#so i’m really curious who else they are going to sign

[pierregazly]

tying you to me ꨄ max verstappen

max verstappen x reader

warnings: sweet max, random coincidences to lovers trope, happy ending [wc: 4.3k]

[4 times] in which something coincidentally led back to max, and the [1 time] it turned out nothing was just a coincidence (in which everything has always tied max to you).

Time, curious time  Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs  Were there clues I didn't see? 

It felt like a never-ending nightmare. 

One thing after another, one bad day after another, one bad week after the next. It felt like it was never going to end. 

The person that was supposed to be that person, the man that was supposed to be forever, the person that was going to be standing at the end of the aisle... leaving with a simple apology and a ‘I’m sorry, it’s me, not you’... it was incomprehensible.  

It had been weeks, and you still couldn’t wrap your head around what had gone wrong. Was he telling the truth? Was it really him? Or was it you? Had you done something wrong? Had it been you that caused the blunder? The inevitable demise?  

Everyone had been adamant that it wasn’t you, it was so evident it wasn’t meant to be. Nothing connected to him, there were no signs pointing to him being the one, there was no inevitable connection. But even with those words of affirmation, it didn’t change the internal feelings, the internal heartbreak that felt like it was never going to end. 

All you ever wanted was that connection, that string, that feeling, that pulled you to another person, that proved they were the person meant to be for you. It was devastating to think back and know that it was so obvious, he just wasn’t that person. 

The coffee shop you currently sat in had become a morning staple after the last few weeks. After coming back to Monaco for a much-needed reprieve from the rest of the world, the little coffee shop nestled into the charming walls of Monte-Carlo had become a necessary distraction to the outside. 

The employees all knew you by name now, often passing by the table and inquiring about your day, inquiring about the book you were reading, or the work assignment shown on your computer screen. Always engaging in polite conversation back, it was one of your favourite places to be. 

People-watching was the only negative of it. The loving couples who passed through, all cuddled up together as they ordered their drinks for their walk throughout the city, the older couples who sat just tables away and reminisced on their lives together. It was the only thing that drove you crazy about the charming little shop.  

Watching them occupied your thoughts more time’s than you cared to admit. Daydreaming and losing focus on the outside world was a commonality, especially in the little coffee shop. 

It was exactly where you found yourself currently, your eye’s peering to the left as you watched an older man place his hand over who you assumed to be his wife’s hand. Their wedding bands shining brightly in the Monaco sun, soft smiles on their faces as they peered at one another, your heart begging to be let out of this turmoil, begging you to turn away and focus on something else, anything else. 

Its wish was granted when you felt the cold of a drink begin to sink into your shirt, instantly soaking your skin, a gasp of shock falling from your lips. 

“Oh god, I am so sorry. I just turned around and you were right there, let me grab some cloths, please.” 

You knew instantly it was your own fault, you hadn’t been paying attention, more focused on the elderly couple, prompting the person in front of you to spill their... was that Red Bull? On your shirt? 

“Is this Red Bull?”  

The man in front of you grimaced as he handed you the dry cloths, a small smile falling across his lips while his eyes crinkled with the movement of his face. A bit of a cute look, you thought to yourself while beginning to dab at your shirt as the smell of the energy drink wafted up your nose. 

“Yes, I’m so sorry. I don’t drink coffee often, but my sister wanted to stop here because she had heard good things, I was just waiting for her drink while she took a quick call outside. I really only drink Red Bull in public when I have to, or when I’m getting paid to. I thought it was her behind me when I whipped around like that, I’m so sorry. Please, can I buy you a coffee as an apology? Or a tea?” 

You weren’t entirely sure if the rambling was out of nerves that you were going to overreact over the spilt drink, or if he just simply felt like he owed it to you to explain the entire incident and how it came about in full description. 

The frustration that was brewing was not at all a fault of the cute man in front of you, but an accumulation of days of sadness, an irregular appetite, and just a combination of heartbreak. 

Trying to keep the tears of frustration at bay, you instantly shook your head towards the cute man in front of you. “Thank you, but no. Obviously this is a sign I need to go home, sorry for spilling your drink.” 

Before he could get the chance to say anything back, you were forcing yourself to rush out of the coffee shop before an outburst could erupt from inside of you. You hadn’t even noticed the look of intrigue that the Dutchman gave you. 

Bad was the blood of the song in the cab  On your first trip to LA  You ate at my favorite spot for dinner 

The memory of the handsome Dutchman in the small coffee shop left your mind not long before the happy memories of your ex-boyfriend finally forced themselves out of your head. Things had finally begun looking up, the more time you spent with your friends, the more time you spent focusing on work and the hopeful promotion that would come with it. 

Although, your boss had insisted you take a few weeks off, citing the fact you were there more than anyone she knew, and that burnout was inevitable if you didn’t take the much deserved and obligated time off. The amount of overtime and banked hours allowing you to take the time off with full pay just made it easier to agree. 

Which was exactly how you found yourself just south of Zurich, the snow whipping past your face as the ski lift ascended higher and higher up the mountain. Your friends giggled beside you, smiles lighting up everyone’s faces. 

Winter break, although cold and snowy, was always a fan favourite amongst your friend group. It was exhilarating, you hadn’t had the chance to attend the annual ski trip while you were with your ex-boyfriend, he hated skiing and anything including winter sports.  

It’s what made the trip even better, getting the chance to catch up with your friends and their partners, the chance to laugh, and drink, and just smile again. It was all worth it.  

The group of guys in the ski lift behind obviously had the same idea, hooting and hollering at each other as the ski lift continued its ascent. You couldn’t decipher what they were saying, the words in a different language, but the name ‘Max’ seemed to be a commonality. Maybe someone was missing their dog while on vacation? Who knows.  

After hours of skiing, the alcohol in the ski lodge was flowing. The laughter and happiness from every group was prevalent, everyone there was so obviously happy to get away from the real world. It’s what places like that were for. 

“That guy over there can’t stop looking at you,” jostled out of your thoughts by one of your friends, you followed her head inclination to one of the tables a few rows down, a familiar face looking back at you inquisitorially.  

It took you a second to place his face, the day in the coffee shop floating back to your mind prompting a small laugh to fall from your lips.  

“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull all over me when I ran into him in the coffee shop in Monaco, remember?” 

It had been a running joke, a typical meet-cute in a coffee shop, but instead of spilt coffee... a spilt Red Bull.  

“That’s the guy who spilt the Red Bull on you?” 

One of your friend’s boyfriends gaped at you, as he continuously maneuvered his look between you and the man in question. Nodding your head, he continued to gape at you. 

“Don’t you know who that is?” Giving him a look, you shook your head. 

“That’s the Max Verstappen. Three-time Formula 1 World Champion? Dutch God? Second-coming of the Formula 1 Jesus?” 

You recognized the name, having heard it at the few races you had attended, but you never would’ve been able to place the name to the face otherwise. 

A laugh erupted from one of the other members of the group, a shove directed at the other man. “I think you've got Verstappen mixed up with Lewis Hamilton.”  

“He’s kinda cute, huh?” One of the girls pointed out to you, a small giggle falling from her lips as she looked over towards the man in question, his eyes meeting yours as you looked in his direction again. 

His hair was flopped over, obviously a combination of a long day wearing a ski helmet and a hat, mixed with the combination of the sweat and heat that engulfed the inside of the lodge made him look even more attractive. Windswept, tipsy, and overall, just happy. 

“So much better than that last loser.” A mutual agreement of ‘yes’, ‘obviously’, and ‘fucking no wonder’, floated throughout your group at your friend’s words. 

Shrugging them off, you just laughed and pushed the conversation in another direction and away from the man sitting across the room, who seemed as if he couldn’t take his eyes off you at all. 

As the night started to dwindle down, you bid goodnight to the remaining group of friends and started your route back to your room. 

“At least I have nothing to spill on you tonight.” 

Directing your gaze to the voice at hand, your eyes made direct contact with the blue irises of Max Verstappen.  

Quirking an eyebrow at him as a small laugh left your lips, “I’m sure the bars fully stocked with drinks you could spill on me. You’re just not trying hard enough.” 

A loud guffaw fell from the man’s mouth, his hands instinctively covering his mouth as he laughed. You couldn’t help the heat that grew on your cheeks at his reaction, his smile directed towards you when he finally moved his hands from his face. 

“I’m so very sorry. Next time I run into you, I’ll try to make sure I have a full drink in hand to spill on you.” 

“Oh, you plan on running into me again?” 

Shrugging his shoulders with a small grin, the Dutchman just laughed. “Well, I ran into the person I spilt a Red Bull in a coffee shop on in one of my favourite places in Switzerland, I’m sure I’m bound to run into you again. Things happen in three’s, don’t they?” 

Max ran a hand through his hair as he smiled at you, before either of you could get the chance to say anything else, one of his friends was clapping a hand against his shoulder with a boisterous laugh. 

“Time to get out of here, mate. Say goodnight to the pretty girl,” he said. 

You felt your cheeks heating again, as Max smiled at you in farewell, a small wave from both of you any indication of goodbye as you both walked away. 

Time, mystical time  Cuttin' me open, then healin' me fine  Were there clues I didn't see? 

F1 race weekends were as fun as they were busy. Any race you had attended since you were an intern was always focused primarily on working. Getting the opportunity to attend a race with your friends, in Melbourne, without having to worry about work or advertising, or anything else, was obviously the best way to spend it. 

Lou, one of your friends linked her arm with yours as she basically skipped through the hospitality area, pointing out the different garages as she got a glimpse of them. Her boyfriend, Nick, had gotten both of you passes through his own work, a long-term employee of McLaren meant that the both of you had been spoiled for the weekend. 

"Maybe you’ll end up running into Max again, imagine? A third little meet-cute,” she said, with a giggle.  

Rolling your eyes at her, you just laughed as she grinned back. “Don’t roll your eyes at me! It’s totally possible, I’m sure Nick could totally convince Lando to convince Max to pass by the garage or the hospitality. We could totally orchestrate it.” 

“Babe, it’s pure coincidence I’ve run into the guy more than once. I’m not like... going out of my way to run into Max Verstappen.” 

Huffing back at you, Lou sent a mock pout in your direction as she continued to drag you through the hospitality center. Passing a stand full of travel cups of coffee, you were eager to grab one as you walked by. 

Before you could even press the lid of the cup to your lips, you were interrupted by the sound of a familiar voice, yet again.  

“Is it your turn to spill something on me, then? I’m having a pretty bad day, and I don’t know if I can handle that.” 

Both you and Lou whipped around to the sound of the man’s voice, the man who just a short time ago had been forced to retire his race due to a faulty and on fire brake. You could practically feel Lou humming with excitement as she looked between you and Max. 

Shoving her hand out in his direction, Lou introduced herself to Max who did the same back. 

“With that, I’m going to see how everything’s going in the garage. Call me if you get lost, yeah?” Without giving you the chance to argue, she bolted away.  

Silently groaning, you looked back towards Max. For someone who just retired from a race he was probably going to win, he seemed relatively calm and relaxed. 

“So, are you?” 

“Am I what?” You questioned back, confused. 

“Are you going to spill your coffee on me, in retaliation for the Red Bull?” Instantly shaking your head, obviously the retirement from the race couldn’t have affected him too negatively, if he was already cracking jokes in your direction. 

“You don’t even know my name, and you’re accusing me of wanting to go out of my way to kick a man when he’s already down?” 

Watching his face fall, you could tell he was about to defend his words. A smile began to cross your face, his eyes jokingly narrowing in your direction. 

Sticking your hand out towards him, you finally introduced yourself, your name falling from his lips as if it was a beautiful word from a testament as he took your hand. It would be embarrassing to say a small spark shot up your arm, but the racing driver had inevitably shocked you, an apology dropping from his lips almost immediately. 

“Terrible race to stalk me at, though. You couldn’t have at least made it a race that I actually stood a chance at winning? Pretty embarrassing to have to retire for such a stupid reason, in front of such a pretty girl.”  

If there was one thing other than racing that Max was good at, it was making your cheeks warm and the butterflies in your stomach spike.  

“Well... I am here as a guest of McLaren... maybe I was just really hoping for a Piastri win. Gotta root for the hometown boy, right?” 

Shaking his head, Max mockingly pressed his hand to his chest and looked at you like he was internally wounded. 

“You’d support McLaren over me? The man who runs into you in the weirdest of places? Who gave you a free Red Bull without a can?” he said. 

You could barely help the small snort that fell from your lips at his words, your hand instantly slapping against your lips in horror. Max openly laughed at your reaction, arm gently hitting your shoulder with a grin. 

“Just for that, I’ll support Ferrari before I support you and your Red Bull’s. I don’t think Charles Leclerc would spill a Red Bull on me.” 

In response, Max grinned and pointed in the direction of the Ferrari garage, the red and yellow prominent amongst the stone. “Shall I go introduce you to Charles, then? He’d probably spill an actual hot coffee on you, at least I didn’t leave any lasting damage.” 

“The trauma of smelling like an original Red Bull for more than 2 hours isn’t enough damage?” you questioned, your eyebrows quirking up at him. 

Max looked at you in horror, “You can’t possibly be saying you don’t think the smell of an original, cold, fresh out of a fridge, Red Bull isn’t just simply lovely. This is potentially the biggest red flag about you.” 

You were quick on your feet, the words dropping from your lips before you could contain them. 

“I guess we’re all on fire today, then. Red flags left and right.” you said with a smirk. 

All Max did was laugh at your words, his head rolling back while his hands placed themselves on his hips.  

Just as he had been the last two times, Max was interrupted before he could continue the conversation, a lady in a Red Bull sweater tapping him on the shoulder to let him know he needed to make his way back to the garage for some interviews that had been requested of him.  

“Nice seeing you again, I’m sure next time I see you, you’ll probably heal more of my Red Bull soaked shirt trauma.”  

The only response he gave was a loud laugh and a wave, as he walked away. 

Time, wondrous time  Gave me the blues and then purple pink skies 

The FIA year-end Gala was exquisite. Everyone was dressed to the nines, the lights were twinking, the service was lovely, and the atmopshere was electric. 

Even though, for almost all of the people there, it was a requirement of their jobs, everyone seemed as if they were having a wonderful time. Mingling with those around them, actively engaging in conversation with co-workers, friends, long-time acquaintances.  

Your boss had elected that you and a fellow co-worker attend in her place, admitting that although she loved the excitement of the night, she needed a break from the glitz and the glam of Formula 1 for a tiny bit. She knew you were more than willing to take her place and do an incredible job.  

Which is exactly how you found yourself at a table with Jack, one of your co-workers, a wide grin on his face as he observed everything going on around him. He was new to the company, just having recently completed his internship and been offered a full-time position with the organization. It was his first time at a Formula 1 event of any kind. 

“Isn’t this brilliant? I’m a huge motorsports fan, I wanted to get into karting when I was a kid but it was just too expensive, my parents couldn’t afford that. I’ve never even had the opportunity to go to a race, and now I’m in the same building, the same room as literal race drivers. Have you been to a race before?” 

You forgot how much he could yap, an almost over-eager human equivalent of an excited golden retriever. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for your answer to his question. 

“I’ve been to a few races for work, and a few privately with some friends. They’re always a great time, you’ll have lots of fun when you start going for work.” you said. 

Grinning at your words, you began to tune him out as he launched into another rant. You were pulled out of your thoughts at the sound of someone saying your name, your head swiveling in the direction of the voice. 

You were almost positive Jack was squealing out loud, as Max Verstappen once again entered your view. Smiling up at him, you stood up to greet the Dutchman, which resulted in him pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek, his hand gently patting you on the back as he did so. 

“I just wanted to come by and say hello. You look very beautiful.”  

Unable to contain the anxious laugh that fell from your lips, you immediately smiled at him. Accepting compliments was obviously not your forte, especially when they were coming from Max, who looked more handsome than ever in his suit, and the wide smile on his cheeks pulling everything together. 

“Never thought I’d see you in anything other than jeans and a Red Bull shirt, Max. You look lovely, as well.” 

“Making fun of me, and a compliment all in one? I will say, I probably would’ve worn jeans if I could, but my public relations manager likely would’ve murdered me and I quite enjoy being alive,” he said. 

Shaking your head in silent laughter, you barely even noticed as Jack thrust his hand out to introduce himself to Max.  

“Your girlfriend is lovely, mate. This is what, the fourth time I’ve run into you?” Max said in greeting, a somewhat tight smile on his face. 

Jack instantly shook his head, “Oh god no, we’re co-workers. I don’t mean she’s not lovely, she is. I’m not her type, or actually she’s not my type. I’m yapping, this is embarrassing. Mr. Verstappen, it was really nice to meet you. I need a drink. I’m sorry.” 

He practically sprinted away, both you and Max looked on with amused grins present on your faces. 

“So, if he’s not your boyfriend, does that mean one of the guys you were with in Switzerland are?” 

Shaking your head, “God, no. Those are friends I’ve known for years. I’m very much single, right now.” 

Max looked like he was in complete contemplation as he debated what to say next. You were secretly hoping he would take the bait, maybe ask if you were free after the gala, or ask how long you were going to be in town for. 

Running into him again once was by chance, twice was a coincidence, and thrice was obviously a sign. The universe was obviously trying to tell you something, there was a reason this man, who had first shown up in your life just after one of the worst heartbreaks you had ever experienced, continued to show up. It was hard to not get your hopes up, to not get ahead of yourself. 

It was hard to keep the butterflies at bay, truthfully.  

“Hypothetically, does that mean you’re free after the gala?” 

“Hypothetically... I man be free after the gala,” you responded. 

Nodding his head, Max smiled in your direction. “I think it would be a crime to let this beautiful dress, and my efforts to wear a suit for something go to waste. I’d love to take you out after.” 

And isn't it just so pretty to think  All along there was some  Invisible string  Tying you to me? 

Max had been transparent from the beginning; he wasn’t overly affection nor was he a fan of excessive cuddling. He got warm often, and the moment he got too warm when he was in bed, he got miserable. But when he wanted to cuddle? You had to take what he would give you.  

Which was exactly how you found yourselves right now, Max playfully attempting to whack your phone out of your hand, his other arm wrapped around your waist as he burrowed his head into your neck. 

“Schatje, I just wanna cuddle for a bit. Give me a little attention.” 

Slapping gently at his arm, you looked at him in mock exasperation. All you ever did was give him attention, he almost took the words out of your mouth when he muttered, “I know you give me plenty of attention, don’t yell at me.” 

You just shook your head silently as you used your free hand to gently twirl small tuffs of his hair, a small hum of content falling from his lips at your movements. 

“What are you looking at?”  

Attempting to look over at your phone, you moved the screen so he could see it better. It was a video from your first ever Formula 1 race, back when you were still a little intern and your boss had wanted you to gain some exposure to the sport. 

“I’m just looking back at some videos. Found this one from my first ever race. I didn’t even know I still had this.” 

Max instantly perked up and looked at your phone, his eyes squinting as he tried to decipher something in the video. 

“Do you remember which race it was? Looks like it’s a few years old, yeah?”  

Nodding your head, you tried to do the math in your head, thinking back to what year you first started your internship. “I think it was 2016? It was definitely in Spain, but I’m pretty positive it was 2016.” 

“Do you know what that means?” Max questioned, a soft smile on his lips as he pressed a small kiss to the junction between your chin and throat before looking back up at you. 

Shaking your head in confusion, you tried to determine what he could be talking about, giving him the chance to continue.  

“My first ever win in Formula 1, for Red Bull, was the 2016 Spanish Grand Prix. Isn’t that so ironic? Guess things were always meant to be.” 

Maybe he was right. 

Maybe there was always a string, a small, invisible string, tying everything together, tying you to him.  

genuinely i got this into my mind and felt like i was legally obligated to write it asap. i hope you LOVE it and i would so appreciate it if you told me if you do. thank you, love you all 🫶🏻

[sgt-tombstone]

au where Johnny never joined the military (his knee got fucked up before he could and they wouldn’t let him enlist) but it’s okay because that means he got to go to college and study engineering, which is the closest he could get to being a civilian demolitions expert

Anyway, the city his college is in has an army base nearby, which means that every dating app he opens is flooded with army boys looking to marry the first person who so much as looks at them the right way. Johnny’s never been relationship-oriented; he likes hookups too much to settle down like that, but he loves scrolling through to drool over all of the gym pictures

And then one catches his eye. Simon. He doesn’t show his face on his profile, but his muscles more than make up for it. His appearance, though, isn’t what Johnny is most interested in, because his bio says…

Anyone interested in committing marriage fraud?

And that’s… something.

So of course Johnny swipes. He doesn’t expect to match, because Simon looks like a Greek God, and he almost throws his phone across the room when the little heart appears, telling him that he and Simon have both swiped on each other. Which means that Simon swiped on him first. It’s a heady feeling, but he’s not really sure why.

John: marriage fraud?

It’s not his strongest first message, but sue him, he’s curious.

Simon: I’m not interested in a relationship or even sex, but I have a very vested interest in being able to move off base

John: so, what? we get married and then…?

Simon: we don’t have to live together or even like each other. You can finish your studies, get the tax benefits, and live your life as you choose while I get to move off base and maintain my privacy

Honestly, it sounds like a win/win to Johnny. He’s not struggling financially per se, but being able to live exactly as he is while also gleaning tax benefits is… an attractive choice.

John: and if I meet someone else that I’m serious about?

Simon: I have no qualms about an uncontested divorce

John: let’s meet up for lunch and discuss the details

———

Lunch is a simple affair, just a local restaurant, frequented by students and soldiers alike, so they both fit in well. Simon is unfairly attractive, even if he only reveals the bottom half of his face to eat or drink. He’s massive and blond and his eyes do something to Johnny’s insides that he can’t bring himself to dissect further. They chat over their food, sharing details about themselves. Johnny shares more than Simon, and he has a hunch that that’s on purpose, but he doesn’t mind. They click instantly, and Johnny can tell that Simon is taken aback by that. It’s sweet, almost, the way that such a large military man is floundering in the face of genuine human connection. After they’ve finished, they turn to business.

With a quiet, deep voice, Simon lays out his entire plan, and Johnny is fully on board. He’s ready to sign the papers today, but they legally have to wait a month.

It’s the longest month of Johnny’s life.

They text constantly, or as constantly as they can. Sometimes Johnny feels inordinately young and sometimes very inferior; while he’s talking Simon’s ear off about some explosive compound used in building demolitions, Simon is off… doing god knows what, god knows where, serving the country. But Simon always listens, always sounds engaged over the phone when they call, always has follow-up questions that show he’s actually interested. And while Simon can’t talk much about his work, he can talk about details. Small stuff; the awful food, the hot dust where he’s stationed, the day-to-day activities that don’t give away too much. Johnny learns that he’s a lieutenant, a sniper (though that’s more through context clues than anything else), that he wears a mask all the time to protect himself, that he doesn’t like scrambled eggs (or at least, not military scrambled eggs), that he has a very complex skincare routine, that he respects the hell out of his captain. That he’s a good man, or tries to be. That he’s a sweetheart, deep down, despite trying to hide it.

