broken thing beneath her. And she couldn’t help the way her heart lodged in her throat. 

“W-Why?” she asked softly, her thumb brushing absently over a particularly bad scar. 

Wilhemina took a deep breath, fingers flexing in the sheets. “There was a time where they thought it would help. A misalignment of the neurotransmitters firing. Especially with younger patients. I was already through puberty. It wouldn’t have made a difference. But I was broken. They were desperate. I was the shame—“

“—shame of your family,” Mildred finished for her. And she surprised herself when a tear fell onto her cheek. A quick swipe of her thumb and it was gone, and she leaned down and pressed a small kiss at the very top of Wilhemina’s spine. “You’re not the only one.” 

Wilhemina shifted in her lap, fingers tracing Mildred’s knee as her breaths pulled long and shaky. As they slowed. 

Mildred closed her eyes, centering herself. “Did they do the final surgery? With the pins and the staples?” 

And she hated herself for how clinical it sounded when she asked. She wanted to be vulnerable. Wanted to be softer. For her. 

For her. 

But Wilhemina didn’t seem to mind, only shaking her head and sighing, her eyes fluttering closed. “I was pushed out of the house after the shock therapy didn’t work. And by the time I had earned enough of my own money to pay for the surgery, I was too old. It was too late.”

“It’s never too late,” Mildred tried, the motto ringing through her head. 

“But it was,” Wilhemina replied, her voice low and raspy. “Even if it would have worked, I was already an adult. I was already... who I was. And I didn’t know who I was without my disability. Without my cane. Without my past and my pain and my perseverance. I’m not myself without this. And I can’t fully be myself with it.”

Mildred hummed, shaking her head softly. Because she knew. Of course she knew. The more she spoke to Wilhemina, the more she was convinced that they were the same person. The same soul, split between two bodies. With the same wants and needs and desires. 

Her fingers skimmed down Wilhemina’s spine for what felt like the hundredth time, and suddenly she had this all-consuming need to memorize the exact shape of it. The exact way that it bulged and twisted and dipped. The exact way that this faulty thing kept this woman up and held her on her feet. 

Another kiss. A sigh. And then, fingers shaking as they pulled through Wilhemina’s hair, brushing it back from her face. 

“I know exactly what you mean.” 

“Stay with me,” Wilhemina breathed, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of Mildred’s thigh. And Mildred’s fingers stuttered in her hair as another tear fell, unbidden, onto her cheek. 

Because she wanted to. She was pulled tight to this woman, an anomaly of existence, the very piece of her that she had always felt was missing, that she had always been searching for. 

But she could never be so irresponsible to leave her home and leave her work and settle in with a woman that she had only known for two days. 