They eventually get married, down at the courthouse, with Simon’s captain, Price, and Johnny’s best mate, Kyle, as witnesses.

And then life goes on. Johnny continues his studies, continues going to parties and hooking up with people every weekend, continues living his life. He assumes that Simon does the same. They keep in contact, for the most part, except when Simon’s in the field and he can’t have his phone, but he always brings back little inconsequential stories when he returns. It’s nice, in a way. They’d never exchanged rings, but sometimes Johnny wishes they had, just so he had something tangible to tie him to his husband.

I’m not sure how it would end, though…

Maybe it would be Sweet Home Alabama style, where Johnny finds someone that he thinks he loves and has to get Simon to sign the divorce papers, only to realize at the last minute that he really doesn’t want to, that he’s been in love with Simon all along

Maybe Simon gets medically discharged and ends up moving in with Johnny, where they both dance around their feelings for each other, despite already being married

Maybe they just… realize one day, that they’ve slowly but surely fallen in love with each other over the years and suddenly, nothing else matters because they’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for

[covenofagatha]

A dance with death (and her wife) (Part 5)

Agatha takes you back to her house after the realization that you may have been responsible for the recent murders

Word count: 5200

Warnings: murder, purposeful thumb dislocation, violence

A/N: this got so long so fast so I had to split this chapter into 2 parts so as of right now I'm planning for 3 more parts

You can’t stop your teeth from chattering as you slide into the passenger seat of Agatha’s car. She followed you back to the motel so you could leave yours there, her headlights shining onto you the entire time, reminding you that she was right behind you.

Her lingering presence is ominous, rather than comforting. You just can’t put your finger on why.  

You’re not cold. The opposite, really. Your body is running hot, perspiration gathering on your forehead, but you’re shaking like a leaf. She turns up the heat, but you immediately reach over and turn it off. 

“I didn’t do it,” you say, but you’re not even sure if you believe it yourself. 

Agatha snorts. “Still think you’re being framed by The Witch and Lady Death?” She asks, and your heart spikes. Rio and her have been talking. Perhaps this whole time. Does she also know her wife drugged you? 

“Maybe,” you try to argue, but you know it’s just false hope at this point. How would they have gotten his blood under your nails? 

But how could you have killed him? You were completely unconscious the whole time. 

The knife from your motel found at the crime scene. Rio washing your clothes and being secretive about what was on them. And now this. 

You know you used to sleep-walk, but is sleep-murder a possibility? 

“Why did you want me to see it first?” You question, now latching onto something else. Agatha is a detective, she should’ve called the rest of the squad as well as you. 

Does she know more than she’s letting on? 

I’m just curious about something is what Rio said as she watched you succumb to sleep. 

What is going on? 

Agatha’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel and you’re momentarily distracted by remembering what they felt like inside you. Her fingers, Rio’s mouth, together? “Just wanted to see how you’d react,” she finally says, and it snaps you out of your fantasy about them. 

“Rio drugged me earlier,” you tell her, watching her face closely for any sign of recognition or confusion. 

She remains neutral. “Oh?” 

You grit your teeth. They are both so good at keeping their cards to their chests. “Neither of you think I’m being framed. You seemed pretty certain that the body from yesterday wasn’t from them, that it was someone new.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Do you think I killed both of them?” 

You’re not capable of that. There’s no possible way you did. But you want to hear what she thinks. 

“I think,” she pauses to choose her words carefully. “I think that I believe you when you say you think you didn’t do it.” 

“I couldn’t have,” you say weakly, needing more than anything for it to be true. 

She glances at you with pity. “We all think we couldn’t. People can surprise you.” The look on her face matches the darkness outside. Is she speaking from experience? 

The drawer opens and your fingers wrap around the handle of one of the knives. 

“I didn’t do it,” you insist. 

You park by the woods and ask the first man you see for help finding your dog who ran into the trees. He’s wearing a flannel and pants, and has the most brilliant blue eyes. 

Agatha reaches over to pat your leg. 

The kitchen knife cuts his legs surprisingly well and he slumps back against the trees, blood rushing from his wounds. You get immense pleasure in watching the cerulean in his eyes fade. But it’s not enough. You want to send a message: a heart on his chest. A nod to the shape drawn on the sticky note from The Witch and Lady Death, and to their calling card. 

A whimper tears its way out of your throat and you clamp a hand over your mouth. Agatha hears it and looks over, raising an eyebrow. “You okay, superstar?” 

Your head is spinning. Are these memories real, or not real? Is your mind playing tricks on you?

The femoral arteries were too quick, too easy. You need something more. It’s only too easy to lure this man into the woods. 

“I don’t know,” you gasp out. You’re hyperventilating now. You were supposed to protect this town, stop the killers, but instead, you became one. 

Plunging the knife into his throat sent a thrill like you’ve never felt before tingling down your spine. You drag it down, grunting with the effort, but the blood pours out and you’re breathless. The red on the white snow is almost angelic. 

What have you done? 

Memories, dreams, images, whatever they are, come rushing into your brain, almost completely overwhelming you. 

You killed them. 

Were you really unconscious, or were you just erasing the memories to protect yourself? 

But you were asleep, at least at first. Did you wake up and decide to go on a murder spree? How does that even happen?

“Pull over,” you demand. Agatha scoffs but you say it again, more sternly. Your entire body feels awful and you know what’s about to come. 

Thankfully she obeys, and the second her car screeches to a halt, you’re throwing open the door and barely making it two steps away before you double-over and retch, puking your guts out. It burns your throat and your lungs ache, but it feels like you’re cleansing your body.

Agatha quickly runs over to you and holds back your hair while you continue to vomit. She rubs gentle circles on your back and then you’re finally able to stand up and breathe normally. 

“Did you know after the first one?” You say, wiping your mouth and turning to face her. 

She shrugs, but there’s an affirmative glint in her eyes. “Figured you were bound to snap eventually. Didn’t realize how drastic it would be until Rio told me about the bloody clothes you had her wash.” 

You’d throw up again if there was anything left in your stomach. She 

But she’s not done yet. 

“And then we got the call about the body with all the blood and I had a hunch. But you not knowing anything gave me a bit of pause,” she admits, swiping her thumb on your lip affectionately. “Thought you were just a really good actor. But then you said you’d been sleeping for the past few hours, so I wondered.”

You cough, still tasting acid. Things still aren’t adding up. She fucked you after thinking you murdered someone? “Why didn’t you turn me in?” Not complaining exactly, but why have they been holding onto this? “Is that why Rio drugged me? She wanted to see if…I’d what? Murder someone else?” 

Agatha tilts her head back and forth, like she’s partly agreeing, and you back up from her, the gears in your brain turning. She gives you a look as if to say Really? and starts advancing towards you. You put your hands out to stop her and flinch, and she freezes. 

“If you’re feeling better, get back in the car,” she orders, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand. She takes one more step and stops an inch away from you, eyebrow raised like she’s anticipating your next move, and you gulp before obeying. “Good girl,” she says in a low voice, closing the door on you, and you hate the way your body betrays you. 

She gets into the driver’s seat and locks the doors and it makes your heart lurch. Why do you feel so unsafe right now? 

The key gets turned in the ignition but the car won’t start. “Fuck,” Agatha swears, turning it again and again. Panic starts to climb and settle into every crack and crevice in your body; what if you have to spend the night with Agatha on the side of the road? 

What if you fall asleep and accidentally kill her? 

Is that something you do now? Can you just never sleep for the rest of your life? 

The engine finally clicks and turns on, just taking a bit longer in the snow. But Agatha is almost out of gas, so she pulls into the next gas station she finds on the way to her house. 

“Have you eaten?” She asks gruffly, something seemingly changed in the air between you. 

The moment she brings up food, your stomach grumbles. You can’t remember the last time you ate. Tony would kill you, if you had heard from him at all. It’s weird he hasn’t called you back yet. Unfortunately, you have been sleeping though. You’re not sure if he would be proud. 

Agatha gets out of the car and slams the door and you quickly scramble out too. “We’ll go get you something to eat after I’m done filling up.” 

“I can just run in now,” you offer, desperately needing a moment to yourself. You can’t breathe next to Agatha right now. 

She scoffs and presses the pump into her car. “You’re a mess, superstar. I can’t risk you confessing to her about what you’ve done, or worse.” 

You bite back a sarcastic comment, still weary of her mood shift, and you tap your foot until the pump stops. She follows you into the station, watching carefully as you pick up a slice of pizza from the hot food area. You snag a drink and walk to the cash register, where a woman is snapping her gum. 

“Hi,” you say politely, putting your stuff down. Agatha’s hot breath is on your neck. “Oh, and can I get these too?” You quickly slap down a container of cinnamon mints. 

She looks you up and down, and winks. “On the house,” she says and Agatha steps even closer to you. The cashier’s eyes flicker to her. “Anything for your mom?” 

Agatha practically growls behind you and yanks your head back by your hair so she’s able to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. You try to pull away in shock, but she holds you there and slides her tongue into your mouth. You can still taste the little flap of skin from where you bit her when she fucked you. 

After she’s sufficiently stolen all the air from your lungs, she stops and grabs your pizza and drink from the counter. “Come, pet,” she says in a low voice that makes you hotly tingle all over and you make brief eye contact with the cashier, who looks severely taken aback. You wonder if you look as flushed as you feel. 

“Sorry about that,” you say sheepishly, face hot, and slap a ten dollar bill on the counter, scampering after Agatha. “What the fuck was that?” You call after her, and she whirls around, face contorted into something scary.

“Get. In. The. Car,” she demands, seething, anger radiating off her in waves and almost knocking you back. 

There’s silence the rest of the way to her house as you eat your pizza. It’s a cute two-story house, hedges trimmed neatly out front, and another car in the driveway. 

Your heart begins to race at the thought of seeing Rio again, at the thought of dealing with them together. 

What are you doing here? Are they going to blackmail you? What could they want from you? 

You trail Agatha to the front door and then into the kitchen, where Rio is trimming a bouquet of flowers in a vase. Yellow, blue, red, and a flash of purple. 

Brows furrowing, you try to get a closer look but Rio steps to the side, unknowingly blocking your view. 

“Hey, Aggie,” she says, her back still to you. The glimpse into domesticity and the nicknames makes you feel a longing pang inside you. 

In the past, girls had been too put off by your line of work, by your fascination with female serial killers, even by the scar on your stomach. You just wanted someone that could accept every part of you. 

Agatha walks over, leaving you standing awkwardly in the entrance, and presses a kiss to Rio’s cheek, murmuring something in her ear. Rio’s body stiffens and she turns around, a wide grin stretching over her face when she sees you. 

“Welcome, doll,” she says and you fight the urge to run away. She motions to a fresh batch of cookies cooling on the stove. “Want one?” 

You don’t budge. “Did you poison them too?” 

Rio’s head tosses back with a laugh and Agatha smirks bemusedly. “Touché,” Rio says, grabs one, and chomps on it. She brushes her hands free on the crumbs once she’s done and holds them up to show you that she didn’t lace them. 

“What am I doing here?” You ask, wanting to cut to the chase. There’s some ulterior motive, one you just don’t know of yet. 

Both of them beckon you to follow them into the living room. They sit on the couch and you sit in the chair facing them. 

“‘What am I doing here?’” Agatha mocks in a deep voice and you roll your eyes. 

Rio takes all of you in, eyes flicking up and down your body several times. “Such a trivial question. Why don’t you ask something better than that?”

You think about it for a moment. What do you really want to know? “Did I kill those men?” 

“Boring. Ask something you don’t already know the answer to,” Rio criticizes and your cheeks burn. 

“Why did I?” It comes out quieter than you intended, your voice breaking. 

The two of them finally look interested. “Why do you think?” Rio asks, ever the therapist. 

“I…don’t know,” you say lamely.

Agatha snorts. “Come on, superstar, we know you’re smarter than that. Use that brilliant brain of yours.”

Knife from the drawer. Slicing through fabric to cut the arteries. Hearing a squelching sound when you plunge it into the chin. 

Blood.

More blood. 

A brilliant blaze of fire erupts. 

You jolt. Fire? “I think…” You trail off, feeling shaken by the new revelation. Is the fire something that happened in the past, or something that’s about to come? 

“Yeah?” Agatha whispers, leaning forward. 

You try to search your head for the answer. “I think I wanted to know what it felt like,” you say slowly, testing the words on your tongue, still not completely sure if they’re right. 

You’re remembering more of the murders, remembering being in a trance-like haze when you woke up, getting into your car, coming back to the room after, stripping naked from the bloodstained clothes and scrubbing your skin in the shower until it stung. And then laying back down. 

Some sort of psychosis? Or just your unconscious mind fulfilling one of your darkest fantasies? 

Rio’s breath hitches. “And? How did it feel?” 

“It felt…powerful,” you say, and you know what the feeling in the woods with Agatha was now. It was the feeling of taking in your own work, seeing what you had done, somehow remembering the feeling even when you didn’t remember doing it. 

Agatha licks her lips, her eyes dark. “Holding their life in your hands, it’s a sensation like no other. That control makes you feel like a god, doesn’t it?” 

The way she phrases it sounds like she knows how it feels. How could she? 

Can you brush it off to her being a detective? Surely she’s had to make a decision like that once in her career, but there’s a nagging in the back of your mind that is sounding alarm bells. 

You cautiously look back and forth between them, between their faces with an indescribable hunger, and things start to come together. 

The Witch and Lady Death. 

Lovers, two brunettes, one thinner and taller, the other shorter and fuller. Just like Rio and Agatha.

Both Agatha and Rio were so convinced that there was a different killer. 

Both Agatha and Rio knew that you killed someone, even before you did, yet neither of them made any effort to get you in trouble. 

If anything, they pushed you to do it again. 

Rio said she wasn’t The Witch, but you hadn’t asked if she was Lady Death. 

Which means…

Agatha is The Witch. Rio is Lady Death. And you’re in their home, with both of them.

It’s ingenious though, really. Being the lead detective on a case trying to catch yourself, able to throw a wrench into any leads that the squad may happen to get. 

That must be why she was so nitpicky with all your theories. She knew all the right details the entire time.

Although, it never really seemed like she was shooting you down, it was almost like she was guiding you. 

Did she want you to catch them?

And Rio, being your therapist to find out more about you, get inside your head and understand how the profiler on their case thinks. 

You’d almost be impressed if you weren’t scared for your life right now. 

The only question is: why? 

Why murder all those people? Why break into your motel room and leave you all that stuff? Why help you in catching them, if that’s truly what they’ve been doing? 

Why not just kill you already? Unless that’s what they’re planning on doing tonight. 

“Can I, uh, use your bathroom?” You ask, praying they can’t hear how fast your heart is beating. 

They’re both regarding you with careful looks. “Second door on the left,” Agatha says, pointing down a hallway. You nervously smile and try to walk normally out of sight. 

Just make it to the bathroom, you chant. Then you can text Tony, text the police chief, text anybody. If you can keep up the pretenses, you might be able to hang on until reinforcements come. 

But as you’re walking by the first room on the left, you see that the door is ajar ever the slightest. 

You shouldn’t. You should go to the bathroom and get help. You absolutely should not open this door. 

It creaks as you push it open and you stop breathing, waiting to hear footsteps or one of them asking if you’re okay. 

Nothing. 

The door is open just wide enough for you to slip in now, and you can’t help the loud gasp that escapes your mouth. 

Purple azaleas are in a vase on the table, along with vials upon vials. Information about every single person in Westview on one wall, red circles highlighting either victims or a list. 

But what’s most startling is the shrine they have for you on the big wall. Pictures of you, case files, every piece of information accessible that concerns you is plastered there. 

They know exactly who you are. They’ve known. 

Fighting the nausea that climbs into your throat, you step closer. There’s something that draws your attention in the bottom left area, a medical record with your name on it from Salem, Massachusetts almost fifteen years ago. You don’t remember ever being in the hospital when you lived there. 

You bend down to see what it says and 

Snow. 

The frozen creek. 

Laughter and red birds when you step on a stick. 

The person whirls around, long dark hair flipping with the momentum, blue eyes cutting through the darkness. 

Fire. Sparks fly and land at your feet, hissing in the snow. 

“Well, well, well,” a voice says behind you and you spin so fast you almost fall over. Agatha and Rio are standing in the doorway, arms crossed. “Guess the secret’s out.”

But you don’t care about that. 

Because the woman from your memory has a name now. 

“It was you,” you accuse, jabbing a finger towards Agatha. The face in the flashes was a bit younger, but you’d know her anywhere now. 

A cold feeling sinks into you when she bares her teeth in a smile. “I see my wife’s techniques have been efficient.” 

Your head starts to pound. “How…?” 

“Why don’t we go back into the living room and we can talk about this?” Rio suggests gently. 

“So you can kill me?” You spit, completely disoriented. How did you know Agatha fifteen years ago? Why didn’t you remember? 

What did she do to you? 

Agatha scoffs. “Really, you think if we wanted to kill you, you wouldn’t be dead already? Honey, we could’ve had your heart the instant you stepped into town.” 

Your hand grabbles at your belt, trying to grab onto the gun that isn’t there. 

Fuck. 

You ran out of your room in such a hurry earlier that you forgot to grab it. 

“So what do you want from me?” You ask, trying to sound even the slightest bit braver than you feel. You fail. 

“We want you to join us,” Rio says, being uncharacteristically straight forward. “We see you and what you’re capable of. We’ve known it. We want you, all of you.” 

You shake your head. “No, absolutely fucking not. You two are crazy. I don’t know how you know me, or what happened in the woods all those years ago, but I would rather die than kill more people with you.” 

They both sigh like they were afraid you’d say that. They start to walk over to you and you feel prey being stalked, being hunted. 

“What are you–” 

Agatha shushes you. “You’re just confused, superstar. But don’t worry. We’ll give you some time to think about it.” 

And then they grab you and drag you kicking and screaming upstairs into their bedroom. 

This is it. This is how you’re going to die. 

“Wait, wait!” You scream as they throw you onto their bed. “I’ll do it.” You can pretend, you can make them think you want it until you can get out. 

Rio bends over and grabs your chin, scanning your teary eyes. “Oh, doll, you’re an FBI profiler and you’re still such a bad liar,” she tuts, roughly pushing your face away. 

Your body goes numb while they stretch your arms out and pull handcuffs – real handcuffs – from the nightstands and cuff you to the bedposts. 

Agatha smirks and waves the key in front of your face and you snap at it with your teeth. She chuckles darkly and puts it on the nightstand, just out of reach. 

“We’ll be back later, pet,” she says. “We have to go teach someone a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to them, and then The Witch and Lady Death are going to strike again.” 

Rio cackles and then picks up the bottom half of her skeleton mask and holds it to her face, widening her eyes at you. You strain against the handcuffs until they sting your wrist but you don’t stop struggling as they walk out of the room and close the door behind them. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

You are absolutely reeling. You met Agatha when you were ten years old. Something happened, something with fire? And the medical file from then, is that related? 

It can’t be a coincidence that you’re here now, working on a case in which she’s a killer. 

What happened that made you want to think like a killer? It’s the question that Rio asked when you first met her, that she swore she didn’t but now you think she was just fucking with you. 

You didn’t know the reason, couldn’t remember it at the time, but that was what made you start having these flashes of repressed memories. 

Is Agatha the reason? 

Did you see her kill someone at ten years old, but then your brain blocked it out because it was too traumatic? And then you spent the rest of your life determined to figure out what made her do that? 

It seems to make sense. 

It still doesn’t answer the real question as to what they want with you, and why they went through all this trouble. 

But you’re not going to find anything else tied up in their bed. 

The Basic Field Training Course at Quantico taught you several important things, like how to fire a gun and how to read a person’s posture and how to solve a case. But perhaps the most valuable lesson to you now was learned from a classmate, who taught you how to dislocate your thumb. 

Jimmy Woo had dislocated his thumb twice during lacrosse in high school so he could now do it whenever he wanted. It still hurt obviously, but the damage was less serious, it was easier to dislocate, and it was much easier to pop back in. 

All it took for him to teach you was a six pack of beer. You didn’t know exactly why you were so set on being able to, but you couldn’t be happier now. 

You remember the first time you did it. It had taken four shots of vodka to get your courage up before bending it back on a table. The ligaments had strained, not wanting to give, but through sweat and tears, you had persisted. 

Jimmy immediately took you to the clinic to get it wrapped up and you told them you had done it while throwing a ball with Jimmy. 

You’d only done it a few more times, but it got to the point where you could do it with minimal crying and could relocate it by yourself. 

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you duck your chin down to grab ahold of your sweater between your teeth to have something to bite down before positioning your left thumb against the bedpost. Better to do it with your non-dominant hand, Jimmy always said. 

You can almost hear him encouraging you as tears spill down your cheeks and your whimpers are muffled. 

Pressing harder, a slight sheen of perspiration breaks out on your head. Fuck, you’d forgotten how much it hurts. 

Finally, finally, there’s the desired pop and pain floods up your hand. It almost entirely overwhelms you and 

Snow. 

Frozen creek. 

The woman turns toward you and looks surprised to see someone else in the woods with her. 

She waves to you and you’re pulled forward by an invisible string. When you get closer to where she’s partially hidden by shadows, you see she’s not alone. 

A younger woman with pale skin, dark hair, and wide hazel eyes. 

But there’s another woman too. 

The throbbing in your thumb pulls you out of the flashback. 

Rio.

Rio was there, too. You’ve met both Agatha and Rio before.

But you don’t know who the other woman is; you didn’t even get a good look at her. 

Focus on that later, you tell yourself, whining as you gingerly pull your hand out of the cuff. You lean over and snatch the key off the nightstand and quickly unlock the other cuff. It hurts like hell to use your dislocated thumb to turn the key, but you don’t know how else you’d use it. You take another slow, deep breath before popping that thumb back in. 

After moving it around and massaging it to get the blood flowing back in, you scramble off the bed and run downstairs. 

You need to go back to your motel room and get your gun, not even bothering to look and see if they have any, but first you need to go back into their room downstairs and see if there’s any hints about where they might be going. 

It appears that all the photos that have red circles on them are past victims, so you have absolutely no idea where they might be. 

You’re about to leave the room and go back to the motel when you remember the medical file from Massachusetts. It looks like they have pictures of a copy; how would they even get that? 

But you bend down to read it and a searing pain splits through your forehead. It hurts so bad it forces your eyes shut and you’re only able to comprehend a few words and phrases. 

Hypothermia…18 hours in the snow. 

Pneumonia. 

Head-induced trauma caused retrograde/post-traumatic amnesia. 

The pain in your head brings you to your knees as you try to make sense of the record. You remember learning about types of amnesia in your psych classes, and retrograde means you can’t remember things that happened before the accident. 

Is that why there’s a block? Or is it because of something you saw in the woods? 

Nothing is adding up. 

Why didn’t your parents ever tell you about this? Is this the reason you left Salem so quickly? 

The throbbing in your head has leveled down to a dull ache and you’re able to stand up. This is all connected somehow, you just don’t know how. 

What you do know is that you need to find them and stop them. 

You dig around the drawers in the kitchen to find a set of keys to Rio’s car, you’re guessing, and you’re peeling out of their driveway, not even caring about the speed limits. You blow through stop signs and red lights, but it’s late enough that no one else is on the road. 

Throwing the car into park once you get back to the motel, you shoulder open the door to your room and come to a halt. 

It’s the smell that hits you first. 

A sickly sweet honeysuckle scent wafts into your nose and you almost retch. Purple azaleas litter the floor in a path from the front door to the bedroom door, candles lit on both sides like a romantic rendezvous. 

They were already here. How could they have known you’d come back? Are they in the other room? 

Heart pounding, you gulp before reaching for your gun on the table and cautiously stepping toward the bedroom. You close your eyes and say a little prayer that you’re not about to be killed, and you kick it open. 

There’s more azaleas, and enough candles to perform a ritual. Your gaze scans the room, breaths getting shorter and shallower. 

And then you see the bed and your hands clamp over your mouth in order to smother the cry that comes out involuntarily. 

It’s the woman from the gas station, sprawled out like a starfish, completely naked from the waist up. There’s a lace from one of your pairs of shoes wrapped tightly around her neck, face tinted blue. 

Your body violently shakes as you walk over to her and you see her chest. 

The letter “O” is carved around her right breast. The letter “U” around her left. “R” is carved into the right side of her stomach, and “S” into the left. 

OURS. 

We have to go teach someone a lesson about taking things that don’t belong to them. 

Ignoring the heat running through your body, you spot a notecard clenched in her hand and you wrench it out. 

On one side, it says: Sorry, baby. Xoxo. On the other side, there’s an address. 

You know it’s a trap, like this right here was, and like everything else may have been, but what choice do you have? 

Your fingers tighten on your gun and you get back into Rio’s car, punching the location into your phone. 

This ends tonight. 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Luke x hades!reader

Luke is good, no betrayal, everything fine, just happy happy happy.

‘Okay, since when were you going to tell me you and Nico are siblings?’ Luke asked one day and immediately your brows furrowed in question.

‘Siblings? Since when because as far as I’m concerned he’s not.’ You tell him as you continued to eat your breakfast, thinking that would be enough to stop Luke from spouting more nonsense into your ear.

Luke scoffs. ‘From what I’ve heard through the grapevine is that you both give off that mean side eye. One that screams get the fuck away from me or I’ll kill you, bring you back, only to then kill you again.’ He says as he steals a strawberry from your plate, popping it into his mouth, only to then trying not to choke on it when he saw that you were giving him the side eye that you were most well known throughout camp for.

Other people would’ve scurried off from being such a look by now but Luke was a little bit different, Luke only smiles and laughs behind his hand as his other hand sympathetically pats the back of yours. ‘There’s the award winning glare of yours or should I say yours and Nico’s now.’ He says after successfully not choking on a singular strawberry, but you weren’t as amused as he was, he had just insinuated that you and Nico were related before following up in stealing your food; what a prick.

‘That’s not funny Luke you owe me a strawberry now.’ You replied as your eyes found the Italian boy in question from across the dining pavilion, seeing absolutely nothing that could bring the theory that you were both somewhat related, because as far as you were aware the boy hadn’t yet been claimed and even still you’d like to think you’d see the signs beforehand that could indicate a connection between you and the young lad.

Luke threw an arm over your shoulder as he brought you into his side, pressing a kiss to your temple as his hand rubbed at your arm. ‘You can have as many of my strawberries next time if that’s a good trade off for a single and lonely strawberry, yeah?’ You sighed as you rested your head against him, slightly tucked under his chin. ‘Sure.’ You grunted as Luke’s smile stretched further across his face as he was quick to notice where your eyes were.

‘The next time you see Nico, watch his face and then you’ll see why people are saying your siblings in giving people death glares and mean side glances.’ He whispered to you when he could tell that the curiosity was the primary emotions that you felt in this moment and time and he couldn’t blame you, if someone was telling him that he shared a death glare or side eye with someone else being playfully called his sibling, he’d be a little curious too to see if the proof was in the pudding.

The rest of breakfast played out like usual and went by without issue as you and Luke went your separate ways, though not without Luke insisting that he had to kiss you on the forehead, though you found yourself watching Nico like a hawk in hopes of seeing what everyone else was seeing but nothing of much really happed where you got to see this death glare of his.

You were just about to give up and call it a day, feeling a little stupid for believing in what others have to say other then listening to your own gut and to ignore what was being said, thinking that the person who started such a rumour was only doing it for the fun of it.

That was until you saw it.

The death flare Luke had talked about earlier that morning.

Whatever the camper said must’ve annoyed Nico or have been so stupid that his brows furrowed and the steely look within his onyx eyes that screamed ‘I have your murder planned out along with your funeral arrangements if you don’t fuck off.’ It was exactly how you imagined you looked when put in a similar position, and now everything made sense as you crossed your arms over your chest as the camper scampered away from Nico, who was still watching after them.

‘Well I’ll be damned.’ You muttered under your breath. ‘We do share something after all.’

‘I told you.’ Luke said as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere, causing you to give him a glare that matched the one Nico had on his face towards that poor unfortunate camper seconds prior.

‘You done patting yourself on the back?’ You asked him rhetorically as he only smiled smugly at you.

‘Nope, you might as well go down there and welcome your sibling with open arms.’ He responded cheerily as he continued to look at you as though he was the cat that caught the canary, or a mischievous fox that had one last trick up its sleeve.

You playfully shoved Luke away from you with a scoff. ‘If only it were that simple Castellan but unless I see the sigil of my father above his head, cabin 13 still belongs to me and me alone.’ You told him.

Nico was claimed by hades not even a day after you said this.

Luke was in hysterics and on the verge of tears when he looked at your face, now realising that Nico was now indeed your little sibling in more than just teasing fashion.

[phone4pills]

MAKE A WISH Chris x waitress!Reader

not proof read, long ass, don’t try if you’re lactose intolerant, london slander, send me asks about this pairing

The lone boy entered the diner, the doorbell above the sticker-loaded door ringing upon his arrival. He’d seen the bright ‘open’ sign above it on his way down the street. It was a particularly cool evening and he could’ve used a milkshake.

Finding a seat in one of the empty booths, he pulled his hands out of the pockets of his cargo trousers, opened the menu and instantly found the Shakes section. Listed were the flavours, each one as appealing as the last to Chris, who had quite the sweet tooth.

S’mores, Cherry Vanilla, Strawberry Shortcake, Oreo Cheesecake and Banana Split.

He couldn’t help but lick his bottom lip, already salivating at the thought of the S’mores shake in the huge glass, topped with whipped cream and stacked with delicious treats. Chocolate and marshmallows, as well as graham crackers and maybe even a couple sprinkles. Gosh, he was hungry.

“You know staring at the menu isn’t going to do much for your hunger. Trust me, used to do it all the time. Never worked.” His eyes peered up to be met with a distinct pair of large, pretty eyes staring back down at his under raised eyebrows. “Really?” He laughed, placing the menu flat on the table and turning his full attention to her. She nodded, pulling her notepad out of the back pocket of the light wash jeans that she had on. Her torso was clothed in a red shirt with the word ‘LONDON’ in large, pink letters on the front and her neck upwards was adorned with jewellery.

“London. You ever been?” Chris asked, eyeing the lettering on her baby-tee with a curious gaze. The girl looked down at the word painted across her chest for a split second, as though she had forgotten it was on her shirt. “Oh, yes. London, Kentucky.” His head tilted slightly before he nodded. “Right, right.”

“So, what can I get for ya…” The end of her sentence hung in the air and at that point Chris realised he hadn’t really introduced himself. He quickly told her his name and picked up the menu to relocate what he wanted. “I’d like a S’mores milkshake.” The girl scribbled down the order with immense pace and her head lifted again, redirecting her sight to Chris. “Anything else?”

He shook his head, closing the menu and placing it back in the holder. “No. That’ll be it.” Despite her confusion, the waitress shrugged her shoulders and offered him once last glance before departing on the words, “Suit yourself.”

Ten minutes fled by, all of which Chris spent scrolling through his camera roll of that day, attempting to decide which of the pictures he would post on his instagram. His brothers had texted him, wondering where he’d gone off to. He read their message, unable to find the care to respond. They knew he was alive with a phone, that was enough.

She returned with the gigantic shake in hand, carrying it with a delicate ease that drew Chris’ eye. He licked his lips when the girl placed the sweet treat on the table in front of him. She leaned on the booth across from him, cleaning down her hand on the pink apron that clung to her waist. “I’m y/n by the way, you forgot to ask.”

A heat rose to the boy’s cheek faster than a cheetah pouncing on its prey. She giggled, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it, usually people don’t ask. Just thought it would come in handy if m’gonna keep talking your ears off.” Chris nodded, taking a sip of the drink through the thick, glass straw. He found sweet and savoury flavours pouring into the canvas between his lips like warm paints from the palettes of a marvellous artist. His blue eyes lit up, only getting delighted in contrast to the dark curls that fell over his forehead, caressing his brows that were almost as dark.

She grinned, already used to this kind of reaction. One glance around was all it took for her to take a seat across from him, taking a quick, self-approved break from her job to talk to the cute boy she’d met. “So Chris, anything special that brings you here?” He nodded, swallowing the thick shake in his mouth, savouring the flavour that dripped down his throat like a spiky fountain. “S’my birthday today.” Her eyes widened, wondering why he was all alone.

“You celebrated with anyone today?” She hoped he’d say yes, even give a nod. She’d have hated to spend her birthday alone, and Chris seemed like a fun guy to be around, surely he couldn’t have spent his special day without anyone. “Yeah, with my two brothers. We’re triplets.”

“That is so cool. Are you the youngest?” She leaned closer. As if she weren’t already intrigued by Chris, now she had an even better reason to be absolutely fascinated. He gave her a nod, licking the whipped cream off the top of the shake. “How did you know?” She chuckled, using her thumb to wipe the whipped cream off his nose.

[Person change]

In that very moment, time seemed to slow as you locked eyes. You could feel Chris’ breaths on your face, that was only inches from his. You peered down at his lips, pink and plush as they were, you knew kissing them was the last thing you could do freely. You knew nothing about him. Was he even single? He couldn’t be with a pretty face like that. Was he into girls? Was he into you? You cleared your throat, quickly shuffling back into your seat. “Usually kids order the S’mores shake.”

Chris took a deep breath, as though he’d felt the heat of the moment too and needed to come back down from whatever cloud the two of you were riding. “Are you callin’ me a kid?” You quickly shook your head, explaining that you only felt a bubbly, youthful energy around the boy. His cheeks were still blush-covered, as though he was a watercolour painting with a layer of pink tinting his face. “You know what, I should get back to work. Take your time with that milkshake, we’re open all night.”

Chris nodded, eyes panning down your figure as you made your way back towards the counter. He hated to see you go, but he loved to watch you leave. Mindlessly sipping away, Chris barely realised how much darker the sky had gotten outside. He just wanted to have a moment to himself. Being an adult was more complicated than he’d expected, even for someone like him who was lucky enough to have fans all over the world to support him and his brothers.

He thought about you. They way you were around his age and working a night job. He thought about how that could’ve been him, how that is the life of so many people his age. And he spent his night partying and having fun without a care in his mind. Without a doubt or lick of worry about how much it would cost him or how tired he’d be the next morning. And Chris was ever so grateful.

The boy was so lost in thought, he didn’t even realise the crackles in the distance, getting closer and closer. It was only the familiar giggle that snapped his from his thoughts and he turned around to find you tiptoeing in his direction, balancing a chocolate cake with candles and sparklers. Intricate assortments of sprinkles and icing swirls decorate the exterior of the homemade dessert. No way. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You finally reached the table, placing down the large plate in front of him and the smile that adorned his face was brighter than ever. Brighter than all the candle and sparks taking place on top of the cake. “Happy birthday, Chris.”

He wanted to cry. That entire time, from the point at which you placed down the cake to the moment you sat across from him, telling him it blow out all of the candles, nothing touched him like the smile that played on your lips when you said “Make a wish!” And you made him promise not to tell anyone. You fed him little pieces, laughing as he tried to catch all of the dessert that toppled off the fork. And he didn’t think his special day could get better. But you made that possible. You made it real.

After a long night, Chris finally received the bill. He’d expected it to have a read a longer list, but it was simple.

RECEIPT

s’ᴍᴏʀᴇs ᴍɪʟᴋsʜᴀᴋᴇ… $7.29

Total cost…. $7.29

Chris thought there had to be some mistake. Surely the cake and the extra service would cost him a little more. Plus, he wanted to see her one more time. Her smile was like a composition of melodies and rhythms formulated throughout time. Passed from generation to generation, surviving century after another as though the joyous expression possessed the sought after power of immortality. As though each pearly tooth was are token of the past, a timeless treasure worth more than humanely possible to discover in the limited space which is the imagination. As though each smile line, each crease and curve was the product of every face, married together by Mother Nature in the creation of another life, another soul. And so despite her ever so distinguishable and so difficult to miss spite for it, he loved her smile as an astronomer loves his stars. He loved her smile as a philosopher loved his literature. He loved her smile as a he loved all of her.

And he was set on calling her over again until he turned over the little slip of paper to read a note.

‘ 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘉𝘪𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘉𝘰𝘺. (𝟾𝟻𝟽) *** **** ’

Tag list: @hearts4werka @pvssychicken @sturnslcver @sophand4n4 @sofieeeeex @lovingregulusblack @h3arts4harry @aalixsturns

AHHHHH, this shit took weeks of effort (and Ariana grande songs). But we’re here! I reallyyy hope you guys f with this because it’s long. Anyways this is how Chris and waitress!Reader meet. Their story begins here. There will be more posted in the AU and I have more Chris AUs in my MASTERLIST. Thanks so so so much if you made it here after all of that reading, it genuinely means a lot. Please consider reposting.

[egcdeath]

sealing the deal

pairing: patrick zweig x reader

summary: you and patrick make a few unique business proposals to each other.

word count: 7k

warnings: succession au – tomshiv dynamic (pre-failmarriage), proposals (business and romantic), fluff, a little angst, mentions of a dad being very sick/almost dying, lots of exposition/background on the relationship, art cameo, a little domesticity, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t have to know anything about succession to enjoy this fic! i’ll explain everything that you need to know. if you’re a diehard succession fan i can’t promise that everything will be completely faithful to the source material but it definitely takes a lot of inspiration from tom and shiv’s dynamic.

i wanted to give a HUGE thank you to my succession anon who gave me so much help and guidance for this fic and basically ended up being my co-author for this fic! i hope you all enjoy :)

It wasn’t always easy loving the youngest son of the owner of a multi-billion dollar media conglomerate. 

In fact, most of the time, it was quite the opposite. 

Even without Patrick working in his family’s business, it always felt a little bit like you were in a competition for brain space and time with his family and career, and you were losing. Badly. 

You weren’t exactly sure that you knew what you signed up for when you first met Patrick—connected to each other by a mutual friend you went to business school with, whom you’d begged to try to set you two up for career advancement purposes more than anything else. 

“You know that guy you keep asking me about?” your friend asked you after taking a hefty sip from the drink the bartender just passed her. 

“Patrick Zweig?” you asked, not bothering to pretend like you didn’t know who she was talking about. 

“Yeah!” she laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. You weren’t sure where she was going with this subject, but you were intrigued by her mention of the man and her apparent entertainment at the situation. 

“What about him?” you asked, perversely curious as to why she was bringing him up now. 

“I invited him to come out with us tonight!” she laughed once more as she divulged this information, as if it wasn’t shocking news to you.  

“What? What the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me before!” you practically yelled at her over the sound of loud music and other bar patrons. You suddenly felt very self conscious. If you’d known you were going to meet Patrick Zweig tonight, you would’ve put yourself together, rather than coming straight from work to the bar. 

“I wanted to surprise you!” she continued with her giggling at a situation that you did not find nearly as humorous. “Oh my god. I wish you could see your face right now.”

“I hate you!” you laughed, thinking that maybe this was some sort of prank. “You’re joking, then?”

“No, he’s really coming. He just got back from D.C. and wanted to meet with me. I asked if my hot friend could come along and he was like, ‘Obviously!’”

You groaned aloud. This wasn’t how you intended to make your first impression on him.

“Okay, well, what’s his type?” you asked her, hoping to get a bit of insight before you were launched right into what might end up being your first date. You were sure that you would make a good impression if you showed up as you were, but you wanted to be better than good. You didn’t want to be just another forgettable notch on his bedpost.

“I don’t know,” she sighed, taking a sip from her drink. “Hot? A nice ass? A little mean? Isn’t that every guy’s type?”

“You’re not taking this seriously enough for me,” you replied. You wanted to have a strategy going into this. You would’ve appreciated at least a small briefing before meeting someone so intimidating. 

“I am, you just check all the boxes already. Just be yourself and I’m sure things will work out fine,” she assured you. 

Her assurance was well warranted, considering that things worked out far better than fine. In fact, your friend was overdue for a fruit basket—one that you would be paying for with Patrick’s credit card as you sat in the dining room of your shared penthouse apartment, after you wrapped up a day of work in the skyscraper that was his father’s corporate headquarters. 

At the time, you had a slight idea of who he was, but you had an even better idea of who his family was. Anyone who owned a television would be familiar with his family’s corporation—from the causal channel surfers who passed one of their many news channels during their search for the newest episode of The Bachelor, to the thousands of people with their logo burned into their device screen from the hours they spent with their eyes locked on the 24-hour stream of borderline propaganda. 

Beyond his impressive family, you’d heard whispers and rumors about Patrick for a long time. Between headlines in gossip magazines and stories from your mutual friend, you learned that he’d entered the political world as an attempt to make a name for himself outside of his family name, but struggled to be taken seriously for many years due to the less than stellar reputation that came with being a Zweig.

Although, rumors about his career were just the tip of the iceberg. Gossip about his tumultuous relationships—if they could even be called that—and history of partying far too hard often ran wild, making you believe that your initial meetings with Patrick would be nothing more than a few hookups and sweet talking yourself into a new job. After all, there was no better pillow talk than an elevator pitch. 

At first, your plan seemed like it was right on track. You ended your first night together in the early morning, finding yourself in Patrick’s apartment for hours. Your night hadn’t really ever ended, with the two of you leaving the bar together, having some of the best sex of your life in a bed that felt a little bit like laying on a cloud, then proceeding to talk for hours until it was time for you to go back to work. You smiled to yourself as you sat in the backseat of Patrick’s car, exhausted from the long night and a little uncomfortable in yesterday’s clothes, but mostly enthusiastic after your surprisingly eventful night with the man. 

It was a strange turn of events from what you initially expected. While you couldn’t be too sure what you were getting yourself into when you learned you were being set up on a date, you assumed that Patrick would be like any other rich asshole you’d gone out on dates with, who got what they wanted from you, sent you off on your merry way, then never spoke to you again. You quickly discovered that he was unlike anyone you’d ever been with before. 

Patrick seemed to be full of surprises, and the fact that you were going on multiple dates with him in the first place was one of those very surprises. You hadn’t expected to go on any more than three dates before you asked about working for his family, securing yourself a job, then leaving him alone. 

What took you by even greater surprise were the dates themselves. What started as an intimate dinner in one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city ended with you at a terrible 24-hour diner, treating Patrick to his first slice of cherry pie as you talked into the wee hours of the morning. 

Your subsequent dates went similarly, with the two of you talking endlessly about anything and everything. Patrick was someone full of surprises—he was far from the rich asshole you expected him to be, and more like a knowledgeable politics nerd with a lot of money. 

You talked for hours about big things, like why Patrick decided to pursue a career as a political strategist and what brought you to New York City, but you also found it easy to discuss small random things with him, spending an extended period of time discussing how you named your cat, and debating on the best restaurant in the city. 

You always thought of yourself as being somewhat agreeable and friendly when it came to conversation, but your discussions with Patrick took you by surprise. You weren’t sure you’d ever clicked with someone the way you clicked with him, and it made you as excited as it made you nervous. 

By the time you worked up the nerve to ask Patrick about working for his family, you were already beat to the punch. The two of you were tucked into the booth that you’d recently declared as yours in the same diner that you seemed to be spending all of your all-nighters in, reclining comfortably in the particularly uncomfortable seats. 

“Do you like the business side of things?” Patrick asked you, stirring a flattening Diet Coke with a straw. 

“It’s fun,” you dismissed. “It’s less fun going to work on a half-hour of sleep.”

“Shut up. You love it,” the man across from you laughed, an admittedly very handsome half-smile on his face. “I mean it though. Do you like what you’re doing?”

“It pays the bills, I guess. I like the work, but I’m not huge on the company. All the politics and the instability with layoffs lately… It isn’t exactly ideal.”

“Would you ever work for my family?” he asked. “I mean, you’re just wasting potential elsewhere. I really think they could use someone like you on their team.”

“Seriously?” you asked, partially surprised at the proposition, but mostly surprised that you weren’t the one to ask in the first place. Across the table, Patrick listened to you intently. “I mean, If they’d have me, I’d love to work for them.”

“My dad mentioned something about them looking for some new blood. I can put in a good word for you, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Is this because I showed you the joys of a slice of diner cherry pie?” you joked, trying not to let on just how overjoyed you were about this opportunity. 

“You got me. And now that you mention it, we should probably order another slice,” he suggested, going along with your joke. “You’re smart and you clearly know your shit. Besides, I’m mostly doing it for myself. It’ll be nice to have someone around at company Christmas parties who can actually keep up with me.”

“Well, thank you,” you replied calmly, though you were doing somersaults in your mind. “I look forward to drinking eggnog and singing Mariah Carey songs with you.”

In retrospect, you recognized this action as the first of his many wordless declarations of love. You later learned that Patrick did everything he could to avoid talking business with his family, as it was clearly a sore spot for everyone involved. Realizing that he’d gone out of his way to get you a job had been an even more kind gesture than you knew at the time. 

While you initially expected your fling to taper off after Patrick fulfilled his end of the business deal he didn’t even know he was facilitating, your relationship did nothing of the sort. In fact, his favor seemed to have the opposite effect on your bond. 

Before you knew it, the two of you were courting each other like lovesick Jane Austen protagonists. In another shocking turn of events, Patrick ordered flowers to your doorstep each morning and took you on lavish dates, while you began to take four-hour long train rides to and from D.C. each weekend to visit him, and frequently sent him rambling love letters. 