“Stupid, idiotic girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Could she? 

~~~ 

She had said no. And Wilhemina had broken right there, exposed and entirely too vulnerable, in her lap. 

She had cried herself to sleep that night, curled against Mildred as she cooed and shushed her and stroked delicate fingers through her hair. 

And when she woke in the morning, filled with the smell of Mildred and the feel of Mildred and the taste of Mildred still on her tongue, everything seemed a bit grey. 

They made breakfast, speaking politely and laughing occasionally. Always broken, always half-formed. Got dressed and ready for the day, separately. Dolled themselves up in different types of armor—pantyhose, gloves, skirts, glasses. 

And then Mildred left. 

And then, she came back. 

It was like the universe couldn’t fathom them being apart, a rip torn through their plane of existence when Mildred boarded her train and went back home, clear across the country. 

Wilhemina hadn’t gone with her to the station, but she could feel when she left the city, when she left the state. It was a series of ties being broken, strings snapping in her chest as each one was pulled to breaking and eventually gave out. 

Except the last one. The one that left a buzzing in Wilhemina’s ear, a ringing every time her cane tapped down that sounded so awfully close to the way Mildred sighed just as she was about to orgasm. The way she hummed, barely audible, when they kissed. 

That tie remained. And one day, almost three months later, it got hotter. 

Wilhemina had been making dinner, listening to the television drone on as she stirred her pasta in the pot, when her chest warmed. It was so sudden and so all-consuming that she almost dropped her tongs, Mildred’s name pounding through her head on a loop. 

She had known what was coming before it did. She could sense her presence. Could practically see her smoothing down her skirt and running a finger over the brim of her hat as she walked up Wilhemina’s drive. 

But the knock on the door — soft, three times — had still made Wilhemina jump, a lump of emotion lodging in her throat as she grabbed for her cane and walked slowly to the front door. 

She knew it was her. Deep down, she knew it in her soul. They were tied together, whether Wilhemina liked it or not. But there was still that tiny, nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her not to get her hopes up. That wishing only led to disappointment. 

Until she opened the door, heart pounding, and saw Mildred Ratched standing perfectly straight on her doorstep, a singular suitcase in hand. 

“Millie,” Wilhemina breathed, like she needed confirmation. Like she was seeing a ghost. 

Mildred swallowed, the smallest of smiles pushing at her lips. 

“I was transferred to an institution not far from here,” she said softly, pointing absently behind her before ducking her head against her blush. 

But Wilhemina caught it. She caught everything with this masterpiece. 

“I couldn’t stand the thought of living in this city and...” She cleared her throat, fingers fidgeting with the handle of her suitcase. “And being apart from you.”

And just as Wilhemina glanced past her at the taxi sitting idle in the street, Mildred looked up, eyes glassy and almost vibrating with emotion. 

“Does your offer still stand?”

Wilhemina had to physically bite the inside of her cheek to keep tears from her eyes, her fingers itching and playing on the top of her cane accordingly. 

“Are the rest of your bags in the taxi?” Wilhemina asked, trying not to focus on the way Mildred’s chin was trembling. Trying not to hear the pounding in her head to kiss her. 

Mildred nodded, and then Wilhemina was moving past her. A gloved hand skimmed over Wilhemina’s shoulder as she passed, just fleeting enough to be a tap.

“I haven’t paid the driver yet, I—“

But Wilhemina turned, and the angle was exactly like the first time she had walked past her in that stuffy university. But this time, the setting sun was glinting off of Mildred’s hair and there was a hope in her eyes, an intimacy that had Wilhemina’s hand tightening on her cane to keep her balance. 

“You go inside,” she started, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. “Make yourself comfortable, set your things down. I’ll retrieve the rest of your bags and take care of the cab fare.” 

It’s the least I can do, for him bringing you back to me.

Not even five minutes later, Mildred’s luggage was stacked in the foyer and the cab was driving away as Wilhemina stalked back up the short walk to her door. 

She had expected Mildred to be sitting at the dining table, or putting her things in the bedroom. But to her surprise, when she closed the door, locked it safely behind her, and turned, Mildred was standing in the middle of her entryway, still holding tight to her suitcase and watching Wilhemina with sharp eyes. 

Wilhemina tapped her cane, swallowing, and she didn’t miss the way Mildred’s eyes flicked to it. 

And then, just like that, Mildred dropped her suitcase and practically ran to Wilhemina, gloved hands pulling her face down, pulling their mouths together.

Wilhemina let herself moan, tears instantly pricking her eyes at the memory of how good this felt. How right. And then Mildred’s hands were on her waist and she was pushing her back against the door. Hard. 

“I missed you so much, Mina,” she breathed between kisses, peppering them over Wilhemina’s cheeks and down her jaw. 

And then the tears did fall, because she had missed Mildred, too. So, incredibly much. More than she would have missed the air she breathed, the food she ate. More than she had ever missed anyone or anything in her entire life. 

Her soul had been ripped from her, torn away and shipped off across the country. And now it was back, and with every kiss, they sewed themselves back together. 

Stitch by stitch. Piece by piece. 

~~~ 

She crowned herself with her nurse’s hat, pinning her hair back carefully around it and buttoning it up in the back. Wilhemina watched her. Watched the way she stood a bit straighter. Watched the way her feet came together and she shifted her weight, perfectly even. Perfectly level. 

Wilhemina walked over, drawn to her like a magnet. And her cane clicked as she went, tapping down beside her and forcing a smirk to curl Mildred’s lips as she glanced at Wilhemina in the mirror. 

She walked right up to her, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling Mildred back against her chest as her mouth found her ear. 

“You look impeccable, darling.”

Mildred quirked a brow, eyes like daggers as they bored into Wilhemina from the mirror. She hummed. 