While you hadn’t expected for your relationship to unfold the way that it did, you genuinely loved Patrick. You loved the way his eyes crinkled when you told him something stupid that he’d laugh at, or how he leaned in to whisper something judgmental in your ear about someone you mutually disliked during family events. You loved the way his hand felt in yours and the way his mind worked, which he frequently displayed to you while discussing his latest political strategy. You even loved when he minced words to describe how he felt about you, knowing that though the word ‘love’ might never leave his lips, his actions spoke far louder than his voice ever could. 

It just so happened that you loved his proximity to power, too. 

While his money and power might have piqued your interest initially, it didn’t change the fact that the two of you quickly clicked. You had a natural chemistry, with you matching Patrick’s flirty words and actions with ease. It also just so happened that you entered each other's lives at the perfect time, with you in dire need of a career upgrade, and Patrick in need of someone unafraid to show him more affection and care than he was willing to give. 

Though he wasn’t the best at communicating his feelings, you quickly became a tenured professor in Patrick-ology. You were certain that this played a role in why Patrick liked you so much in the first place—being somewhat emotionally stunted, he needed someone who could understand his thoughts without him having to explicitly say every detail, and you did exactly that. 

This skill worked out surprisingly well for you. You gave him the love and understanding that he’d been looking for and missing for all of his adult life, and you got to reap the benefits that came with being in a relationship with someone in one of the most powerful families in the world. 

Despite your more humble beginnings, you quickly became familiar with luxurious items and activities. You also quickly learned that no matter how prepared you thought you were for that level of wealth—you weren’t. You couldn’t even begin to count the amount of times your unfamiliarity with certain norms left you as the laughing stock of the family. 

But it wasn’t all corner offices in skyscrapers and helicopter rides. During the honeymoon phase of your relationship, it certainly felt like it, but the cracks in your foundation became more and more evident every day. 

The thing was, as much as you two cared about each other, there was a family shaped shadow that loomed over everything that you did. It was clear that you were an outsider in Patrick’s family. Coming from an upper-middle class Midwestern background, you were often made to feel like you were a stupid gold-digger, only staying around your boyfriend for power, rather than love. At times, you wondered if his family knew what love was at all. 

The love, or lack thereof in Patrick’s family was what shocked you most of all. It was no secret that his father was unnecessarily cruel to all of his children, but particularly to his siblings trying to work their way into more serious positions in the company. Patrick somehow managed to dodge that particular flavor of cruelty, with him very obviously being his father’s favorite and working outside of the family business, but the emotional scars his father left still lingered. 

But his father’s presence didn’t just loom over him, it was beginning to loom over you, too. Not only in the extreme intimidation you felt when having to interact with him, but in the small acts of callousness Patrick showed you throughout the course of your relationship. 

It began as small things, things that bothered you less the more you got used to them. Like how he always seemed to unconsciously belittle your work, not even bothering to seem interested in the recaps you gave of your day before he launched into a story of his own about the candidate he was working with. Though you tried your hardest to fight through your smaller pet peeves with him, Patrick’s inability to be straightforward about his emotions felt like the cherry on top of an already painful sundae.

Regardless of all of the flaws, bumps, and roadblocks in your relationship, you promised to yourself that you would be in Patrick’s corner, no matter how ugly things got or how poorly he treated you. Not only out of your own self-interest, but out of your love for the man, and the knowledge of how difficult his upbringing made certain things for him. 

Which was why when you got the call from Patrick that something had gone terribly wrong with his father while coming back from his birthday celebration, you didn’t hesitate to rush to the hospital, encouraging your driver to speed all the way to the building. 

When you arrived, he and his siblings were in disarray in a way you’d never seen before. His father, who was typically a presence that towered over everyone in the room, was reduced to an old man hooked up to a number of machines. His older sisters, who were always either waiting for the moment to swoop in and make a crude joke or waiting in the wings to discuss the next business strategy, paced back and forth endlessly, clearly feeling the pressure of their sick father.

Patrick sat alone on an uncomfortable chair, peering helplessly into the observation room. It was rare for you to see him with his feelings written so openly across his face, even after years of being in a relationship with him. That concerned you.

You made quick work of walking over to Patrick, whose tensed-up shoulders slightly dropped as you took a seat next to him. Though he wouldn’t ever tell you this, you knew that your presence made him feel more supported and a little more safe, though you being or not being in the hospital clearly wouldn’t have an impact on if his father lived or died. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, immediately squeezing your hand. “Thanks for coming,” he said weakly, as if he was fighting off a new round of tears. In that moment, you so desperately wanted to take some of his emotions for yourself, knowing that Patrick hated feeling any feeling, let alone such negative feelings to such a serious degree. 

“Of course, honey,” you reassured him, running what you hoped would be a grounding hand up and down his arm. “Is there anything I can get you? Coffee? Water? A snack? I saw that burger place you like on my way over.”

“No, nothing right now,” he sighed. You inspected him cautiously, knowing that he wasn’t exactly one to always say what he meant. “Really,” he assured you, though you didn’t completely buy it. 

Since he wasn’t in the mood for more material items, you decided that the best course of action was a little affection. He wasn’t always the biggest fan of receiving affection in front of his family, but you figured that in a time where he was uncertain if his father would live or die, he would appreciate a little outward support. 

You laid your head on his shoulder and angled your body closer to his. Not expecting any response, you were surprised when Patrick kissed the top of your head. “I’m glad you’re here,” he told you quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he’d be in trouble if someone overheard him. 

You held his hand as the two of you sat for hours, only getting up to stretch your legs or take phone calls from friends with insight on other high-end medical facilities that might be able to better accommodate Patrick’s father. 

You did your best to give Patrick his space when he needed it, as he floated between two of his siblings—one of which was focused mainly on the future of the company, and the other in a state of denial about the state of her father—then back to you when he could no longer stand the chaos of his sisters. 

It was a stressful scene, and one that was clearly too much for your boyfriend, who went back and forth between wanting to be glued at your hip, and wanting to be left completely alone. You’d seen Patrick stressed in the past, with him chatting your ear off as he waited for his candidate’s election results, or as he prepared to give a speech at an event, but you’d never seen him like this. 

He almost seemed fragile, like one wrong word or action might break him. It frightened you to see him in such a state. Again, you lamented not being able to take some of his pain for yourself. 

In the time that you waited without any word from any doctors, a few gears began to turn in your mind. Life was so fleeting, which was proven by Patrick’s mighty father falling so seemingly easily. Really, it could’ve been any of you sitting on that table with tubes and monitors attached to you. If it were Patrick who was sitting on that gurney, you would be an absolute wreck. If he somehow died, you also wouldn’t technically be a widow, despite your long-term relationship with the man. 

All of it made you wonder if you should just bite the bullet and propose to Patrick.

Sure, it wasn’t the best timing ever. Sure, you’d always imagined yourself being on the receiving end of a grand proposal, especially from someone like Patrick. But maybe he would appreciate the gesture—giving him a distraction to take away some of his pain, and giving him one final grand milestone with you while his dad was still alive. 

To a lesser extent, being married would provide you with certain protections you didn’t have while you were only his long-term girlfriend. Obviously, you didn’t want to think of anything bad happening to your boyfriend, but accidents and tragedies could happen at any point, and it was better to be prepared than to be sorry. 

It felt right that you might be able to join his family during a time where he was losing a family member. Not only for his sake, but because losing their patriarch meant unprecedented instability in his family. You wanted to be sure of your spot amongst them, after you’d grown used to the privileges that came with being Patrick’s girlfriend. 

You fidgeted with the ring on your middle finger, a family heirloom passed from generation to generation onto you. It was no expensive piece of jewelry, and it certainly wasn’t an engagement ring, but it was incredibly meaningful to you—a symbol of your family, which was extremely important to you. Patrick knew just how much you valued the ring and exactly what it represented to you, so in turn, you hoped that if you gave it to him, he would understand how much he meant to you. 

Getting up from where you’d been sitting for far too long, you began to pace the hallways of the hospital, wondering about the timing of your now imminent proposal. As you shuffled through the sterile building, you surprised yourself as you came across your partner. 

“Patrick!” you said with a start after unexpectedly catching a glimpse of him. 

“Hey,” he greeted unenthusiastically before beginning to walk right past you. 

“Wait,” you grabbed onto his arm before he could fully walk away, encouraging him to look right at you. It was now or never, and the words were on the tip of your tongue. 

“I’m sorry, I really don’t have time for this right now,” he dismissed, his voice monotone and listless. 

“You do, though. Patrick, listen,” he didn’t look like he was in the mood to talk, but was prepared to listen to you anyway. You knew you only had a few seconds to pitch your proposition before you lost him, so you spat out your words rather than beating around the bush. “Let’s get married.”

“What?” he looked at you with brows drawn in confusion. It wasn’t exactly the ideal reaction to your proposal, but then again it wasn’t much of a proposal. “Right now?”

“Obviously not now, but… soon?” as you spoke, you began the process of slipping the ring off your middle finger and attempting to present it to him in the palm of your hand. Sure, it wasn’t the most romantic or put together proposal, but it felt right to be offering him such a grand and personal gesture while everything else was going sideways in his life. 

“I know it’s probably not the best time, but I thought that maybe I could make things a little better with your dad and… I don’t know. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. If something ever happened to you, I wouldn’t want to wonder about what we could’ve been and-” you rambled on before you were interrupted with a sigh. 

“Honey, you can’t just make my dad dying better,” he rubbed his temple exasperatedly, then looked between you and the ring you were presenting him with. “If you wanted to make me feel better, you should’ve just brought me coffee.”

You frowned at him, knowing that you’d offered him that very thing earlier and he turned you down. You wondered if your communication would ever improve—or if it even needed to improve, since this proposal was going so poorly that you’d probably leave the hospital single. 

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you closed your palm and put your hand in the pocket of your jacket, fully prepared for Patrick to tell you to fuck all the way off. It had been stupid for you to think that Patrick would appreciate such a grand gesture during such a terrible time. 

“Wait,” Patrick stopped you, now reaching for your arm. “My answer isn’t a no, it’s just… I don’t want this to be the memory. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Doing all the work of getting your hand out of your pocket, he grabbed the ring you presented him with to further prove his words and slipped it on his ringer. It only fit halfway down his finger, but he kept it on regardless. 

“Really?” you said, suddenly perking up.

“Duh,” he replied, looking a little shy as his cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he briefly looked away from you, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn’t even manage to look you in the eye. 

You couldn’t contain your excitement at his answer, jumping and squealing a little bit as you pulled him into an overly enthusiastic hug. You heard the familiar sound of Patrick laughing quietly in your ear as you squeezed him. Though he always seemed to hold back his emotions, you knew that he was just as excited as you were to be promised to one another.

You pulled him into a soft kiss, draping your arms around his neck, holding him as close as you could until he inevitably pushed you away. 

Patrick surprised you with how long he was willing to embrace you, clearly in need of a little bit of comfort after such an emotionally exhausting night. You surprised yourself when you ended up being the person to pull away. 

“Should we go check on our family?” you asked, not bothering to hide your excitement around finally being in. 

“I just need a second,” he told you, glancing down the hallway before pulling you into yet another embrace. He pressed his face into your hair, soothing himself with your scent and presence. You rubbed circles into his back and muttered something about him taking all the time he needed.

You were interrupted by one of Patrick’s sisters, whose voice called out your names down the hallway. “When you two are finished with your snuggle-fest, the doctor has news for us.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick pushed you away quickly, his tune changing in an instant.

“Good news, I think. But move your asses. C’mon,” she directed, already turning away and Patrick quickly following her. 

If you were experiencing an emotional rollercoaster, you couldn’t even begin to understand how Patrick was feeling. Finding out his dad was sick, being proposed to, and immediately hearing more news about his father in the span of just a few hours must’ve felt unreal. 

You sat quietly and observed from the sidelines as a doctor took them into their father’s room and filled in the siblings on the state of him. They all seemed to share a collective sigh of relief, and though you couldn’t hear the exact news from where you were sitting, you knew that it must’ve been good. 

When Patrick came back to you, he had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “Ready to go?” he asked you. 

He didn’t need you to ask twice. You were more than prepared to escape the too-bright lights, sickeningly sterile scent, and the feeling of sadness that seemed to be hanging in the air of the hospital. 

Your driver was a welcome sight, with him giving you a quiet greeting as the two of you got in the backseat of the car. As he drove, Patrick reached for your hand, which you gladly gave up to him. 

In the following minutes, Patrick crept over further into your space until he sat directly beside you, leaning his head on you with his eyes closed. The long day was surely taking its toll, with the anxiety of his dad being in such dire straits, and the excitement and confusion of you proposing to him. 

His sleep was well earned. You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, then closed your own eyes, letting the soft sound of the early morning city traffic lull you to sleep. 

In the following days, you could tell that something wasn’t quite right with Patrick. At first, you chalked it up to nerves around his father’s health, but that didn’t seem to be it. Typically, when Patrick was really anxious about something, his silence on the elephant-sized topic gave him away. While you’d heard quite a bit about the state of his father from him—whether it was an update sent to him by his step-mother or an actual visit to the man—you hadn’t heard a peep about your engagement since the day after you got engaged. 

On the other hand, you were struggling to keep the news to yourself, despite the request of Patrick. You wanted to scream the announcement from the rooftops, but in the early morning after you returned from the hospital, Patrick made his position very clear: Wait a little while for things to blow over before you started telling people– your friends and family included. 

Despite the fact that he wore your ring every day since the day that you’d given it to him, something about his behavior told you that it was that very ring that was giving him so much internal conflict. 

In the past few years of knowing Patrick, you learned that he was a bit of a control freak. You wondered how out of control it made him feel for you to be the person to propose to him. Part of you wondered if you should’ve even proposed in the first place if it was going to be an issue. Maybe you should’ve let him do things on his own timeline, rather than making him feel nervous or insecure in your relationship.

But at the same time, Patrick initially seemed rather entertained by the idea of you getting married. In the morning after your engagement, he couldn’t stop referring to you as Mrs. Zweig. At the desk of your brand new office, given to you after a serious promotion, you found a box of expensive chocolates with a note fondly referring to you as his fiancé. As you laid next to him in bed that night, he pulled up the profiles of three separate wedding planners and asked you about your preference in people. 

It almost felt like his feelings on your engagement were constantly fluctuating between being excited to be with you forever, and being terrified of that very commitment. Things weren’t made any better by Patrick’s professional-level ability to dodge questions, especially questions related to how he genuinely felt. 

“C’mon, you know how I feel,” he replied to you after you directly asked him over breakfast. He lifted his mug casually, subconsciously putting space between the two of you. 

“Pat, I don’t. That’s why I asked,” you forced out a laugh, though the situation wasn’t exactly funny to you. If Patrick didn’t want to marry you, you didn’t want to force him to do so. 

“But you always know how I feel,” he said with a bit of a pout and a whine—what you called his ‘let me get away with it’ demeanor that he often used with his family—before setting down his coffee and standing up. 

“Not this time,” you explained, standing up as well and abandoning the plate of half-eaten eggs in front of you. 

“You’ll figure it out,” he dismissed your concerns and stepped close enough to you to hold your face in both of his hands. 

“Love you?” you asked, hoping that if he could confirm that at the very least, you might have a better understanding of what was going through his head. 

“Of course,” he said genuinely, though he didn’t offer you any parroting of those words. Instead, he dropped his hands from your cheeks and kissed one of them. “Have a good day at work, okay?” 

“Yeah. Thanks,” you tried not to look as annoyed as you actually felt as you made quick work of grabbing your work bag and leaving. You needed some time to make sense of it all. 

The situation only became more complicated as you sat down in a conference room, mentally preparing yourself to make your first big presentation as the newly vetted Head of Parks and Cruises division. You cared greatly about what your peers thought about you, so you couldn’t deny the nerves running through your veins. 

These nerves only increased when you caught a glimpse of Patrick from the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the conference room, shaking hands with people on your floor and clearly making cordial small talk. 

You desperately hoped that he was there to wish you luck on your presentation, and not to pick your conversation from the morning back up. You bitterly thought about how he couldn’t have picked a worse time as he waved at you from the window. You stiffly waved back, not exactly in the mood to be interrupted right before a big presentation. 

“Hey, if I don’t make it back for whatever reason, you can do this presentation, right?” you asked quietly, leaning into your newly-hired assistant’s ear. 

“Wait, what?” he asked you, brows furrowing. “I don’t know, I haven’t practiced or anything, and-“

“Perfect,” you replied, not listening to a single word he was rambling out. “Just read off the slides. You’ll be okay.”

You didn’t bother staying to listen to Art ramble in your ear about how he didn’t know what he was doing. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be the one presenting, and if he absolutely had to, he’d probably be fine. 

You shut the door behind you, politely waving at one of your co-workers as they entered the conference room. You made your way to Patrick and stood with your arms crossed against your chest, trying to strike a good balance between showing him how agitated you were, and not trying to further agitate your fiancé, who seemed to be in a particularly fragile mental state lately. 

“Hi honey, is anything important going on?” Patrick asked once you stood across from him. 

“Actually, yeah. Is there any way we could chat a little later? Like maybe an hour or two?” you suggested. “I can block some time off on my calendar for you and everything.”

“I’m sure whatever it is isn’t more important than this,” he glanced over at the conference room as he spoke to demonstrate his point. You wished you could explain to him how far that was from the truth.

“What is it?” you asked, your patience beginning to grow thin.

“You’ll have to see. Come with me?” he offered. 

“Patrick, I’m in the middle of a meeting!” you whisper-shouted, trying to keep your voice down and your body language mostly neutral, so your colleagues couldn’t observe how much you were freaking out as you talked to your partner. 

“It hasn’t started yet,” he dismissed casually. “They’ll be fine without you. I won’t be fine without you.”

You eyed him suspiciously. 

“Please,” he added, as if you’d ever be able to say no to him—though you were pretty tempted to do so. 

“Fine,” you gave in with a small, soft sigh. That didn’t deter Patrick at all, who seemed uncharacteristically excited as the two of you sat in the backseat of his car. 

“So where are we going? Or, what are we doing?” you asked, trying to ignore the terrible feeling in your gut that you felt about leaving your meeting. 

“It’s a surprise,” Patrick said coyly. “It’ll be more fun than that meeting, though.”

“I’m sure,” you replied, looking out the window. You hoped that whatever romantic gesture Patrick planned would be worth losing the respect of all of your peers. You wondered what you could tell them that would make your absence seem acceptable. Family emergency? It wasn’t exactly a lie. It wasn’t quite the truth either. 

When your ride stopped and you stepped out of the vehicle, you were surprised to find yourself at the diner that you spent the majority of your first few dates at, splitting pieces of pie and talking each other’s ears off for hours. 

“Craving some cherry pie?” you asked him curiously. Obviously, this seemed like a task he could’ve handled on his own, coming to the diner himself or having his driver buy and deliver him a whole pie, but you figured that maybe he was simply in the mood for some nostalgic comfort. In the midst of such chaos, you would be happy to give that to him. 

“It’s been too long,” he shrugged before grabbing your hand.

Patrick led you to the booth that you declared as yours all those years ago, and began to chat your ear off like normal. While you wanted to think about work, it was surprisingly easy to forget about the real world when you were in such a nostalgic place with him. 

The two of you ordered your old usual order, only enhancing the feeling of nostalgia as you shared a plate of painfully average pancakes and a slice of cherry pie.

“Ew, what is that?” you laughed after you bit into something hard and gross. “This fucking place,” you muttered, looking for a napkin that you could spit out whatever it was that you almost just consumed. 

When you glanced down at the napkin, you were shocked to find what looked like a metal ring covered in cherry syrup. “Oh shit. Do you think this belonged to someone?” 

Once you looked up, you were shocked to find Patrick holding a black velvet box, one that you’d seen before nearly a year ago as you deep-cleaned your shared bedroom, one that you chalked up as a gift for his mother or a friend. 

“Patrick?” you asked, clearly confused. He parroted your name right back to you and opened up the box, showing you one of the most beautiful rings you ever laid your eyes on. 

Suddenly, it made sense why he asked you to come out with him, interrupting you in the middle of the day to take you to a diner where you shared so many memories. Sure, he could’ve waited until you got off work, but you figured he was thinking about your conversation from the morning and wanted to do something that would show you how much he truly cared about you. He’d always been better at bigger gestures than verbally sharing his feelings, so part of you remained unsurprised. 

“I first fell in love with you here, so it only felt right to bring you back here to ask you to marry me?” he explained, not breaking eye contact with you. He was never one for a soapbox when it came to sharing his feelings, so his proposal was short and straight to the point. Though, you wondered if he had more words prepared that he simply couldn’t get out. Based on the speed of his leg bouncing under the table, you knew that Patrick was nervous out of his mind—despite him already knowing what your answer was. 

You recalled what Patrick told you in the hospital about not wanting your proposal to be the memory—the memory you told others about when you shared the news, or fondly recalled to your kids in ten years when you reminisced on your love story. 

If accepting his proposal now, and acting like his proposal was the only proposal made him feel better, you didn’t see any reason why you wouldn’t fully lean into it.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed, genuinely being surprised at the offer, but playing up your excitement for the sake of your nervous fiancé. “Of course I’ll marry you, Pat.”

Patrick broke into a toothy grin, his excitement contagious to you. “Give me your hand,” he directed, taking the ring out of the box. 

He slipped the ring onto your finger, and it somehow looked even better on your finger than it did in the box. You looked at it in amazement curling and uncurling your hand to look at the ring from all of its angles. 

“It’s gorgeous, Patrick. Thank you,” you told him earnestly as you looked from your hand to him. You weren’t surprised by the quality of the ring or even that he found something that you liked so much. Growing up with lavish gifts constantly being given as an expression of ‘love’ made Patrick pretty damn good at giving you gifts. As for the other expressions of love… he wasn’t the best. But he was very obviously trying his best for you, and you loved that about him. 

In some ways, your proposals felt like the perfect encapsulation of your roles in your relationship. While you offered Patrick a ring with little monetary, but high emotional value, he gave you a ring that was probably more expensive than you could ever fathom, that didn’t have the same emotional ties that your family heirloom of a ring did. 

Beyond the appearance or symbolism behind your rings, and despite your very different proposals, you were ecstatic to be engaged to Patrick. It only felt right that after years of loving the man, you two were finally making things official in the legal sense. 

As you peered at your shyly smiling fiancé, you couldn’t help but break out into a grin yourself. You underestimated just how exciting it would be for you to be starting a new chapter of your relationship. 

[4only1]

Signal

Gitae Kim x Reader Word Count: 994 Masterlist

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Trying to let you know, sending a sign, sending signals. I must let you know, sending a sign, sending signals, sending a sign, sending signals, sending a sign, sending signals, sending a sign, sending signals, I must let you know!

It hadn’t been that long since you first met Gitae Kim. When he came to Korea, you met him at the airport with Goo and Taejin. Goo definitely was curious about this man for many reasons, the main one probably being that he is Gapryong Kim’s eldest son. The moment you laid your eyes on him, your heart skipped a beat. How can a man be so handsome yet somewhat disturbing at the same time.

You aren’t an idiot, you’ve heard of his past actions. Usurping the previous king of Seoul with an axe?!! That was crazy, and you were expecting the man to match what you’ve heard, but he didn’t. Okay, he did match what you were expecting, but you didn’t expect yourself to be so…attracted to the man. He had to at least be 6’7” if not taller, and he was like, a foot wide of pure muscle. You were constantly surrounded by tall men, but Gitae had to be the biggest man you’ve ever seen.

At some point, I started to like you, you fool, why don’t you know my heart? When are you going to stop being so dumb, and only treating me as a friend, that’s not what I want at all!

Lucky you was assigned to help guide Gitae around Korea during his stay, along with Taejin. Taejin, unfortunately (however fortunate for you), was unavailable the first day of Gitae's arrival, after meeting him at the airport. It was then your job to help guide him around, mainly to various locations, specifically, Big Deal’s street. 

You knew he was Jake’s older brother, I mean, again, it didn't take a genius to know that (same father and all). When he returned after his meeting, you couldn’t help but hide a blush on your face. It must have been the lighting, and also his face, yep definitely his face. The look of relief on his face as he spoke ‘I got the response I wanted’ gave you butterflies in your stomach.

If you notice me looking and smiling at you, I’ve already done it so many times today. If I keep talking to you, you should feel something, I keep staying by your side.

You didn’t even notice until Samuel pointed it out, you were always the first to talk to Gitae when he entered a room. Your eyes always seem to find him and a smile graced your face when they did. Samuel called it creepy which caused you to rant about his own creepy actions, earning a chuckle from across the room. You look and meet Gitae’s eyes. His eyes hold amusement, yours hold fascination.

You get more bold after that, I mean, take a shot when you have it, right? What is the chance you’ll see this man again after he finishes his business in Korea? You start going up to him, beginning a friendly conversation, something that no one else seems to do. He must not be the smartest man, I mean, how much more obvious do you need to be? He must have noticed how you always go up to him, no matter who else is present, or even if you are talking to someone. You will admit however, you do enjoy the look Goo gets on his face as you walk off mid-conversation to start one with Gitae. At this point, everyone BUT HIM, is aware of your growing crush.

Sending a signal, sending a signal, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, I really want you, I really want you, why aren’t you reacting? Everytime we meet, with all of my heart, ringing, ringing, ringing, ringing, I’m waiting, you can see everything, but why don’t you know?

At some points you think that even if you just tell Gitae how much you like him, he wouldn’t understand. You’re embarrassing yourself with your actions. You’ve been following him around Korea, like a kitten following its new owner. You are getting along well, you heard from Taejin that if you were annoying Gitae, you would have been dealt an axe to the face. So why hadn’t you? 

You were kinda hoping for any reaction, even an axe to the face at this point. That would be better than contemplating over if Gitae was clueless or intentionally playing with your feelings while saying nothing. You have to know. You can’t keep this up anymore. Everytime you meet, butterflies swarm about within you. You've been waiting too long for him to notice, time to make a move, but maybe, a subtle one. Play it cool (Y/N), you got this.

“So, when we went to go see your brother, what did you and that guy, Sinu, talk about? It seemed pretty intense if you guys fought after just a few words.”

“...” He looks up at you as you place your hands on the table in front of him. He gives it a moment before responding. 

“About romance. I hate it”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. His answer is frustrating, but his voice is just so damn captivating. His words had both answered yet unanswered the question that remained deep inside you. Dear Gitae Kim, I am not giving up unless I get a clear answer. You ‘hate’ romance? Does that mean you hate being romantic, or you hate seeing romance? Doesn't matter, you are going to keep your hopes up.

I’m sending you a sign, sending you a signal, but it won’t go through. Giving you a look, trying to make you notice, but you don’t seem to get it. I’m so frustrated I’m going crazy. I don’t know why this is happening but, I’ll gather my strength up once more and, send you a sign, send you a signal.

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I love Twice and I like lookism so why not combine them. I'm sad we haven't seen much of this man in Korea so I had to get creative. Do y'all understand how tall this man is?!?!

I've gotten a couple of requests so those will probably start coming out next week. I wrote this one the same time I wrote the last story, so I wanted to get this out before I start the requests. Probably a million spelling errors....Anyways, stan TWICE <3.

[nameless-ken]

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Six

Word count: 9.2K

Warnings: angst, smut!! (18+), fluff too, all the emotions

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Masterlist

The rhythmic clinking of tools echoes in your quiet apartment as Bucky, Steve and Sam work on replacing the shattered window while you are at work. A crisp draft from the afternoon air slips through the gap, making Bucky shift uncomfortably. He stands nearby, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the street below for any signs of movement.

“You sure this place is secure now?” Sam questions, handing Steve a screwdriver. “Because that was one heck of an entry.”

Steve nods, securing the new pane in place. “We’re reinforcing it, but I think we need to figure out who did this, not just block it out.”

Bucky let out a low huff, his jaw tightening. “It’s not just a message. Someone out there knows too much—about me. About what happened.”

“And they made it personal,” Sam adds.

Steve brushes his hands on his jeans. “We’ll track them down, Buck. But we’ve got to start smart. What’s the connection? Why now?”

Bucky doesn’t answer immediately. For your and Elizabeth’s sake, he tries to push down the storm of emotions that threatens to overtake him. “They’re tied to what happened to me. The people who took me. Could be Hydra… or someone trying to replicate what they did to me.”

“Then we’ll find them,” Steve says firmly. “Together. Like we always have.”

Sam leans against the wall, arms crossed. “And we’re not just talking about going after them, man. You need to let us help you—really help. None of this lone wolf act.”

Bucky’s lips press into a thin line. He nods, but the weight in his chest didn’t lift.

Steve glances at Bucky, sensing his tension but choosing not to press further. Instead, he redirects his focus. "Sam, make sure we log the details of the break-in. We might’ve missed something the first time through."

Sam nods and pushes off the wall, grabbing his phone. "Already on it. I’ll run the details by my contacts too—see if there’s been any chatter about suspicious activity in the area."

As Sam steps into the hallway, Steve leans closer to Bucky, lowering his voice. "You don’t have to carry this alone, you know."

Bucky exhales sharply, his metal fingers flexing unconsciously. "I’m not carrying it alone. I’m just… trying to keep it together."

Steve places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him as they walk out of the guest room and to the living room. "We’ll figure this out, Buck. You’ve faced worse and come out stronger. And you’ve got more people backing you now than ever before."

Bucky gives a tight nod. "I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me."

Before Steve can respond, the sound of the front door opening draws their attention. You step inside with Elizabeth following you as you juggle a bag of groceries in one hand and your keys in the other. 

“Looks like you guys got it all sorted,” you greet with a smile, though your gaze lingers on Bucky, who stands tense and guarded.

“Almost there,” Steve replies, straightening up and dusting off his hands. “We’ve reinforced the frame and added some extra measures to make sure it’s not so easy to break next time.”

Elizabeth bounds over to the couch, her backpack slipping off her shoulders. “Next time?” she echoes, her tone half-serious and half-curious.

“There won’t be a next time,” Bucky mutters, his eyes flicking to the guest room and then back to her. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge to it that makes Elizabeth glance at him curiously before pulling out her homework.

“You picked her up?” Sam asks, returning from the hallway with his phone in hand. He glances at you and then back at Elizabeth.

“Figured it was the easiest and the least I could do while you all handled this,” you reply, setting the groceries on the counter. “Besides, it gave me a chance to get her opinion on snack choices. She’s got some strong feelings about granola bars, by the way.”

Elizabeth looks up with a grin. “Because chocolate chip is way better than raisin.”

Sam chuckles. “Kid’s got good taste.”

As the light banter fills the room, Bucky shifts, his arms crossing over his chest again. He watches the easy interaction, his tension visibly easing just a fraction. You notice and meet his gaze, offering him a small smile before pulling a loaf of bread from the bag.

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner, by the way,” you offer, glancing at the three of them. “It’s the least I can do to say thanks.”

Sam raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Depends. What’s on the menu?”

“Spaghetti,” you answer. “And if Elizabeth has her way, garlic bread too.”

Elizabeth perks up. “You have to make the garlic bread. It’s the best part!”

Steve grins, stepping closer to the counter. “Sounds like a solid meal. Count me in.”

Sam nods in agreement. “Same here. I’m not missing garlic bread.”

You glance at Bucky, who hesitates. For a moment, it seems like he might turn the offer down, but then Elizabeth pipes up, “You’ll stay too, right, Uncle Bucky?”

Her wide-eyed look cuts through his reluctance, and with a faint smile, he nods. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

As you move around the kitchen, the atmosphere gradually softens. Steve and Sam take turns helping Elizabeth with her homework while Bucky keeps his position near the guest room, though he doesn’t seem as tightly wound as before.

“You know,” you say after a while, breaking the comfortable silence, “it’s nice having a full house like this. A little chaotic, maybe, but nice.”

Sam smirks. “Chaos is kind of our specialty.”

Steve chuckles. “True enough.”

Bucky, still standing by the closed door, finally turns away from it and looks at you. “You don’t mind us sticking around?”

You meet his gaze, your expression warm. “Not at all. Feels safer, honestly. And besides,” you add with a small grin, “I figure if anyone tries something again, they’ll regret it pretty fast with you three here.”

That earns a low chuckle from Bucky, and for the first time all day, there’s a flicker of something lighter in his expression. “You’re not wrong.”

Elizabeth glances up from her homework and adds, “Uncle Bucky’s the best at keeping people safe.”

The quiet pride in her voice makes him pause, his lips twitching into a faint but genuine smile. “Thanks, Bee.”

Dinner is filled with easy conversation and the kind of camaraderie that feels natural, even in the wake of the unease from before. By the time the dishes are cleared and the table wiped down, the apartment feels less like a crime scene and more like a home again.

As the evening winds down, Bucky finds himself lingering by the door while the others gather their things. He turns to you, his gaze steady. “Thanks—for dinner and picking up Elizabeth.”

You nod, your smile soft. “Anytime. You know that.” You lean in and kiss his cheek. 

“Please call me if anything feels off. Don’t hesitate.” Bucky pulls you into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to your head. 

“I promise. Thank you for everything.” 

Later that night, Bucky is consumed by the quietness of his apartment, save for the soft hum of the heater battling the December chill. Bucky sits on the edge of the couch, staring at the empty tea mug in his hands. Dinner had been… nice. Uncomfortably nice. He can’t remember the last time he’d felt so at ease—laughing at one of Sam’s terrible jokes, watching Elizabeth light up over dessert, hearing your voice cut through the heaviness in his chest like it belonged there.

It should’ve been good. Great, even. But instead, it left him unsettled. Warmth wasn’t something he was used to, not in a long time but now it wrapped around him like a second skin, soft but unfamiliar.

Alpine pads up onto the couch, curling into his lap. Bucky absently runs his fingers over her fur, his metal hand resting stiffly at his side. It’s not that he doesn’t trust it—it’s that he doesn’t trust himself. Not with this. Not with people he cares about.

His gaze shifts to the hallway, where Elizabeth is staying for the night after she pleaded with her dad, his room door slightly ajar. 

Pushing himself to his feet, Bucky crosses the room and gently nudges the bedroom door open. Elizabeth stirs at the sound, her small frame wrapped in a blanket as her stuffed bear rests on the pillow beside her.

“Uncle Bucky?” Her sleepy voice pulls him closer.

“Yeah, Bee, just me,” he says softly, crouching down to her level. “Wanted to check in before you head off to dreamland.”

Her brows knit together, her drowsy eyes searching his. “You look sad.”

Bucky lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m not sad. Just thinking too much. Go back to sleep, alright?”

“You’ll keep us safe?” she murmurs, already halfway back to sleep.

His throat tightens at the trust in her voice. “Always,” he promises, pressing a kiss to her head and smoothing the blanket over her shoulders. “Nothing’s getting past me.”

Once she’s asleep again, Bucky quietly shuts the door and leans against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. He could handle threats, danger, even his own ghosts—but this? The trust and love of people like Elizabeth and you? That’s what made him feel like he was walking on thin ice.

Back on the couch, the quiet feels heavier now. The mug is now cold, its contents long forgotten. He sets it on the table and leans back, Alpine shifting against his lap. His mind circles back to the warmth of the evening—Elizabeth’s laughter, your voice, the way you looked at him and how you reminded him that you're all in this together.

Together. That word clings to him, even now. It feels foreign, like a language he’s trying to relearn after decades of silence. But it also feels... dangerous. Trusting someone meant opening up, and opening up meant exposing the parts of himself he’d rather leave buried.

But you... you make it seem effortless. You see through his walls without tearing them down, slipping past his defenses like sunlight through cracks.

He glances at the leather-bound journal on the coffee table. A quiet ritual, one of the only ways he can sort through the noise in his head.

With a sigh, he picks it up and flips to a blank page. The pen feels heavy in his hand as he stares at the empty space, searching for the words he hasn’t said aloud.

I don’t know how to do this.

Dinner tonight felt like stepping into a memory I don’t deserve to have. Warmth, laughter, people who care—things I stopped letting myself believe in. But then there’s Elizabeth, trusting me to keep her safe. There’s Y/N, looking at me like I’m not just the sum of everything I’ve done.

It scares me.

Not the kind of fear I’m used to—the kind that keeps you alive in a fight. This is different. It’s... quieter. More patient. It whispers things I can’t ignore: What if you mess this up? What if you hurt them? What if they find out who you really are and walk away?

I can’t stop thinking about Y/N. How her voice cuts through the static in my head. How Y/N smiled at me tonight like I wasn’t broken.

I don’t know what to do with this feeling.

Bucky stares at the page for a long time before closing the journal. The words sit heavy in his chest, like a truth he’s only just starting to admit to himself.

As Alpine stretches and curls tighter against him, Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Tomorrow, the world would demand answers, plans, and action. But tonight, he allows himself this: the quiet hum of the heater, the softness of a cat’s fur, and the hope—no matter how fragile—that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to do it all alone.

The next morning, Steve and Sam spread out across the living room, papers and laptop screens cluttering the coffee table. The remnants of breakfast—Elizabeth's half-finished cereal bowl sat off to the side, a stark contrast to the tension in the room. Bucky stood near the window, his arms crossed as his gaze flicked between the street below and the scattered information.

“This symbol,” Steve said, tapping a grainy photo on his screen. “It showed up on the corner of the broken window frame. It’s faint, almost like it was etched there on purpose.”

Sam squinted, leaning closer. “That’s not random graffiti. Looks like an old Hydra mark.”

Bucky stiffened at the mention, his fingers curling into fists. “That’s not just any Hydra symbol,” he said, his voice low. “That’s from the division that… experimented on me.”

The room fell into a tense silence. Steve exchanged a glance with Sam before speaking. “You think this is tied to someone specific from back then?”

Bucky nodded, his jaw tight. “There were scientists, mercenaries… a lot of people involved. But there’s one name that stands out.” He hesitated, the weight of the memory pressing against him. “Jakob Neumann. He oversaw the project that gave me this.” He held up his metal arm, the morning light glinting off its surface.

Sam frowned, pulling out his phone. “That name rings a bell. Give me a sec.” He typed quickly, his brow furrowing as he scanned through a database. “Neumann’s been off the grid for years, but…” His eyes lit up with realization. “A guy matching his description popped up in a report from Romania six months ago. It wasn’t confirmed, but there were whispers about him working on black-market enhancements.”

Steve frowned, straightening. “If he’s resurfacing, it could explain why they’re coming after you now. Maybe they’re trying to tie up loose ends—or restart their work.”

Bucky’s grip on the windowsill tightened. “If Neumann’s behind this, he won’t stop at me. He’ll go after anyone connected to me.”

Steve stepped closer, his tone resolute. “Then we take the fight to him before he gets the chance.”

Sam glanced between the two of them. “We need more intel first. Charging in without a plan isn’t gonna help anyone—especially with Elizabeth and Y/N caught in the crossfire.”

Bucky turned sharply at the mention of your name, his eyes narrowing. “Y/N shouldn’t be involved in this. I won’t let her get hurt because of me.”

Sam raised a hand in surrender. “We’re all on the same page, man. That’s why we’ve gotta be smart about this.”

Steve nodded. “Sam’s right. Let’s track down where Neumann was last seen and see if we can get a trail on him. And Bucky…” Steve’s voice softened. “We’ll handle this together. You’re not doing this alone.”

Bucky looked between them, his chest tightening with conflicting emotions—gratitude, frustration, and the ever-present fear that his past would destroy what little good had found its way into his life. “Fine. But we don’t wait too long. Every second he’s out there is another second he’s a threat.”

By midday, the living room had transformed into a makeshift war room. Steve had set up a detailed map on the coffee table, pinpoints and notes marking places where Neumann or his associates were rumored to have been seen. Sam worked the comms, reaching out to his contacts for any new leads, while Bucky stood off to the side, his arms crossed and his expression unreadable.

“Okay,” Sam said, straightening from the couch. “Here’s what we’ve got so far. Last confirmed sighting was in Bucharest, but there’s chatter about someone matching Neumann’s description heading east. Budapest, maybe.” He jabbed a finger at the map. “There’s also been talk of some underground tech trades—enhancements, biometrics. Sounds like his kind of game.”

Steve nodded, his gaze serious. “If he’s moving, he’s staying one step ahead. We need to figure out where he’s going next. Budapest could be a stop, or it could be a dead end.”

“We won’t know until we get boots on the ground,” Bucky interjected, his voice steady but tense.

Sam leaned back against the armrest, arms crossed. “And how do you suggest we do that? Can’t exactly hop on a plane and start asking questions without drawing attention.”

Steve’s brows furrowed. “Sam’s right. We need to be subtle. If Neumann’s involved in black-market tech, he’s probably dealing with the same players he’s worked with before. We could start there.”

“Which means infiltration,” Sam added. “We need someone who can blend in, look like they belong in that world.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who raised an eyebrow. “You saying I look like I belong in a criminal underworld?”

Sam smirked. “If the arm fits.”

Despite the tension, a faint chuckle escaped Steve. “Sam’s got a point. You’ve been off the grid before. You know how to move in those circles.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. He hated the idea of diving back into a world that felt too close to the one he’d fought so hard to escape. But he also knew he couldn’t let anyone else take that risk. “Fine. I’ll go.”

“You won’t go alone,” Steve said firmly. “I’ll handle the logistics from here, and Sam will be your backup. We’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need before you head out.”

Sam gave a mock salute. “Guess I’d better pack my ‘blending in’ jacket.”

Bucky managed a faint smirk but said nothing, his mind already racing ahead to what he’d have to do. The thought of you and Elizabeth flashed unbidden in his mind, a reminder of what was at stake.

The evening sun dips low, casting golden light across the quiet street as Bucky approaches your apartment. He hears faint laughter through your front door, Elizabeth’s voice blending with yours, and for a moment, the sound eases the tension knotting his chest.

He knocks lightly, his metal arm making a softer tap than he intended. The door opens almost immediately, and there you were, a warm smile lighting up your face.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greet, stepping aside to let him in. “Perfect timing. Elizabeth just finished her homework, and we were about to start a game of Uno.”

Elizabeth pops her head around the corner, a grin spreading across her face. “Uncle Bucky! You have to play too. Y/N's not very good at bluffing.”

You laugh, mock-offended. “Hey, I’m plenty good at bluffing! I just happen to be honest when I play with you.”

Bucky chuckles softly, stepping into the cozy space. “You’re teaching her how to bluff? Pretty sure Steve wouldn’t approve.”

Elizabeth giggles and runs to grab the deck of cards. “He doesn’t have to know.”

You gesture toward the kitchen. “Want some tea before you take her home? I just put the kettle on and I have that Chamomile kind you like.” 

Bucky blushes slightly from the thought of you purchasing his favorite tea for when he comes over. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

The two of you move to the kitchen while Elizabeth sets up the game in the living room. You hand Bucky a mug, your gaze lingering on him as he takes a sip.

“Long day?” you ask gently.

Bucky nods, his eyes fixed on the liquid in his mug. “Yeah. We’re… dealing with the intruder situation. Complicated.”

“Something dangerous?”

He looks up, your concern evident. For a second, he considers brushing it off, giving you the usual noncommittal response. But something in your steady gaze tells him you wouldn’t buy it—and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to lie to you.

“Could be,” he admits quietly. “It’s connected to my past. And to people who might still want to use me—or worse.”

You set your mug down and cross your arms, leaning against the counter. “And you’re worried they’ll come after you. Or Elizabeth.”

“And you.”

Your breath catches for a moment, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. His blue eyes meet yours, searching, hesitant, yet brimming with an intensity that makes your heart race.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Bucky,” you say softly, stepping closer. “I’m tougher than I look. But you don’t have to carry all of this alone, you know.”

He exhales sharply, his shoulders tensing as though resisting your words. “I’m not good at letting people in,” he admits. “But the thought of something happening to you, to Elizabeth—it’s not something I can handle.”

Your hand instinctively reaches out, brushing against his metal arm. The coolness of the vibranium contrasts with the warmth of the moment. “You don’t have to handle it all alone. You’ve got Steve, Sam… and me. We’ve got your back, Bucky.”

He meets your gaze, his eyes holding an unspoken intensity, and without thinking, you lean in. You kiss him then, slow but sure, your lips finding his with a sense of quiet confidence. The moment feels natural, like something that was always meant to happen, and it’s as though the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this brief, private space.

The kiss deepens, and his hand moves to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, the tension between you dissipating as you both lean into the intimacy of it. When you pull away, you don’t step back immediately. Instead, you stay close, your foreheads gently resting against each other as you both catch your breath.

“Y/N…” he breathes your name softly, the weight of it carrying more meaning than any words could convey.

Before you can respond, Elizabeth’s cheerful voice rings out from the living room.

“Uncle Bucky! Are you coming? I already shuffled!”

You both laugh quietly, the moment fading, but the connection still crackling between you. Bucky takes a step back, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Guess I’d better go lose at Uno.”

You smile, feeling your heart still race. “For the record, I’m definitely going to beat you both.”

As you both move toward the living room, you glance at him once more. The warmth in his gaze matches yours, despite the chaos happening in your lives. 

The next Friday afternoon, the school is bustling with the usual end-of-week energy. Kids laugh and gather their things for the weekend as you finish up your last tasks in the classroom when you notice something out of place—an envelope wedged between the pages of a textbook on the corner of your desk. It’s a simple, unmarked envelope, but there is something about it that makes your skin start to prickle.

You hesitate, heart racing, and open it. Inside was a folded piece of paper, handwritten in a neat but unsettling script.

"We’re watching. It’s only a matter of time."

Your blood runs cold as you read the words again. The handwriting is unfamiliar, but the implication is clear. Your stomach twists in dread. You stuff the envelope into your bag, trying to shake the sense of unease that grips you. Elizabeth is already waiting by the door, backpack slung over her shoulder and a wide grin on her face.