“Almost good enough to eat.” Wilhemina pressed a kiss to her jaw, letting her eyes rake over Mildred’s perfect neck, the way it quivered as she swallowed, the shine of her hair pulled up in impeccable fashion just above her collar. She fingered the fabric there, letting her nails scrape over the soft skin just below her ear. 

“Why don’t you take a bite, hm?” Mildred’s voice caught as Wilhemina’s nail pricked against her pulse point, and when she spoke again it was low, raspy. Dangerous. “See what happens.”

Wilhemina growled, leaning forward and tugging her earlobe between her teeth. She pulled Mildred flush against her, hand splaying out on her stomach. And Mildred gasped as her fingers found Wilhemina’s thigh, nails piercing the fabric. Wilhemina felt her swallow down a moan, tense, stutter. And then there was a long breath and a shaky sigh, and the nails in Wilhemina’s leg retracted as Mildred pulled away. 

“I can’t be late for my first day of work, dear.” 

She brushed down her dress, straightening out that perfectly pinned crown and putting the finishing touches on her hair. 

And then, before Wilhemina could blink, Mildred wrapped her slender fingers around her tie and pulled her forward, dragging her out of the bedroom and through the house to the front door. 

A disapproving tap of her cane, a small frown, and then Mildred had her purse and pressed a soft kiss to Wilhemina’s cheek, skirting out the door with a dark, “See you tonight, cinnamon.” 

And she almost felt like it was a threat. 

~~~ 

Wilhemina had never known love. 

She had told Mildred flat out over dinner one night when traumas and pasts and fears were all laid bare on the table. 

Mildred was different. She had known it and lost it. Seen people shattered beyond repair because of it. And she had put up those brick and mortar walls around her heart so that she couldn’t feel that kind of sadness ever again. 

Yet somehow, every night that she came home to Wilhemina’s arms and her small smile and her absolute and complete honesty, she felt those walls start to fall. Little by little, brick by brick. And every morning when she awoke in her lover’s arms, after breakfasts shared and dressed zipped and buttoned, she had to rebuild it. Fortify herself for the world that lay just outside their door. The evil of it. The hurt. 

It became all-consuming, this uneasy thought of love. It permeated every minute of her waking day, and haunted her dreams like some sort of cruel, intangible thing. But she always woke in Wilhemina’s arms. Safe and protected and entirely too vulnerable. 

And one day, one tiny day that should have been absolutely nothing, Mildred was so consumed with the inkling of possibility of falling entirely too hard in love with Wilhemina, and what that meant for her future in this world, that she lost herself. Faltered, for a moment. Had to do up the buttons of her uniform twice before getting them to align. And forgot her lunch as she grabbed her purse and walked out the door. 

~~~ 

It wasn’t unusual for Mildred to leave for work before Wilhemina did. It wasn’t unusual that she left for work before Wilhemina was even awake and out of bed. 

At first it had scared Wilhemina, waking up alone and cold in a bed that had been so comforting and warm just hours before. Abandoned. Forgotten. 

But Mildred had only been in the kitchen, cracking her eggs with such precision that Wilhemina had almost decided right then and there never to touch another egg again. 

It just so happened that Mildred’s mornings got earlier just as Wilhemina’s nights got longer, the flex and pull of their schedules only crossing at certain points. A whirlwind of a double helix in flux. 

Those days, Mildred would slip out of bed so quietly that Wilhemina wouldn’t even notice, usually awoken by the inevitable cold of an empty bed, rather than some sound from the bathroom or clattering from the kitchen. 

Today had been no different. Today had been routine. Until Wilhemina opened the refrigerator almost three hours after Mildred had gone, only to find her lunch sitting packed and abandoned on the second shelf. 

It wasn’t even a thought, the decision to take it to her. Just an action. The institution was on her way to work — well, almost on her way — and Wilhemina was already running early. It was nothing. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Wilhemina picked through the patients that crowded the common room, pursing her lips against the disgusted expression that was forming against her will. She stepped carefully, cane tapping lightly as she watched where she was going. The facility was impeccable, but this space, so unlike the hall, belonged to the patients. Not the nurses. Blankets were left forgotten on the ground, and shoes had been kicked off. And Wilhemina was just uncomfortable enough to worry about losing her footing. 