“Ready to go, Y/N?” she asks, her voice full of enthusiasm.

You force a smile, nodding as you grab your things and follow her out into the hallway. The bustling school seems far too normal for what you're feeling inside. The tension from the note stays with you, coiling in your stomach. You glance over your shoulder one last time as you exit the building, scanning the hallway as though you might spot something or someone.

Elizabeth’s chatter helps distract you as you make your way to the parking lot. As you reach the front gates, you spot Bucky’s familiar truck idling by the curb. He leans against it, arms crossed, his eyes scanning the crowd with a kind of practiced vigilance. When he sees you, his expression softens, and he straightens up, pushing off the truck with a slight grin.

“Hey, you two,” he says, his deep voice grounding you for a moment, calming the nerves that have been rattling around inside you. “How’s the day been?”

Elizabeth jumps up and down, eager to give her answer. “It was awesome! I got 100% on my math test!”

You smile at her excitement but can feel Bucky’s eyes on you. There’s something in his gaze, something concerned, but you can’t quite place it.

“I’m proud of you,” Bucky says, giving her a playful ruffle of her hair as she beams up at him. Then, his attention shifts back to you. “How about you?”

You hesitate for a moment, the unease creeping back. You can’t shake the feeling that something isn’t right. You glance at Elizabeth, then turn your gaze to Bucky, knowing there’s no way to keep this from him any longer.

Bucky senses your hesitation. “Hop on in Bee. You can watch the iPad on the way home.” He helps Elizabeth buckle in, shutting the door and stepping back up on the sidewalk near you. 

“I found something today,” you say, your voice quieter than usual. “In my classroom. A note.”

Bucky’s brow furrows slightly, his posture shifting, the relaxed demeanor slipping away as he gives you his full attention. “A note?”

You nod, your hands subconsciously clutching your bag tighter. “Yeah. It was in one of the textbooks on my desk. No return address, no name. Just these words.”

You pull the envelope from your bag, handing it to him. Bucky doesn’t need to read it aloud; the message is clear as he scans it quickly, his face hardening with each passing second.

His jaw clenches, his free hand flexing as if he's holding something back. “This is...”

“Not a coincidence,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper. “It feels like whoever’s behind all of this is getting closer. I don’t know what they want, but it doesn’t feel safe.”

Bucky steps closer to you, his presence both comforting and protective, his expression now fierce. “This changes things. We need to keep you and Elizabeth safe. I’ll talk to Steve and Sam. We’ll make more headway on who is behind this immediately.”

You nod, the weight of his words sinking in. For the first time, the realization hits that you aren’t just dealing with some random threat. This is bigger, and it’s personal.

Bucky glances over his shoulder toward the truck, then back at you, his eyes softening as he steps even closer, closing the space between you. His voice drops low, his gaze never leaving yours.

“I don’t like this, Y/N,” he says, his hand brushing against yours. “But I’ll make sure we figure this out. Whatever it takes.”

You nod again, but the unease lingers in your chest, the weight of his words sinking deeper into you. It's not just the threat, but the quiet protection he offers, the way his presence feels like a shield around you.

Elizabeth’s voice cuts through the moment, cheerful as ever. “When are we gonna get to eat? I’m starving!”

“We’ll figure something out, Bee.” Bucky chuckles softly, shaking his head. “She’s got a point. I think we all need some downtime this weekend.”

His eyes flicker to the sky, then back to you, his expression softening again. “Listen, I’m gonna drop Elizabeth off at home and promise to make up our usual Saturday mornings to her later, then I was thinking…” He pauses, his tone turning a little more uncertain, as if he’s considering the best way to ask. “Maybe you want to come by my place afterward? I’ll make dinner. We can just… hang out. Take a break from all this.”

You glance at him, surprised but grateful for the offer. You’re tired, emotionally drained from the constant worry of the past few days. The idea of a quiet night, just the two of you, feels like the perfect way to reset.

You meet his gaze, and there's a soft warmth in his eyes as he waits for your answer.

“I’d like that,” you say softly, your voice filled with relief. "I think I could use some quiet time."

Bucky nods, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, reassuring smile. “Alright, I’ll take care of everything. You don’t need to worry about a thing. Just relax.”

You feel a wave of gratitude wash over you, the stress from the day slowly starting to lift. With Bucky here, you know things will feel safer, even if just for tonight.

“I’ll see you later, then,” you say, taking a step back toward the truck as he moves to climb into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. “Be safe driving and if anything suspicious happens again, please call me.” 

“Promise.” You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek, before stepping back and waving to Elizabeth. 

As he pulls away with Elizabeth’s excited chatter filling the truck, you watch them go, feeling a sense of calm you haven’t had in days. It’s a small, but welcome, piece of normalcy.

The tension from the day slowly begins to ebb away as you settle into Bucky’s cozy apartment, the warmth from the stove, and his presence feels like the perfect safe space, and for the first time in a while, you don’t feel the need to constantly look over your shoulder.

You curl your legs beneath you, making yourself comfortable, and watch him move around the kitchen. He looks so at ease, and yet, you can tell there’s something lingering just beneath the surface.

“Need help with anything?” you ask, breaking the silence.

Bucky glances over his shoulder, giving you a small smile. “Nah, I’ve got it. You just relax.” He focuses on the pan for a moment, the quiet thrum of his concentration giving way to a slight sigh. He turns back to you after a beat. “How’s the job going this year? How’s the school year treating you?”

“It's going okay. The kids are great, but it's been a lot. It always is at the beginning of the year and with Christmas break coming up. I love it, though. I just... sometimes feel like I'm running on fumes.”

Bucky’s expression softens, and he walks over to the couch, sitting beside you. “Yeah… I get that. It’s like you’re trying to be strong for the people who need you, but sometimes… you just want to let go.”

You nod, feeling the weight of the words. He looks at you, his gaze soft but intense, and you sense that he’s not just talking about you, but about himself too.

“I get it,” you say quietly. “You don’t have to pretend, you know? You don’t have to always be the strong one.”

Bucky lets out a breath, leaning back into the couch, eyes searching the ceiling as if he’s looking for the right words. His hand rests on his knee, his metal fingers lightly tapping a rhythm against his skin.

“I haven’t always had that kind of space,” he starts, his voice steady but tinged with something raw. “Growing up, my family was... tight-knit. My mom, my sister... my dad was always working, but we were close. And then after the war, everything changed.” He pauses, as if that thought alone takes a toll. “I kind of shut them out. After everything that happened…I lost my mom and didn’t go to her funeral. My dad told me off and told me to never go back after that. I regret it everyday, for not showing up. For never saying goodbye.”

You look at him, your heart aching for him in a way you hadn’t expected. The same loss you both shared, though in different forms.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” you say softly, your voice gentle, understanding. “I can’t imagine losing so much... like that. I used to go back home to see my dad, but after my sister and nephews... it’s just not the same anymore. I don’t really have anyone anymore. I used to think family meant blood, but I guess I’m learning that it’s more about who’s there for you, right?”

Bucky looks at you then, his blue eyes steady, as if weighing your words. He nods slowly, understanding. “Yeah. I guess that’s true. Steve, Sam, and Elizabeth—they’re my family now. They’ve been my rock. And, well, now you, too.”

His words hang in the air for a moment, full of meaning. You feel the quiet sincerity in them, and you realize that, in some small way, you’ve become part of that family too.

A smile tugs at your lips. “I like that,” you whisper, your gaze holding his. “I like being part of your family.”

Bucky’s expression softens, and he turns toward you fully, his knee brushing against yours. He hesitates for a second, his hand flexing, as if uncertain about something. Then, in a quiet voice, he adds, “You’ve got a place here. For as long as you want it. This—this family? It’s yours too.”

You feel your heart swell, warmth blooming inside you at his words. Something inside you loosens, and you let out a slow breath. The connection between you two feels stronger now, like a thread that’s been woven between you and tied with care.

You reach out, your hand brushing his, and he looks at you with a mixture of surprise and something else—something deeper. His eyes flicker to your hand, and then to your face, before he gently takes your hand in his, his fingers warm against your skin.

Bucky lets out a breath, his voice quieter now. “I know we’ve... crossed some lines already, but I want to make sure you’re comfortable. I don’t want to push you into anything you’re not ready for.”

You smile softly at him, your thumb gently brushing over his hand. “Bucky, you’re not pushing me into anything. I trust you.”

He looks down at your joined hands, his metal fingers slightly trembling as he touches you, unsure of how to navigate the unfamiliar territory. But then you gently place your other hand on his, your fingers running over the cool metal of his arm. It’s a gesture of reassurance, and you meet his eyes, your gaze unwavering.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I don’t mind. I want you to touch me, Bucky. In any way that feels right.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, his chest tightening as he gazes at you with something like longing in his eyes. Slowly, carefully, he leans toward you, his face inches from yours. And without another word, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first—gentle, as if testing the waters. But then you pull him closer, your hands moving to his chest as you deepen the kiss. He doesn’t pull away, and for a moment, everything else fades. The world outside doesn’t matter. It’s just you and him, connected in a way that feels like home.

Bucky’s hand, still unsure, finds its way to your cheek, the warmth of his touch mingling with the coolness of the metal on his other hand. And you welcome it, the mixture of both parts of him, feeling the whole of him in that moment.

When the kiss breaks, both of you are breathless, foreheads resting against each other as you try to regain composure. But neither of you says anything. Words aren’t needed right now. It’s enough to just be with each other.

And when Bucky whispers, “I’m glad you’re here,” you know he means more than just tonight.

“I think I’ve been waiting for something like this for a long time.”

Bucky’s eyes soften, and for a moment, it’s as if time slows down. He studies your face, his own expression serious but tender, as though he’s looking for something in you. Then, without another word, he pulls you closer, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he kisses you again.

This time, it’s different. Slower. Deeper. There’s a weight to it, a shared understanding that goes beyond physical connection. His lips press against yours with a quiet intensity, and you feel the storm of emotions between you two—the hurt, the healing, the desire for something more.

You let your hands move to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. His metal arm rests on the couch again beside you, the cold steel a reminder of his past, but you’re not afraid. You reach out, tentatively at first, your fingers brushing over it before gently cupping his arm. You sense the hesitation in him, the uncertainty about how much he can give of himself without losing control.

But you smile, meeting his gaze. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I want you. All of you.”

He leans down to kiss you again, taking his time. His lips are soft, but there’s an undeniable hunger in his touch, a yearning for something you both haven’t fully acknowledged until now. His metal arm comes around you, drawing you closer, and you don’t flinch. Instead, you press yourself against him, feeling the weight of his arm, the coolness of it grounding you as much as the warmth of his other hand that cradles your face.

There’s no rush, no urgency between you two, just the slow, deliberate connection of bodies and hearts. He takes his time, kissing you deeper, exploring every inch of you as if he’s memorizing the feel of you. You reciprocate, your hands threading through his hair, pulling him even closer as if you’re afraid this might all disappear if you don’t.

But then, suddenly, a sharp, panicked sound from the kitchen breaks the moment.

“Shit! The dinner!” Bucky mutters, pulling away abruptly. His face shifts from passion to surprise as he stands up quickly, his hand fumbling for his shirt as he rushes toward the kitchen.

You can’t help but laugh, a soft giggle escaping your lips. The seriousness of the moment vanishes in an instant, replaced by a sense of playful chaos.

Bucky hurries into the kitchen, his movements a blur as he scrambles to turn the stove off, muttering curses under his breath. You get up, following him into the kitchen, still smiling at the way he’s trying to salvage the meal.

“You might want to check the potatoes,” you tease, leaning against the doorframe, crossing your arms.

Bucky glances at you over his shoulder, his face slightly flushed from the rush. “I swear, I was so sure I had everything under control,” he says with a sheepish grin. “But then… well, you know.”

You smile, watching him move around, trying to salvage the dinner with a slight laugh in his voice. The lightheartedness between you both feels so natural, so freeing, and you feel more at ease than you have in a long time.

Bucky finally turns back to you, his hands still wiping off the remnants of whatever went wrong in the kitchen. His gaze softens as he looks at you, a slight chuckle escaping his lips as he walks back toward you.

“Guess we’ll have to make do with takeout,” he says, his voice light. "Any preferences?"

You shake your head, still feeling pleasantly warm from your earlier kisses. "Surprise me."

Bucky nods and pulls out his phone to place an order. As he talks, you let your gaze wander over him - the strong line of his jaw, the way his hair falls across his forehead, the subtle shift of his shoulders as he moves. When he catches you looking, his eyes darken.

He sets the phone down and moves closer, his steps measured and deliberate. 

Bucky's eyes lock onto yours as he approaches, his gaze intense and full of longing. The air between you feels charged, crackling with electricity. Without a word, he reaches for you, his hands gently cupping your face as he draws you in for another kiss. 

This time, there's no hesitation. His lips move against yours with heated urgency, and you respond in kind, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer. A soft moan escapes you as his tongue traces the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. You part your lips eagerly, deepening the kiss as your bodies press together.

Bucky's hands roam down your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. When they reach your hips, he grips you firmly and lifts you up. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom. 

Bucky gently lowers you onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours. There's an intensity in his gaze that makes your breath catch. He hovers over you, his weight supported on his forearms as he looks down at you with a mix of desire and tenderness.

"Are you sure about this?" he asks softly, his voice rough with want. 

You nod, reaching up to cup his face. "I've never been more sure of anything."

That's all the permission he needs. Bucky captures your lips in a searing kiss, pouring everything he feels for you into it. His hands roam over your body, exploring every inch of you, discarding your clothes in the wake. 

You arch into his touch, your body aching for more. Your nipples harden under his fingers, and you gasp as he pinches them gently. Bucky's mouth leaves yours, trailing kisses down your neck and chest. He pauses at your breasts, lavishing attention on each nipple in turn.

You moan, your back arching off the bed as he sucks and nips at your sensitive flesh. Bucky's hand slides down your body, tracing a path towards your core. When he reaches your panties, he hooks his fingers under the waistband and pulls them down, leaving you bare for him.

His eyes widen as he takes in the sight of you, his gaze lingering on your slick folds. "Fuck, you're beautiful," he breathes, his voice husky with desire.

Then, without another word, he's back to kissing you, his fingers mapping every inch of your skin as your hearts beat in time. There's no rush this time, only the quiet intensity of being together. His fingers slip between your legs to tease your clit, drawing out a moan from your throat.

When you can't wait any longer, you pull him down for another kiss. "Bucky, please..."

With a groan, he pushes back, his movements unhurried as he pulls off his own clothes. Your eyes drop to his cock, and he chuckles under his breath at the hungry look on your face. His hand wraps around the base of his shaft, stroking slowly as his eyes lock on yours.

"I don't want to rush through this. I want to feel you for the first time nice and slow." He pauses, his gaze flickering down your body. "Tell me you want that too."

Your mouth has gone dry, but you manage to croak out an assent. "Y-yes... yes, please."

Bucky nods, his teeth catching the corner of his mouth. Then he reaches to his nightstand for a condom and rolls it onto his shaft. You watch, mesmerized, as he slicks himself with lube.

The anticipation is driving you crazy, your body so sensitive with want. When Bucky finally slides a finger inside you, your toes curl and your hips jerk up off the bed.

"Oh god, oh god..."

He chuckles, his thumb teasing your clit. "Not yet. Just hold on and feel me."

You do as he asks, letting his touch wash over you as he works you open. Your nails dig into your palms as you wait, your heart hammering in your ears. He takes his time, his finger crooking inside you to hit the exact spot that makes you whine.

"Okay," he says, pulling his fingers out with a satisfied smirk. "Ready?"

You nod and he shifts forward, his cock nudging at your entrance. You open your legs wider, wanting him to fill you completely. Slowly, inch by inch, he slides inside you until he's fully seated.

Bucky buries his face in your neck, his breathing ragged. "Fuck," he pants. "You feel even better than I imagined."

You wrap your legs around him, your pussy clenching around his shaft. "Please move."

He groans, his hips pulling back slowly before he pushes forward again. "Okay, baby, okay..."

The friction inside you is exquisite. Every stroke hits your g-spot perfectly, making you shake and whine with pleasure. His cock hits deeper and deeper with each thrust, the sounds of your wetness echoing through his bedroom as he fills you.

As he fucks you, Bucky's kisses fall over your skin like rain. Your lips, your neck, the shell of your ear. His teeth nip at your collarbone, eliciting a startled cry from your throat. He smiles against your skin, his rhythm never faltering.

It feels like hours and only seconds at the same time, your bodies moving in perfect sync. When his teeth bite down on the flesh between your neck and shoulder, a sudden jolt of pleasure makes you see stars. Your body goes taut, your nails digging into Bucky's shoulders as you scream his name.

The sensation of you clenching down on his cock is all it takes for him to join you over the edge. Bucky gasps, his hips stuttering before he comes hard inside you. He moans, the sound vibrating against your skin.

You stay like that for a while, wrapped up in each other's arms as you come back down from the high. 

After a few quiet moments, Bucky pulls you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the bathroom. His touch is steady, almost reverent, as he sets you down gently. The sound of the shower fills the space as he turns it on, pulling you under the warm spray with him. His fingers brush against your skin, caressing your face as if committing every detail to memory, his blue eyes reflecting the unspoken tenderness between you.

He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that feels endless, consuming. It’s not just desire—it’s longing, devotion, and the overwhelming need to keep this moment forever. The thought of being apart is unbearable. He presses you closer, his hands firm on your waist as he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and hoarse.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

His words send a shiver through you, and you meet his intense gaze, your heart swelling. You reach up, fingertips tracing the sharp line of his jaw before brushing soft kisses along his neck.

“Me either,” you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of your emotions. “I’m so happy to be here with you. To feel this. To have you.”

The way he looks at you leaves you breathless—like he’s seeing every part of your soul and holding it in his hands. His eyes carry a depth that makes you feel seen, cherished, and claimed all at once. And you realize you want nothing more than to lose yourself in him, to become inseparably intertwined.

Bucky’s grip on your hips tightens slightly as though anchoring himself to the present, to you. His heart is pounding, emotions surging through him in ways he’s never felt before. He wants to tell you everything, to give voice to the feelings consuming him, but fear knots in his chest. How do you put something so profound, so earth-shattering, into words?

Instead, he holds you closer, his silence speaking volumes. And in his arms, under the cascading water, you feel it all—the unspoken promises, the yearning, and the undeniable truth that what’s between you is something neither of you can ever let go.

Bucky grips your thighs, pushing you flush against the wall, sucking on your neck as you moan loudly. His cock rubbing against you clit torturously.  

"Fuck," Bucky moans against your lips. "Please, I need you again..."  

You smile, knowing exactly what he's getting at. You lick his bottom lip, your breaths coming in short pants.  

"Take me," you whisper against his lips.

Bucky growls and pushes inside you. You let out a high pitched moan, nails digging into his shoulders. The force of the thrust makes your thighs quiver. Bucky fucks you slowly in long thrusts. Each one sends waves of pleasure through your body. He reaches up and cups your breasts in his hands, squeezing them gently before pinching your nipples, making you arch your back and cry out his name. 

The sound of your wet bodies colliding echoes through the room. Your cries of pleasure are loud, and Bucky grins, loving that he's causing that. That he makes you feel like that. He leans in close to you, breathing in the scent of your neck before biting it gently, making you squeal again.

He increases the speed of his thrusts as you feel yourself getting close, head falling back against the wall. Bucky runs his tongue along your neck to your collarbone, making you shiver. 

"I'm close," you moan. "Oh god, I'm close..."

"Come for me," he whispers against your ear. "Come on my cock, baby." 

He picks up the pace, slamming into you now. You moan loudly, the only thing you can think is how good Bucky feels inside of you. He's hitting all the right spots, sending pleasure running through your veins. 

"Fuck, I'm going to cum..." Bucky pants against your neck. 

"Yes, oh god" You squeal as you feel him stiffen inside you, and that's all it takes to push you over the edge. You cry out in ecstasy, body shaking against him. You can feel Bucky doing the same, his cock pulsing inside you. He presses you lips together, swallowing your moans. You stay flushed against the shower wall for a few minutes, the warmth of the water washing over you.

“You okay?” Bucky asks as he helps you stand to your feet, wobbling slightly as you steady yourself. 

“Yeah,” Is all that you can speak, overwhelmed with your emotions at the moment. 

“Let me take care of you,” Bucky murmurs, his voice gentle as he reaches for the shampoo. His touch is tender, his fingers threading through your hair with such care it feels like a quiet promise. He keeps the soap from your eyes, leaning in to press soft kisses against your damp face. The warmth of his affection draws a soft giggle from you, the sound making his lips curl into a small, content smile.

When he rinses the shampoo out, his hands trail down to your body, lathering a soapy cloth with delicate precision. His touch is delicate, as if every inch of your skin deserves his undivided attention. The intimacy of it—the simplicity of being cared for—sends a warmth through you that has nothing to do with the water. You gently take the cloth from him, mirroring his actions with the same tenderness, pressing kisses along the muscles of his back as you go.

Once the water is turned off, Bucky grabs a towel and wraps it around your body, patting you dry with the kind of focus that makes your heart ache with gratitude. He pulls his robe from the hook, draping it over your shoulders and tying it snugly, ensuring you’re wrapped in his warmth. With a towel secured around his waist, he takes your hand and leads you back to his bedroom.

You settle on the edge of his bed, watching as he rummages through his drawers. The way his brow furrows slightly in concentration makes you smile, the quiet intimacy of the moment filling the room with a palpable sense of connection.

“These should work,” he says, finally pulling out a soft T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. He hands them to you, his fingers brushing against yours, lingering just long enough to make your heart flutter.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the words heavy with meaning.

He pauses for a moment, his gaze meeting yours, and you swear you see the slightest hint of a blush creeping up his neck. But in his eyes, there’s something deeper—a quiet joy in caring for you, in sharing this space, this vulnerability. And as you slip into the clothes, the scent of him surrounding you, you know that being here with him feels like home.

Bucky watches as you slip into the T-shirt and sweatpants, his chest tightening at the sight of you dressed in his clothes. It’s such a small thing, yet it fills him with a warmth he can’t quite explain. He tosses the towel aside and pulls on a pair of boxers, then gestures toward the bed.

“Come on,” he says softly, his voice almost shy.

You crawl under the covers, the crisp sheets cool against your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that spreads through you when Bucky slides in beside you. He turns off the bedside lamp, the soft glow of the moon through the window casting silver shadows across his features.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The quiet hum of the night settles around you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels safe. Right.

Bucky shifts closer, his arm brushing against yours, and you instinctively roll onto your side to face him. He does the same, propping his head on his hand as his steel-blue eyes search yours.

“You comfortable?” he asks, his voice a husky whisper.

You nod, smiling. “More than comfortable. This… this feels good.”

Bucky’s lips twitch into a soft smile, but it fades just as quickly. His gaze drops for a moment, then returns to yours, something unspoken hanging heavy in the air between you.

“I…” he starts, then stops, exhaling a sharp breath. “I’m not great at this—at saying what’s on my mind.”

You reach out, your hand resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready. I get it.”

He places his hand over yours, his calloused fingers warm and grounding. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… new. I’ve spent so much time keeping people at a distance, thinking it’s better that way. Safer. But with you…” His voice trails off, and he looks at you like you’re the only thing grounding him in this moment.

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his expression. You feel the same—a pull so strong it terrifies you. But you can’t bring yourself to say it either, not yet. Instead, you lean in, resting your forehead against his.

“With you, it feels different,” you whisper. “Like… I can finally breathe.”

Bucky closes his eyes, his jaw tightening as he fights the emotions threatening to spill over. His thumb traces slow circles over your hand. “I’m scared,” he admits quietly.

“Me too,” you confess.

The honesty lingers in the air between you, fragile but unbreakable. You both know there’s more to say—deeper truths waiting to be spoken—but for now, this is enough.

Bucky shifts closer, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his chest. You nestle against him, your bodies fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle. His lips brush the crown of your head, and you hear him whisper something so soft you almost miss it.

“Don’t let go,” he murmurs.

“I won’t,” you promise, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside you.

And as sleep begins to claim you both, you realize that even though neither of you said the words, the feeling is there—strong, unyielding, and undeniable.

Part Seven

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

[keepingsecretstokeepyoutk]

This is going to be very long and sound a little crazy at first, and maybe a little mean but please hear me out…

I’m convinced that Taylor sometimes purposefully includes one line or multiple lines of poorly written or clunky lyrics in specific songs to make a point.

We all have seen some version of this with bearding songs like London Boy, a simple bop whose lyrics were immediately detected as sounding disingenuous, even with the general population (the locations she was signing about were the most touristy and too far away from each other to visit on the same day, etc, basically implying that she doesn’t actually have a long term local bf there that she spends a bunch of time with exploring the city with, etc).

But just like everything else on the album, I think she’s doing maybe a more in your face version of that. No holds barred.

So High School is an obvious example of this, with all of the early 2000’s hs imagery, she seems pretty blatantly to be mocking the idea the public has of her “living out every American girl’s high school fantasy” of dating the tall popular football player. With lyrics like “touch me while your friends play grand theft auto” (barf), etc, shes being clear enough that this is not a serious song.

This is the possibly controversial part, but I’m so curious to see what others think about this - I think another iteration of this on this album is the title track, The Tortured Poets Department. Hear me out.

(First, I want to reassure you that there are lines in this song that I really like and think are well written, like: “you’re in self-sabotage mode/throwing spikes down on the road” and “but you awaken with dread/pounding nails in your head/but I’ve read this one/where you come undone/I chose this cyclone with you”. And I fully agree with the idea that these sentiments are from Karlie’s perspective. Basically, when you take out the chunks I’m about to talk about this song makes way more sense and has a beautiful sentiment of undying love behind it - which makes the following parts stick out that much more!)

The first time I listened through the album, and this was the second song, I got terrified because I didn’t understand its place in the whole narrative and when I heard the first clunky line “scratch your head like a tattooed golden retriever” I got the ick. Then the bridge with no structure and no wit and no clever turns of phrase, no metaphor, just “you put my ring on the finger people put wedding rings on” and “that was the closest I’ve ever been to my heart exploding”. So over simplified and cheesy, and doesn’t sound anything like her writing, especially the caliber of her recent lyrics

I know art is largely subjective, but I insist there is no way that the same person who wrote Cowboy Like Me wrote these lines into her title track if she didn’t have a reason and a point to make. To make it clear that this isn’t a matter of genre personal taste, because I know CLM is a very specific sound and a style that music snobs often take more seriously - I love SO many of her candy pop bangers, they are infinitely more clever, articulate, and overall works of art by a true wordsmith than this. Karma, The Very First Night, etc are all a master classes in clever words and tight writing being tucked into an “unserious” pop song.

The lyrics I cited above to me sound like what haters believe her writing sounds like, even fans who make little jokey TikTok’s about her and make up a spoofy something to sing while in character - that’s what these lyrics sound like.

Im worried im being too harsh, but please stay with me because the more I think about the more genius I think it actually is.

In the context of the themes of rest of the album, (her being trapped, miserable, manipulated, ready to burn it all down, screaming to be seen) this theory became clear to me. I think she’s leaning into her public persona (in more ways than one, we’ve already seen it with the stunting), in a way setting a “trap” for her fans and the public, that will essentially call them all out on how they ignored the real her in favor of her pr narrative, making the album about paternity tests, etc, all of which I’m guessing will become very clear in retrospect, possibly after she comes out? (Of course it’s already clear to us now, which is another purpose of the beard songs including clunky writing - to signal to us that these are not serious and that she knows that we know that she knows (like Phoebe on friends lol))

Ultimately, this is (along with So Highschool) a classic beard song. When she writes in this voice, she embodies the most extreme versions of her public persona, not just the one she has cultivated on purpose, but also the one that people have of her that don’t know her (as she did in Blank Space), including those that don’t take her seriously - because her identity as a boy crazy psycho ex girlfriend is directly tied to people dismissing her art as vapid because, they’ve only ever heard her singles, they don’t know the full her.

That voice is the straightest, the most boy crazy, the most one note, and sometimes the most unsophisticated writer version of her that people have in their minds, including her fans - the fans that refuse to see her as a whole person, the real, that believe she is head over heals for big football boy, that believe “he knows how to ball, I know Aristotle” is a romantic line about how opposites attract, the fans that say they don’t “get” some of her most beautiful and well-written songs, the fans that don’t see her and haven’t been seeing her.

They didn’t see giant Taylor on the eras tour, they refuse to see all of her queer signaling, etc, and I think she’s making the bearding songs obvious to underscore the difference between her Taylor(TM) and Taylor(person) personas.

She knows that despite the fact that the lyrics don’t even come close to measuring up to the rest of the album, the public, and many of her fans, will make this song one of the most listened to simply because they are looking for evidence of her relationships from the past year. We’ve all commented on how insane it is that this layered, complex, devastating album is being reduced to the usual paternity tests. This is currently one of the top songs precisely because it is “about Matty”. And of course, So High School is one of the tops songs along with it because it’s “about Travis”.

The juxtaposition of the bearding songs alongside her beautifully written poetry of Prophecy, Peter, Whose Afraid of Little Old Me, Cassandra, How did it end, The Albatross, etc mirrors the juxtaposition of her two selves during the Midnights era.

She has proven the point that if they think she wrote every line of this song completely in earnest, then they see her largely no differently than her haters do, as a subpar writer who writes absurdly cheesy love songs praising trashy to mediocre, problematic men. By eating it up they tell her that’s what she’s good for, for being the subject of tabloids and warring fans who make this entire album about two (purposefully) mediocre songs and the men who “inspired” them.

She has proven her point - that a subset of her fans will be distracted by a lesser song simply because they think it’s about one of the greasy men that’s she been seen holding hands with. That they will ignore once again all of her pleas to be seen, that she’s in pain and caged, and has been driven insane by their willful ignorance. That they don’t appreciate her full potential and talent, that they don’t even see it, and just want to be confirmed in their ideation of her.

This song is essentially the “forget him(her)” pill at the beginning of the fortnight mv, but it’s a sedative for the fans, who are addicted to her straight narrative. Similar to Willow’s 13 chants of “that’s my man” that started off evermore, casting a spell of heteronormativity over everyone who wanted it, so that they could choose to just completely ignore the following 14 gayest songs ever written. Don’t pay no mind to her singing directly about women with zero male perspective - she said “that’s my man!” We’re good! She’s still straight!

Taylor in the fortnight mv had to a take a sedative to be able to go into the next room and write her bearding songs - ie she self medicates to deal with keeping up the straight persona and to get through having to release dumbed down songs to feed the masses. (I also see the pill as something forced on her, I think it represents both layers)

From the first time I watched the music video I thought the writing Taylor looked so miserable and the bearding songs are why.

In this room she’s trapped, churning out the songs that her fans expect of her, the songs that make her team money, the songs that make her money, but that she has to compromise her truth to create.

But when she frees herself she’ll burn the stories that weren’t true, the filler that doesn’t represent her.

I’m curious to hear other’s thoughts on this - have you ever felt like Taylor purposefully inserts off-sounding lyrics that are written in a different voice to make a point?

I want to reiterate that it’s not the entirety of either song that I think is terrible, I genuinely love bopping along to both So High School and TTPD (track). Like I said above, when you remove the clunky lines from ttpd (track), the song has another layer and likely gives voice to some Karlie insight that is beautiful and tragically profound. It’s the red herrings, the pieces specifically meant to tie this song to a bearding narrative, that I’m dissing, and the only reason they are suspicious in the first place is because I know how gifted Taylor is with the written word.

Taylor is such a skilled writer that she can embody the voice of the bad writer that dismissive ignorant idiots believe her to be, just to make a point!

I even wonder if maybe there is a second version of this song locked away in one of those drawers in the fortnight writing room that leaves out the red herrings and is a thousand times better than the bearding version we got.

I hope one day we get to hear it.

[thehighladywrites]

The Airhead Chronicles

…and the date

-> pairing: cassian x bimbo/ditzy reader

-> summary: finally the day is here, you’re going on a date with cassian!! now you just have to prepare and get ready for it. Cassian is prepared to finally ask you some questions and the mention of your secret friend rubs him the wrong way. But how does the date go, and who on earth opens the door at Cassian’s friends house?…

-> warnings: suggestive themes, nsfw, smut, super fluff, light angst, public sex, yeah, none of you care about getting caught fucking in a restaurant, oral (m.receiving) , bargain tattoos, almost oral (f.receiving), wing play, daddy kink

-> amara’s note: I think this is one of my fav things to write, I really love ditzy reader, she's so fun and cute.

part 1 part 2

Startled by a sudden knock, you quickly stood up, intrigued by the unexpected visitor. Opening the door, you were met with a smiling man.

“Hi there pretty lady, are you Y/n?” he asked. After exchanging pleasantries, he handed you a paper and a pen, insisting you sign.

Curious, you replied, “Oh, what’s this for, I’m pretty sure I didn’t order anything, or did I?” Sensing your confusion, the man stepped closer and pointed a finger at a dotted line. “Just sign here, baby. How about I come in and show you?”

Normally, you'd agree to some help because you didn’t really like reading long and confusing papers, but with your date approaching, you looked at him apologetic and declined.

“Sorry, maybe next time. I'm getting ready for a date with this really hot guy, and I have a lot of things to do. But why am I signing this?”

His face turned sour, and he threw a bouquet of flowers at you, muttering something about a special delivery before you signed. He left without saying goodbye, and you tilted your head, wondering if you said something to upset him.

The confusion quickly left your mind when you looked down, eyes wide, and heart beating faster as a huge smile spread on your lips. The bouquet was wrapped around white and pink baby breaths and peonies. You let out a shriek of happiness as you spun around and smelled the fresh, fragrant flowers. They were unlike anything else, handled with care and professionalism.

Scurrying to the kitchen, you pulled out a vase from your cabinets as you filled it with water to put your flowers in. While you fiddled with the petals, you saw a note attached as you opened it.

Reading the note, your eyes lit up with excitement. You twirled around, a broad grin on displayed, absorbing the message:

“Can’t wait to see you tonight, beautiful. I will pick you up, just be ready by 8. - Cassian.”

You halted your twirl, taking a deep breath.

Fucking Gods, you had to look absolutely stunnig, like drop-dead gorgeous. The sexiest dress was a non-negotiable, paired with a cute bag. Your hair needed to be freshly styled, and ohhh, a fresh set of nails was a must, even though it hadn't been a week since your last set.

Let’s be real, you knew you were pretty and didn’t need someone to tell you that, but it was nice to hear nonetheless, especially from Cassian. It was weird, you had known him for just over a week and already you felt a connection to him.

With your plans set, you dove into the whirlwind of preparation. The closet became a battleground of choices as you sifted through dresses, searching for the one that screamed "fuck me right now, please." The chosen outfit hung proudly on the door, awaiting its moment. A stunning sheer black dress with a v-neck, a thigh-high slit, and the best part - it sparkled.

Your hair received the full treatment of preparation and care, making you wonder how you’d display it tonight—curls, an updo, low bun or straight? The decision was as crucial as the dress itself, because what if you wanted to blow him? A ponytail would be ideal, but if you were gonna be fucked missionairy then a ponytail would be super uncomfy. Maybe just some curls then? Yes, you definitely wanted some bouncy curls resulting in you pulling out your hair rollers and pins. It was such a pain to put them on because your arms hurt from keeping them up but you didn’t care. Finally, a cute little bag accompanied the ensemble, adding that perfect touch paired with some simple heels.

The urgency for flawlessness led you to contemplate a fresh set of nails. Despite the recent pampering, the allure of perfection beckoned, and you found yourself on the way to the nail salon. After all, a week felt like an eternity when it came to looking drop-dead gorgeous.

As the appointment at the nail salon progressed, you debated between daring and classic shades. The manicurist, familiar to your frequent visits, skillfully crafted a fresh set that made you smile so hard, your face started hurting, letting out an excited sound.

With your nails perfected, you rushed home to continue the transformation, hair and makeup being the last step. Your dress clung to you like a second skin, accentuating every curve. Your reflection in the mirror confirmed your pursuit of drop-dead hotness. Smiling at yourself you adjusted your hair before putting on your jewelry, marveling at the final result. You really hoped Cassian would compliment you otherwise you’d die. His attention was so addicting and you wanted to be around him every single second for some reason.

Glancing at the clock, you realized the incoming arrival of Cassian. The butterflies in your stomach intensified as you added the finishing touches, ready to open the door to a night filled with excitement and allure.

“Hi Cassie!!” Your smile subdued a bit as you shifted nervously when he just stared at you not saying anything. Should you have worn something different? Maybe gone with the pink you wanted? Maybe he didn’t like your hair…

Cassian stood at the door, his eyes widening as he took in your stunning transformation. His brain seemed to short-circuit, and he simply stared at you with his jaw open, momentarily lost for words in the face of your breathtaking appearance. The snug fabric around your frame made blood rush to his cock, a reaction that almost tempted him to slap his own face. "Am I some kind of teenager or something, gods," he thought to himself, caught in the unexpected whirlwind of emotions your presence stirred.

“Hi sweetheart, fuck, you look absolutely breathtaking,” he managed to exclaim, a genuine smile lighting up his face. He spun you around, getting a good luck at you as your perfume filled his nose. Blushing at the compliment, you replied with a happy smile. “Thank you, Cassie. I'm so excited for tonight! Where are we going?”

He offered his arm, and you linked yours with his as you both stepped into the night, ready for the date that awaited. “Don’t worry your pretty, little head about it, it’s a surprise, sweet girl.”

Thank fuck he held you, because you could barely stand with the way your knees wobbled. The urge to just shove him in an alley and give him some life-changing head was just too strong. Cassian looked soooo freaking hot, dressed in a well-fitted suit.His hair had been put in a half bun, arms looking soooo massive, and an inexplicable desire to bite them tugged at your thoughts.

Caught in the spell of his side profile , the world around you seemed to fade into the background. Cassian’s voice became a distant hum as your eyes glued to him.

Your mind went hazy as you found yourself daydreaming about him, captivated by the allure of the moment.

Cassian halted mid-sentence in his talk about the restaurant when he noticed your silence. Curiosity painted his expression as he looked down at you, only to find you hazily looking up at him. Your plump lips were slightly parted, and your eyes were wide and sparkly, lost in a momentary enchantment.

Cassian was going to treat himself to some of Rhysands expensive liquor, it was truly something magical about his restraint. The way you looked up to him made his cock painfully hard. There was something submissive and desperate in your gaze. Before he cancelled the night and took you to his room to fuck you senseless, he broke the silence, chuckling, “I must be boring you with all this restaurant talk. What’s on your mind?”

You blinked, snapping out of the enchantment, and mumbled while feeling warm. “Um, no, not at all, Cassie. I was just… appreciating the view.”

His eyebrows lifted in playful surprise, “The view? Of me?”

You nodded with a secretive grin, “Guilty… I mean I can’t help it. You look so handsome. Now tell me about the restaurant.” The conversation resumed, but the sparkle of that moment lingered, adding an extra layer of magic to the evening.

Your brows furrowed as you read the menu. What on earth was an entrecôte? Foie gras? Was that some sort of joke? It was infuriating and you just wanted some food. Looking up at Cassian, you noticed he had already decided and was looking through the wine list. Feeling helpless, you whispered to him, “Um Cassie, I don’t know what this means. If any of this means mushrooms and cilantro, then let me know, they’re super yucky.”

He took your menu and brought your hand up to place a kiss on it, “Don’t worry, pretty girl. I’ll take care of it. How does chicken sound?” You nodded, grateful for the escape from the decision-making. Ugh, was being pretty and living too hard? You just wanted to exist without thinking about annoying things.

Cassian certainly eased it for you.

“Uh-huh, yes please,” you replied. He tilted his head, a playful smile playing on his lips. “My, what good manners you have. A good girl indeed.”

The echo of Cassian calling you a good girl sent a shiver down your spine, nearly sending you into a dreamy state. Resisting the magnetic pull of his warmth became a challenge.

Would it really hurt though? Cassian had rented out an entire section of the restaurant for your date, the only other person you’d see during the whole night was a waiter who kept away unless he was serving you food.

Unable to resist any longer, you inched toward him, lifting yourself. Cassian, sitting manspread, welcomed you onto one of his thighs. As you settled, his arm snaked behind your back, keeping you securely in place as you slung your arm over his shoulder while the other traced circles and shapes on his chest. The world outside this private bubble faded, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared warmth and intimacy.

The waiter discreetly approached, and Cassian smoothly placed the order, his attention never wavering from you. The world outside this secluded moment ceased to exist. He was so content he almost forgot one of the reasons he had been so desperate to see you again. Placing a sweet kiss on your cheek and neck, he asked.

“ I’ve been wondering,” he began, his eyes holding a mixture of curiosity and concern, “ There’s not a lot a know about you, and i’d like to change that. I mean have you always lived in Velaris?” You hummed and answered cheerfully, “ No, I used to live in the Hewn City but a friend helped me move here. My family still live there but they think I live in the Day Court, since Velaris is a secret city and all.”

He observed you carefully, wondering what possible friend could’ve gotten you into Velaris without him or the inner circle knowing? Velaris wasn’t some place one just moved to, it was a secret and protected city, warded against anyone who wasn’t welcome. Your answer only made him more curious.

“Yeah, your friend helped you? Do they live here?” You giggled as you looked at him with a “duh” look.

“Of course my friend still lives here, what a silly question! We meet once a month to catch up and he sometimes brings the family to our get-togethers.”

“ How fun, sweet girl. You’ll have to introduce me to your friend, yeah?” you leaned in as his arm became a comforting weight around your waist.

“Yay, that would be so much fun! He’s like this super old guy that I work for but I promise he’s really funny and his wife is such a sweetheart, I love her.” His heart thundred at the excitement you unknowingly pushed through the bond, making him crack a huge smile. Heavens, your were so adorable, he wanted to see you smile forever. “Is he a good boss then? What is it you do for him?” Flashing him a secret smile, you leaned in conspiratorially as you started playing with the buttons of his crisp white shirt.

“I wish I could tell you Cassie, but it’s tip-top secret and I’m bound to never, ever in a million years tell a single soul. I even have this cool tattoo for it.” You whispered as if afraid anyone would hear you before pulling down the strap of your dress and showing him the bargain tattoo.

Cassian's expression froze, his mind racing to fathom the deal you might have struck. Did you grasp the consequences of Night Court's bargain tattoos? The kind of searing fucking pain that awaited anyone attempting to breach its secrecy? The instincts that come with a mating bond made him feel murdereous at the thought of anyone striking a dangerous deal with his mate.

He didn’t want you experiencing the pain of accidentally telling him about the bargain, so he dropped the subject completely, picking up new things to talk about. While waiting for the meal, you tried to attentively listen as Cassian, the general and commander of the Night Court as he had told you, told you the tales of his thrilling adventures and loving family. But he sometimes used big words that made you tilt your head in confusion, he had however noticed it early on and switched to more simple terms, ensuring your understanding of the topic.

Of all of your years living, you had never felt so safe and cared for as you did here with Cassian. Sure your parents never laid hands on you but they certainly didn’t like you very much, calling you incapable and downright stupid. It hurt you, it really did because you tried but it simply wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Cassian, this gorgeous man, noticed you didn’t understand but he didn’t outright dumb it down for you.

He… just used another word with the same meaning he explained and it really made you happy. Because for some reason, his approval and attention was necessary for you to function and you literally couldn’t imagine him ever being disappointed in you.

After dessert was served, Cassian told the waiter and the chef that you were done eating and paid the bill, leaving a generous tip. They left you all alone in your section and the seclusion made you more bold. You certainly didn’t care if anyone saw you blowing him or anything but… it felt more intimate doing in just for him. You were still sat on his thigh as he spoon fed you the delicious chocolate cake.

Chills ran down your arms upon locking eyes with Cassian, and from your position, you explored his face, fingertips tracing a scar along his eyebrow. Your hand moved over his cheekbones, jaw, nose, and finally, his flawless lips. Drawing close, you both whispered intimately, “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?” he rasped, to which you replied in a hushed tone, “Yes, please, Cassie.”

With a tender murmur he said, “my perfect girl,” his soft lips met yours.

As the kiss unfolded, time seemed to slow, encapsulating you both in a world of shared warmth and intimacy. Cassian's lips, soft against yours, the room faded away, leaving only the electric energy between you two. You had kissed plenty people before, but nothing felt as addictive and pleasurable as this.

Cassian’s body shaped perfectly against yours as he pulled you on his lap, making you straddle his hips, legs on either side of him as your dress bunched. His hair was pulled out of his bun as you dragged your manicured nails across his scalp.

He out out a groan as his hands found your hips, his hold tightening as he ground upwards making you moan at the contact.

Breaking the kiss, Cassian's eyes held a newfound tenderness and hunger. “You're something else, you know that?” he whispered, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and affection. A shared smile lingered between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken emotions that had just passed between your lips.

A loud shatter was heard as you looked up panting, absolutely forgetting that you two may have a section rented out, but you were still out in public and if anyone wanted to stretch their legs, they certainly wouldn’t miss you grinding in Cassian’s lap, lips puffy and hair tousled.

Cassian couldn’t have cared less even of he tried to. Being the lord of bloodshed, the general leading the armies of the night court, and one of the greatest warriors in the history of Prythian granted Cassian liberties in his eyes. Unlike ordinary fae males, he wasn't restricted from openly displaying affection for his mate at any time or place. There wasn’t a person on earth that could tell him what to do with you.