She made it all the way to the other side of the room, coming up on a window like a sanctuary, before she realized that Mildred wasn’t here. 

But just as the thought crossed her mind and she leaned forward to peer outside, Wilhemina heard her. 

It was easy enough. The rooms were lavish, but mostly tile, and Mildred’s voice tended to carry, no matter how soft. But right now, it was hard. Harder than Wilhemina had ever heard it. 

“I don’t care if he won’t take it, he needs it. If he doesn’t take his medicine, then not only will it put everyone else here at risk, but how soon can we expect them all to start refusing their medication? They need it, Betsy. They don’t know what is good for them. We know what is best.”

Wilhemina turned from the window, Mildred’s lunch clutched between gloved fingers. And Mildred must have noticed the movement, because she looked up. But just as Wilhemina let her guard down and offered a small smile, fingers twitching in a half wave, Mildred’s face melted, something like humiliation flushing through her perfect complexion as she marched straight to Wilhemina. 

Shit. 

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here?” Mildred whispered, gripping her fingers into Wilhemina’s elbow and pulling her back across the room to the nurse’s station. 

“You forgot your lunch,” Wilhemina tried, keeping her voice down. Because somehow this was what wasn’t allowed. This was what was compromising. 

A lunch. 

Mildred’s humiliation shifted to horror, glancing for maybe the first time down at Wilhemina’s hands. 

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I don’t understand what the issue is, Nurse Ratched.” Wilhemina made sure to drag out her title. Just a bit too loud. Because she couldn’t seriously be upset with her for trying to be kind. For trying to do the right thing. She couldn’t possibly— 

Mildred’s eyes narrowed before she glanced behind her. And when she spoke, it was through gritted teeth. 

“Go set that down over there.” She indicated to a desk in the corner of the room. “And then go back to work before you screw something else up.”

A flat laugh fell out of Wilhemina almost before she could help it, fingers tightening on the bagged lunch. And before she knew what she was doing, she had shoved it into Mildred’s hands, leaning in impossibly close as she growled.

“Go set it down yourself.” She tapped her cane, too hard. Too loud. A few of the patients covered their ears. “You can be certain that this is the last time I ever do you any favors. Do you understand?”

Mildred’s nostrils flared, and her fingers twitched over the bag. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

And then Wilhemina straightened, nose twitching as she quirked her brow. “And let’s hope you never need it again.”

And then she was gone, breezing past Mildred before she said something else and the tears sticking in Wilhemina’s throat pushed up and fell. 

She heard the bag crunch as she hit her cane on the floor, propelling herself forward, one step after the other, closer and closer to the exit. And she hated the way she hoped for Mildred’s voice to ring out, to call her back. 

She almost looked back over her shoulder, a moment of weakness that she couldn’t afford. So she ducked her head instead, plowing ahead and storming down the hallway. Out the doors. All the way down the stairs to the street. 

She fumed in the taxi, fumed all the way to her desk. Fumed for the next nine and a half hours that she sat at work, fingers picking at her typewriter as she swiveled back and forth in her chair, digging and twisting her cane into the weak wood floors as she ran over arguments and words to spit at her Mildred. Her Mildred. Nurse Ratched. 

They weren’t the same woman. But neither was she. How could she be? 

By the time Jefferson came to get her, going over final plans for the next day and collecting her paperwork, she had dug a nice little dent into the floor. 

Small, deep. A bullet hole kneaded slowly and steadily. Just like the one Mildred’s words had worn into her heart. 

~~~ 

“You wouldn’t like it if I showed up at your place of work without warning, would you?” Mildred’s voice was steady, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Don’t—“ 

“Would you?” 

Wilhemina’s cane hit the ground. “Stop that. Don’t treat me like you treat them. Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Like what? I’m just asking a simple question. The answer is either yes, or no.”

“Mildred, stop shrinking me.”

“You think I’m trying to control you?”

“No,” Wilhemina growled, stalking over to her as the last of her patience wore through. “I know you’re trying to control me. And you know that that’s not how this relationship works.” 

She bent over Mildred, practically panting, and Mildred was shocked when a pang of regret shot through her. But then something hardened, because no. Wilhemina didn’t get to win this one. She had come to her office out of the blue. Could have exposed them. Put them both in danger. 

Because Mildred had been careless. Forgotten her lunch. All for being so consumed with the idea of—

Mildred tipped her chin up, eyes hard as they met Wilhemina’s fiery ones. She stood her ground. 

“Apologize.”

Wilhemina set her jaw. “No.”

She leaned up on her toes, leveling their height. “Apologize.”

Wilhemina shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing as her nose twitched. As her jaw set. 

And then there were hands on Mildred’s shoulders and Wilhemina’s mouth was on hers, hard and fast and furious as she pushed her back, back, back, slamming her hard against the wall. 

“Fuck,” Mildred hissed, and then Mina broke from her, mouth on her ear as she purred. 

“Language.” 

She scoffed, shoving at her, needing her off of her so that she could breathe. Think. Because when her hands were on her like this, and she was breathing like this, quick and ragged and right behind her ear, Mildred’s mind only comprehended one thing. 

“Mina,” she tried, nails digging in as Wilhemina pulled her off the wall for a split second, only to throw her back against it again. She cried out, something hard knotting over her heart. 

So this was how it was going to be? Fine. 

Mildred lunged forward, kissing Wilhemina sloppily, desperately. Any way she could hold on to some semblance of control. 

And she gasped, just as Mildred knew she would. So she took the opening, gripping hard into her waist and pushing her off, before her nails raked down Wilhemina’s arm and her fingers closed around her wrist. 

Mildred pulled, yanking Wilhemina after her, across the living room, around the sofa. Down the short hallway, pulling harder every time Wilhemina tried to plant her feet. Until she threw her into the bedroom, Mina practically spinning around and pinning Mildred against the wall, the door jam digging into her spine. 

She cried out, hands flying to Wilhemina’s shoulders. Clawing at her. Grappling for something to hold her down and hold her steady so she could get her advantage back. 

“You’re so fucking infuriating,” Wilhemina growled, biting hard on Mildred’s neck. But no. She didn’t get to win. 

So she pushed, hard, and sent Mina stumbling back. And Mildred was right there, stalking after her and shoving again, and this time, when Wilhemina stumbled, she landed hard on the bed. 

Mildred was over her in seconds, panting as she crushed her mouth back against Wilhemina’s, tongues fighting as their teeth clashed. Her fingers found buttons and she yanked, the rip cutting through the room. 

She didn’t even wait for Wilhemina to shrug the shirt off, fingers already dug into the waistband of her skirt and rucking it down, down, down. 

She got it down around her ankles, but as she braced herself on Mina’s knees and pulled herself back up, Wilhemina’s hand found her chin, pulling her in for a bruising kiss and holding her firm as her free hand flicked open the buttons on her shirt, one by one, so fast it should have been impossible. 

“Get your shirt off,” Mildred panted, hands scrambling to find purchase on Mina as she crawled up on the bed and straddled her. 

But Mina pulled back, a smirk like death making her eyes go black. 

“Ladies first.” 

And that was the last straw. Mildred’s patience had already been tested from the ordeal this morning, amplified by the unexpectedness of Wilhemina showing up at her work. That stupid, thoughtful way she brought her the forgotten lunch. The tiny wave. Like she cared. Like she—

Mildred growled, practically a scream as she grabbed Wilhemina’s shoulders and shoved her down until she was swallowed by the mattress. Splayed a hand out over her chest to keep her pinned. Keep her down. 

She could feel Mina’s heart hammering, could feel how fast she was panting. Gasping. 

Nails clawed at her arm, dragging down as Mildred cried out. There would be blood soon. She knew that feeling. 

But then Wilhemina pulled her hand from her chest, twining their fingers hard and pressing hot, wet, quick kisses down over the already reddening marks. Yanked her fingers back. Licked. Right over her palm. 

Mildred moaned, the feeling going straight to her core, and then her hands were in Wilhemina’s hair and she was pulling her neck taunt to get better access. So she could bite and suck and mark her for everyone to see. 

She sat up on her knees, gaining leverage. And Mina’s hands were on her ass in an instant, kneading. Hard. 

“Logic would imply that I shouldn’t let you touch me until you apologize,” Mildred managed, back to base form as she leaned into Mina’s hands. As she moaned into her neck. 

Her teeth dug into a particularly sensitive spot, pinching the already flushed skin. And just as Mina gasped, just as she thought she’d won, Mina’s hands fell to her thighs, the world spun, and she was on her back. And Mina’s hand was wrapped tight around her throat. 

“No more talking,” she growled, her free hand scraping roughly down Mildred’s stomach, under the band of her skirt, and straight between her thighs. 

“Fuck, Mina,” Mildred gasped, the words melting into a groan as her thumb slid over her underwear. 

Wilhemina shoved her further into the bed, fingers tightening. And Mildred’s vision blurred at the edges as she gasped for breath. 

Perfect. Delicious. Exactly what she wanted. 

No talking. Only feeling. Only Wilhemina. 

But then Mina spoke, voice hot by her ear. 

“I said no talking. I don’t want another word out of you until you’re ready to apologize.”

She pushed her underwear aside on the last word, slipping two fingers easily inside. Mildred cried out, hands grabbing for the arm braced on her throat and holding on tight as her hips started rocking of their own accord. 

“Apologize for what,” she panted, eyes screwing shut as Mina curled her fingers. 

A flat laugh. A squeeze to her throat. Heat pooling between her thighs. 

“For making an entire scene just because I brought you your lunch. Because I took time out of my day to make sure you were taken care of.”

Mildred was slammed back into the mattress again. 

“What does your logic say about that, Nurse Ratched?”

There were tears pricking at Mildred’s eyes now, because she wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t. But Wilhemina’s fingers picked up their pace, and then her mouth was on hers, and Mildred knew exactly what was coming. 

Mina bit down on her lip. Hard. Yanked at it, pulling until Mildred whimpered. 

“Apologize,” she growled, fingers twisting and curling and nails pricking against Mildred’s throat. 

Mildred barely had the competence to shake her head no, but she managed it. Because as loud as her body was screaming with a need for more, for so much more of this woman, her brain wouldn’t let her. 

The rational part of Mildred’s brain kept the words stuck down in her throat, pounding that she didn’t need to say them. That this wasn’t her fault. That she had only been protecting herself. But the sentimental part kept pushing them back up again, harder and harder the longer Mildred stared at Wilhemina, eyes dark and predatory and so filled with hurt. 

“I’m not letting you come until you apologize,” Wilhemina scolded, nails scratching over Mildred’s throat as her fingers moved faster, harder. Her thumb brushed over her clit. 

Mildred sobbed, entire body vibrating with the beg for release. 

It almost felt like she was choking, the way she was swallowing the words down, only for them to get stuck again. Suffocate her. 

Wilhemina shook her head softly, holding Mildred’s eye contact like a lifeline as the smallest smile graced her lips. An angel above her. Salvation. 

And that was it. Mildred broke for the millionth time with this woman, relinquishing control. 

Letting go. 

Her orgasm hit her without Mina’s permission, shaking through her body and sending lightning down her spine. And the words were pulled from her just before her vision went black, hands twisting on Mina’s arm and toes curling hard in the sheets. 

“I lo-ove you.” 

She didn’t realize that she hadn’t apologized, the wrong words coming out of her, until she blinked her vision back and saw Wilhemina’s wide eyes, clarity piercing through whatever hurt and determination had been there just moments before. 

And then Mildred realized why the words had burned so hot in her throat. It wasn’t an apology. It was the truth. The reason. The explanation of why she had behaved the way she did and why she had lashed out. Why she had felt so scared and vulnerable that she couldn’t emotionally handle seeing Wilhemina somewhere she didn’t expect her. 

She wanted to apologize then, wanted to take them back. Because she had let herself slip. Again. And all it seemed to be doing was causing more trouble. She wasn’t tampering anything down, she was spinning the world further and further out of control. Unthreading her reality and watching the picture unravel before her eyes. 

“How do you always seem to mess everything up?”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“Everything you touch turns to dust. How is that even possible? You should win some sort of prize for screwing this many things up. I swear.”

Wilhemina’s hand over hers brought her back, the air deathly still as Mildred’s voice rang off the walls. Over and over and over. 

She met Wilhemina’s eyes, heart still hammering in her chest as she fought to regulate her breathing. To calm herself down. It had always been so easy. Why was it so difficult now? 

“Does that scare you...?” Mina asked softly, shifting over her as her gaze burned through Mildred. 

Before she knew what she was doing, she nodded. Because it did. She did.

And Wilhemina matched her, nodding in time. “It scares me, too.” 

At that she did apologize, a soft “I’m sorry” falling from her lips in a last desperate attempt to calm the situation. To salvage the last piece of anything. To pull control back down over herself. 

But Wilhemina only shook her head, a softness in her eyes that Mildred had never seen before. 

“Don’t apologize.” 

And then that heavy silence. So familiar. So comfortable. Give their souls space. Let them figure it out. 

The words would come when they were ready. 

Wilhemina sniffed, tracing her thumb over Mildred’s cheek. “Do you remember when I told you that I had never known love?” 

And Mildred nodded again, finding herself unable to do anything else with the way Mina was staring at her. Eyes glittering. Galaxies. 

“I’m not sure that’s true anymore,” she whispered, gaze falling to Mildred’s mouth. Across the ages and spaces and miles between them. It could only have been inches now. “I don’t think it’s been true for a while.” 

Mildred let the words swim around her, furnishing her sanctuary here, pressed into a bed underneath Wilhemina. Locked in orbit, pulled in tight and unable to do anything but stare. 

She startled as a tear fell onto her cheek, swiping at it quickly as she sniffed. Came back to the present. The room fell back into place. 

And then her world, her life, her eternity, her Wilhemina kissed her. 

“My beautiful Millie,” she murmured, kissing her until she couldn’t breathe. Until the world swam again, this time for a completely different reason, happiness and joy threading through her and pouring like stardust in her veins. 

“Yours.” 

~~~ 

“Shall we?” 

Mildred threaded her arm through Wilhemina’s, pushing her hair up and letting her fingers ghost over the rim of her hat. 

“I’d love nothing more, Ms. Venable.” 

And the way that they walked together, their steps perfectly in time, Wilhemina’s cane tapping as she moved forward steadily, one foot after the other, matched with Mildred’s calculated walk, the way her feet barely crossed and she was almost pigeon-toed, like she was strutting down a runway. 

It should have been illegal, just after the war. It should have been frowned upon. But the power that flowed off of them when they were arm in arm like this, the way Mildred’s heart swelled and her chin tipped up and she managed to physically look down on everyone in her path, had people scattering like rats as their heels clicked along the tile. 

And the entire night, everyone at Wilhemina’s office party steered more than clear of them. Hushed whispers behind their backs had Wilhemina’s hands skirting just a bit too far down Mildred’s hips as she took small sips of her champagne, setting her gloved fingers itching and her thighs pressing together under her perfectly asymmetrical skirt. 

And Mildred made it a point to turn her head, just so, and whisper in Wilhemina’s ear whenever she was mid-conversation with her coworkers. Sometimes it was nothing. Sometimes it was filthy. 

But either way, she knew just the breath on Wilhemina’s ear was enough to make her pulse run a bit quicker. 

And sure enough, before dinner was even served, Wilhemina had made some sort of excuse and the two of them were running from the taxi, through the rain, and huddling together on the porch as Mina dug for her key. 

That night was her favorite night. 

Both of them soaked to the bone, sharing over-poured glasses of wine, half-dressed and drying out in front of the fireplace. 

And when Wilhemina gave her that smile, that particularly fond smile where her cheeks pushed up and her eyes softened, Mildred pushed her tongue into her cheek, fighting her own grin. 

They kissed until the fire burnt out, embers barely flickering in the black room. And just as the last of the light died, Mildred and Wilhemina sticky and naked and curled together on the floor, Wilhemina made to get up. 

Mildred’s hand on her arm stopped her, and she snuggled further against her to keep her still. 

“No light tonight,” she said softly. And she meant it. 

She wasn’t frightened. Not now. Not anymore. 

“Millie?” 

And Mildred let herself smile as she nodded. Because she had never been more certain of anything than she was of loving Wilhemina in this moment, and of letting herself be loved in return. Letting herself go. 

The world wasn’t logical. The world wasn’t ordered. Not when it came to her. Wilhemina had come in and spun her right out of control. And she kept doing it. Over and over again. Like it was a game. 

Maybe it was. 

And as Mildred leaned forward, capturing Mina’s lips in a languid kiss and humming contentedly, she realized that she was absolutely fine losing, if it meant that she got to have this. 

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