Fucking in public didn’t scare him or make him feel embarrassed. No, Cassian fucking loved the thrill of being caught. Loved the little voice in his head telling him that someone would be walking in on him pleasuring his mate, your face scrunched up in pleasure as someone catches you, your heartbeat quickening at the taboo scene.

But he’d never in his life put you in a position that made you uncomfortable, he’d rather chop his cock off. So he looked at your face, searching for any fear.

“You okay? Wanna stop, baby?” The thought of you getting off his lap and feeling shame or embarrasement was enough to make him feel nauseous. But that all quickly left when you looked down at him with blushy cheeks, a wide grin on your face as you laughed. “Wow, that sounded really close. Guess you better fuck me quickly Cassie, we wouldn’t want someone to catch us, now would we? I mean that would be soooo bad and we’d be kicked out, right?”

Cassian easily detected the false concern written all over your face. There was a blend of amusement, warmth, and hunger in your expression. You playfully pouted, furrowing your brows in mock thinking as you tilted your head.

Looking up darkly at you he flashed you a feral grin, furrowing his brow in mock thinking. “Of course. It would be very, very bad if someone caught me with my head between your legs, I mean whatever would we do?”

You stood up, hopping up on the table in front of him, propped up like a post-dessert treat with your legs spread infront of his hungry gaze.

“ Let’s find out. I think you missed some of your dessert, baby. Come eat me up, Cassie…” He put his hands around your ankles as he removed your heels, then hissed when he felt your stocking-clad foot rub against his strained cock. Your eyes caught his wings ruffling as curiosity prompted your question.

“Cassie, why are your wings so big? Can I touch them or would it hurt?”

His wings rustled, then tightened in instinct. Illyrian wings were absolutely not to be touched by anyone without invitation, they were to be protected at any cost. His people had been taught to never let anyone get close enough to them, often punching first and then asking questions if someone ever touched them.

“No, sweet girl, they wouldn’t hurt if you touched them. It’s just a sacred part of me that I as an Illyrian protect with my life.” You observed the intricate patterns on his wings, fascinated by the interplay of light and shadow, gold and read hues swirling.

Cassian, sensing your curiosity, continued, “Touching them is a privilege reserved for the one I’ll one day trust deeply, a gesture of profound connection between two mates.” His gaze held a promise, hinting at a deeper connection yet to unfold. You slumped slighty as you realized that you probably weren’t his mate and quickly lowered you rising hand.

“Oh, okay then. They seem really cool anyways, your future mate is quite lucky huh?” Your eyes met his own filled with longing and hope.

Growing up in The Hewn City, the stories of mates filled your imagination, creating a yearning for a connection forged by The Mother Herself. However, your parents swiftly dismissed any ideas of such fantasies, emphasizing a more practical approach to your future. The concept of a deep, equal partnership and lover was a cherished daydream, overshadowed by the reality your parents presented.

Amidst gossip with friends about the mysterious idea of mates, your parents insisted on abandoning these fairytales. Their focus remained fixed on preparing you for a marriage that would secure wealth and influence, mirroring the traditions of countless pairs in the city. The prospect of bringing shame to the family loomed as an unthinkable consequence, one that could lead to disownment or in some cases death.

You were incredibly fortunate to have made a friend that helped you out, otherwise you’d probably be some unhappy bride whose only task would be baby-making and keeping quiet.

Your eyes filled with tears as you started thinking about the male infront of you. If the bond hadn’t snapped for you yet, then you probably weren’t mates and it made you sick thinking that there was someone else out there who’d snatch Cassian up. A hand brushing up your calf brought you back to reality as you were met with eyes filled with worries.

“No, hey, what's going on, sweetheart? Why are you crying, hm?” Cassian asked, concern etched across his face. Overwhelmed by sadness, you slumped forward, letting out deep sobs.

"Don't think m’your mate, Cassie. I really, really wanna be with you forever, but you'll probably choose your mate if they ever come along. Also, I probably have a mate somewhere, and I feel like we shouldn't keep going because I'm falling for you, like really hard, and I really don't think I'd survive it if we ended things before they even really started.”

Your wrecked sobs made him sick with guilt. The realization that he was the cause of your tears hit hard. His hands found their way to your back, gently caressing it as he tried to provide comfort. Unable to bear it any longer, he blurted out the words before more sobs could escape,

“ I’m your mate. I felt the bond snap the first time we met, baby. I didn’t want to you to feel like you had to accept the bond or feel pressured to discover it. I wished for you to find out on your own, at your own pace. And I’m truly sorry for the pain i’ve caused you. If I had known this was something you really wanted, I would’ve told you straight away, sweet girl. I was wrong to assume and I’m deeply sorry. Please forgive me?”

Cassian’s words hung in the air, a revelation that shifted the atmosphere between you. Stunned, you looked up, eyes searching his for any sign of anger or irritation at your sudden breakdown or any deception. His gaze, however, held a sincerity that echoed in the depths of your shared connection, held a mix of pain, guilt and sadness paired with hope.

“You’re really mine? My mate?” the question was carried by your whispering voice. Cassian nodded and confirmed,

“Yes, i’m yours as you are mine.” The words triggered that golden bond, snapping the thread of life and love deep in your chest. Holding a hand to your chest, you looked at him breathing deeply.

“Mate. You’re my mate!” you shrieked and kissed all over his face, ending with a big kiss on his lips, making him laugh.

“Um, so can i now touch ‘em?” you questioned as you nodded your head in the direction of his massive wings. His back straightened and he explained,

“My wings have never been out during intimate encounters with females. It makes me feel vulnerable and I don’t like it. But for you… for you I’d pluck the stars from the night sky if you asked me. Go ahead, sweetheart but be careful they can be quite-”

He didn’t even finish his sentence when he felt your warm hands caressing the ridge of his leathery wings. Cassian twisted in his seat when you went over a certain spot. His whole body flashed with warmth, leaving a trail of goosepumps as his stomch flipped.

His face revealed delight, accompanied by low groans as your nails traced over the delicate wing. Intrigued, you inquired about the sensation. He leaned in, softly blowing air near your ear, eliciting goosebumps and a slight arch in your body.

He knew he’d come undone if you kept touching him so he picked you up, swept everything away from the table and put you on your back. Perhaps he should’ve been more quiet because when the waiter hurriedly came to check on the broken dishes, he received a savage snarl, so unlike the usually levelheaded male.

“ Get. Out.” Your mate gritted towards the poor fae. He’d make sure to leave another huge tip, but he didn’t have time to think of it now that the bond was so fresh and there was a male staring down his half naked mate. Cassian finally turned his attention to you when you grabbed his cock through his slacks.

“ c’mon mate, need you so bad, please.” you grabbed the back of his head, smashing his lips against yours as you whined and mumbled about needing his cock inside you. Any sort of foreplay was out of the question, you’d play later. You felt like you might literally die if you didn’t feel him closer to you right now.

You were consumed by an overwhelming desperation, feeling as if you'd burst out of your skin without his immediate presence. The ache for more of him intensified, a desperate longing for his touch to ravage you entirely. Tears welled in your eyes as you begged, desperate to be fucked right there, yearning to be claimed by your mate.

The desperation in your voice spurred cassian on as his hands skillfully removed his belt, pulling out his hard cock as he slid in and out, again and again and again. Rocking the table as he thrust into you hard, filling you up deliciously. Your mouths found each other in a deep kiss as you pulled his hair, earning a deep groan.

“You’re so fucking beautiful all spread out for me. My precious mate,” he mumbled against you. 

 “mmh, harder please- fucking me soo gooddd” You moaned. The pleasure was building up in your belly making you squirm against him “Please, daddy, let me cum.”

He halted all his movements, pulling you out of your bubble of pleasure. Why did he stop? You felt your high fizzle down as you felt tears in your eyes. “Cassie, why did you stop? I almost finished… s’not fair” you whined, crossing you arms as you looked away, feigning disbelief and anger.

You seriously hadn’t noticed what you called him? Were you fucked out already? Well, whatever. Cassian’s ego boosted immensely at the fact that you had mindlessly called him daddy.

“You’re so good for me, such a beautiful, beautiful girl. My mate makes me proud.”

His praise made you simultaneously melt against his body yet tighten around his cock as a new rush of slick gushed out of you. Bringing his one hand to your nipple while the other played with your clit, Cassian was determined to make you cum then take you home. It had to be your house because he really couldn’t promise he wouldn’t attack Rhys or Azriel if they laid their eyes on you, let alone saw your vulnerable, fucked out state.

The simultaneous pleasure made your head spin as you grabbed his arm to steady youself.

“feels..” you swallow the glob of saliva pooling on your tongue. “f-feels s’good, daddy. m’gonna cum…” His thrusts didn’t slow down as he was met by your relaxed expression - your eyes had crossed as your tongue lolled out a bit, making you drool. A few more pumps and he felt his knees wobble with intensity. You screams of pleasure were muffled by his hand as you came.

“gotta be quiet baby, lest someone catches us” groaning out the last part, Cassian pumps once, twice and finishes deep inside with as he slumps forward, head nuzzled against your neck, breathing in your intoxicating scent.

Driven by the fresh mating bond, he succumbed to a primal urge, covering your naked and relaxed form. Desperation fueled his actions, and protective instincts surged as he struggled with the dilemma of getting you home without causing harm, his every move tinged with the urgency of preserving your safety.

Wanting more, you pull him closer and wrap your legs around him. “daddy, i want more. please let’s go home because the table is kinda uncomfy n i wanna be on my bed instead.” Hands slither around you, pulling you up with as you clung to him. He drops a stack of money on the table to cover what he destroyed plus an appreciation for leaving him alone, gods know he would’ve shown no restraint if that waiter had been a little more bold.

“ s’okay cas i got this,” the whole restaurant fades into black before a cozy porch is replaced with the murmur of the restaurant. You’d winnowed home but not inside, leaving you right outside the door.

“ Sweetie, is your house warded or are you capable of winnowing inside too?” you shook your head and giggly responded,

“ mm, no, my house is protected from bad guys and only people i want can get inside. My friend fixed it for me, he’s super nice and you should totally meet him sometime.” The mention of another guy leaving your lips was enough for Cassian to make his eyes twitch but you looked so happy so he just nodded in agreement.

Opening the door, you welcomed Cassian into your cozy house. As he stepped in, his widened as his eyes roamed across the spacious hallway featuring a body-length mirror, perfect for a quick self-check before heading out, you told him. The hall led to a spacious living room with high ceilings exuding luxury, and the massive kitchen boasted pink appliances, a charming detail that seemed to define your style, he noticed.

His smile widened as he took in the cutesy and predominantly pink decor scattered throughout the house. It was a unique touch that resonated with your personality. As you guided him up the stairs, he marveled at the size of the home, realizing it was quite spacious for a single person.

Passing by several empty rooms, you finally opened the grand bedroom. The king-sized bed with frilly white sheets and an array of pink pillows dominated the space, surrounded by what seemed like an army of stuffed animals, a table adorned with the flowers he sent you this morning. Turning to the left he say your huge closet with clothes littered over the floor. You ran and closed the door behind you, leaning against it as you let out a nervous laugh, “ oh, that’s just my closet. it’s a bit messy so let’s just not look there.”

You bit your lips as your eyes squinted in the dim light. He looked so delicious and you wanted more. wanted your mate, closer. Despite being mere feet apart, an insatiable need for closeness overcame you. Closing the gap, you kissed him, reigniting the connection that began at the restaurant, determined to continue it throughout the night.

The night with your mate unfolded in a series of intimate moments, he put you in new positions and taught you pleasures you never imagined. His expertise left you in a constant state of bliss, with every moment dedicated to mutual satisfaction. You had slept for about an hour or two before going at it again when he stood up and stretched, the sight enough for you to tackle him and ride him right there on your fluffy carpet.

As dawn approached, you marveled at the fact that you had enough restraint to let him slip away and prepare breakfast. The lingering sensations and shared experiences had created a bond that extended beyond the physical, making the morning after feel like a continuation of the enchanting night. Now you laid in the protective arms of you lover, looking at him while biting your lips to keep from pouncing in him.

“If you keep staring at me like that, we won't leave the house ever,” you looked away from his gaze, blushing furiously.

“Maybe I don't wanna leave the house. I wanna be with you forever and ever, cassie” you whispered, nestling closer and kissing his cheek, a familiar gesture of affection.

He chuckled warmly, deeply and kissed you back before your broke the kiss.

“Cas, you mentioned your friends live here. Can I meet them? You spoke about them like you really, really love them,”you inquired, sensing a shift in the air as his grip tightened around you.

“Another time, sweetheart. Right now, I need you alone. I can't even think about leaving you,” he confessed, his tone carrying a protective intensity.

“Do you know much about the mating bond?” you explained that you knew it was two people fated together in a perfect match but that was all your parents allowed you to know. He nodded and explained,

“A newly mated couple can be very... let's say, unstable. There have been many cool and collected males and females who lost their minds when someone laid their eyes on their mate for too long. Sane people have abandoned all critical thinking wherever their mate is involved. Their first and only thought is their mate’s safety and happiness. People have died for provoking newly-mated. So, please, give me a little time because there's a very likely chance I might kill someone for looking at you a bit too much." This…frenzy will cool down after a while but it’s very intense when it’s so new.”

The gravity in his words conveyed the depth of his commitment and the primal instincts that fueled it.

You were fucked in the head for sure because the realization that Cassian would fiercely protect you, even kill someone for you, sent a thrilling shiver down your spine, an unconventional yet undeniably arousing form of desire.

Without a word, you shuffled down, ready to express your gratitude and desire in a way that words could never fully convey, letting your mouth and hands express your love and gratitude.

—

For almost three weeks, you reveled in the cocoon of intimacy, exploring every inch of each other's souls and bodies within the confines of your shared space. Cassian's presence became a comforting constant, and there wasn't a single room in the house that he hadn’t fucked you in. Repeatedly.

However, the inevitable reality of his responsibilities tugged at Cassian's conscience. His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkening slightly as he confessed,

“I hate to say this, baby, but I have to go back. My family is looking for me, and they're worried.”

A pout formed on your lips as the idea of him leaving weighed heavily on your heart.

“You really gotta go?” Your doe-eyes mirrored the sadness and pain of his departure, glossing over in tears at the thought of him not being by your side.

One look into your eyes and he knew there was no chance he could leave you.

“You know what, fuck that. There's no way I'm leaving you. So how would you feel about meeting my family?”

Cassian dropping the idea of meeting his family made you think. Would they like you? He always spoke highly of them, and it got you wondering if you'd measure up. You knew you weren't the brightest tool in the shed or however the saying went but you hoped they'd see something in you that's good enough for him. The old voices of your parents kept echoing in your head.

"You're only good if you keep your mouth shut."

"How did I end up with such a dumb daughter?"

"You’re prettier when you don't talk."

Cassian sensed your unease, and he gently took your hands, looking into your eyes with a reassuring smile.

“Hey, don't worry about a thing. My family will adore you as much as I do. You're more than enough, just the way you are.”

His words carried a sincerity that eased the knots in your stomach. You peppered kisses all over his face and mentally thanked him for the reassurance.

He laughed, kissing you and repeating those reassuring words until it was time to leave. Putting on a cute, blue summer dress, you skipped alongside him, blissfully unaware of the imposing aura he now exuded due to the fresh bond.

As the beautiful estate by the river came into view, you marveled at the picturesque landscape. Holding a homemade cake in one hand and Cassian's hand in the other, you both approached the door.

However, huge confusion struck as your eyes widened upon seeing who opened it.

🏷️ taglist: @justasillylittlegoofyguy

[nohoney]

Bakugou would listen to you rant all about work. Even though he’s the one out on the streets with more exciting stories to tell, one of his favorite things is to hear you talk about your own work. He follows and nods along with whatever work story you have for him for the day, always attentive but never telling you what you should do to handle it (as he had learned from a prior relationship).

“I can tell he fuckin’ hates me, you know?” You continue on about your current work events as you sit on the countertop and watch Bakugou cut vegetables, “He keeps on bringing up my old manager as if she has anything to do with it now. Like, no motherfucker! You answer to me now and I’m saying pay your stupid invoice!”

The vegetables for dinner are set aside while the oven is still preheating. Two pieces of pork chop are taken from the fridge and is set aside on a clean plate as Bakugou looks for spices to rub into the meat. “So what happened baby? Did he pay? Y’said you were dealing with this for almost two weeks.” He asks you, genuinely curious if your annoying client is actually complying with you. The thought in his head is wondering how you handled it.

“I have to read you this email that I wrote. I gotta say the professional ways of dissing someone in email is something I finally understand now.” You laugh as you pull up your work email on your phone. Word for word you read out your well thought out response to your difficult client, not backing down and upholding work policy as you are expected to. Bakugou had never really bothered with any type of skill of being professional through communication in his job; it’s what his team is for while he gets the really privilege to cuss as he pleases and have his team handle it for the public. “Here is how I signed off, I think it’s probably my most eloquent and business-like ‘fuck you’ I’ve written so far.”

You clear your throat first before reading aloud, “‘I hope that the explanations of how to navigate your account has cleared up any confusion you may have and that you are able to move forward in compliance with our company policy, if you have any further questions then please let me know.’ God I know he’s going to hate me as soon as he reads it!”

He chuckles, happy that you know how to stand your ground in such a manner that Bakugou knows he struggles in. “You tell him, baby.”

“I fucking did Katsuki!” You boast with a proud little smile as you hop off the countertop and go to his side as he heats oil in a pan. “Sorry, I’ve been going on about this annoying client for a while. I wanna hear about your work today Tsuki.”

Bakugou shakes his head though and urges you to talk about what else happened at your work. The meat sizzles as he presses it into the pan, crackling and sizzling in a way that’s reminiscent of his quirk but to a much lower degree. The oven beeps to indicate that preheating is finished and you move to put all the vegetables into the glass pan and stick it in for him, already setting a timer before he can even ask. “What about that other guy? The one who keeps on saying that he’s getting investors so he wants to make you wait a little longer?” He asks you when he recalls another client you complained of a few days ago.

You excitedly pop off about your work again, unknowing how you calm Bakugou down with your own work stories. Your series of responsibilities that he wouldn’t know the first clue how to handle are interesting to him to hear how you handle yourself. It’s simple compared to what he does but in no way is it easy either. To see you struggle sometimes with your own career wasn’t easy for him but you were also strong enough to handle it all the same.

And he liked to think that he made it easy for you to handle because he wanted to hear anything and everything about your job that’s so different from his. “Tell me about the parking permits, did that get solved yet?” He asks as he starts to set food on the plates.

“No! I’m on week three of dealing with it and it’s ridiculous! I sent everything in so early and they deal with it so late!!”

Bakugou listens with a happy heart to hear you talk, never wanting you to apologize over the things that frustrate you. And by the end of your rants, even he feels a little lighter as he readies to get in bed with you.

And the next day as he’s just about to enter a meeting in his agency, Bakugou gets a text from you.

[1:57 pm] omg i need to tell you what this mofo emailed me when we’re home

He looks forward to it, letting a little smile come onto his face. He can see you all cute and puffed up and mad, and he can’t wait to hear about it.

[1:58 pm] can’t wait baby. love you.

You text him back within seconds.

[1:58 pm] love you!!!

Bakugou can’t wait to be home and listen to you.

[waffledforbreakfast]

Sending Love Letters - [MUTI! BLLK X F!READER]

(SEPARATE) pt2

Staring: ness, otoya, karasu, Reo

pt1: rin, sae, shidou, niko, kaiser

[ BLLK Scenario Masterlist ]

TW: heavy ooc, bad grammar, bad spelling, bad formatting, cringe, scuff, etc.

>Ness

[btw i imagine kaiser and ness as good friends (like they were pre-bllk) ]

Ness sat with Kaiser and his family at the table, sorting through Kaiser’s many love letters

“Wow Michael, this must be a new record” Kaiser’s mother laughed “Who knew so many people had bad taste?”

Kaiser glared at his mother “Least we know I didn’t get my pretty genetics from you.”

Ness held in a laugh as he sifted through the pile of love letters. Kaiser’s birthday was over the weekend, and today being Friday, all the fan-girls sent him mail.

“This one girl had sent me like 20…” Kaiser picked up a fat stack, all with the same name signed 

“That’s dedication…” Ness stared in awe at the stack.

But he eventually snapped out of it and continued looking through the pile

“Oh hey, this one’s for you.” Kaiser pulled out a slightly crumpled envelope (from him just shoving it into his bag) “At least it has your name on it… did you send it?” he was hesitant to believe that someone liked Ness

“No I don't think so…” Ness took the letter and inspected it carefully, it was in fact his name written on it. “Lemme read it real quick…” his small smile indicating that he was actually very excited to have a letter sent to him

Kaiser gave him a side-eye before going back to counting his own, silently jealous that someone liked Ness and not him

Ness, on the other hand, was having the time of his life. “AHHHHHHHHH WHAT IF [Y/N] SENT IT TO ME!! AHDOIFHABWIEUFBI”

He was smiling like crazy, he knew well that the handwriting, signature, and writing style was yours, he was all to familiar with it

For good measure, he pulled out a piece of your English homework and compared the two (how he got your homework? Don’t ask)

It was definitely yours, he was sure. You did have 2 classes with kaiser that day (don’t ask about that either), and you walked past them 6 times in the hallway.

At this point Ness was quietly squealing, he was so excited that you liked him back!

Kaiser silently laughed at this, not quite understanding why Ness was so happy, but also knowing full well that he may or may not be slightly(??) obsessed with you, so he didn’t bother

Ness was then day-dreaming for the next several minutes, and would even blank out occasionally for the rest of the day

“For f#ck’s sake Ness, just write back to her already…” Kaiser was getting annoyed at the heart pupils in his eyes “I swear if you’re gonna be like this on my birthday-”

“OK OK SORRY!!” Ness apologize before slipping the letter away “I’ll do later” he promised himself that he’d make it perfect, just for you :3

>Otoya

“No thank you, I’m alright” Otoya gently pushed the girl off his chest, the girl looked up at him with confusion 

Hiori and Karasu’s jaws dropped while Yukimiya just laughed, “See, told you. Pay up”

The two other boys grumbled as they pulled out a few coins “There’s no way he actually did that, wasn’t he making out with that girl just a few weeks ago?” Hiori questioned, it wasn’t like Otoya to reject a girl, if anything, he was usually the one making the first move. Something must be going on.

“I told you” Yukimiya collected the few coins “I swear there’s some other girl he likes, why else would he stop talking to the others?”

“Rejecting girls for another girl?” Karasu also found this really suspicious “Unlikely. That would imply that he actually isn’t a total ass. Which we know isn’t true.”

Otoya rolled his eyes “Who do you think I am? Also- if you’re gonna discuss your little ‘bets’, maybe don’t do it right in front of my locker.” he laughed, not answering their questions

Hiori and Karasu frowned, “cmon, tell ussss!!” Yukimiya nodded in agreement “I must say, I'm curious too. Who’s the lucky or… unlucky girl?”

Otoya scoffed “No one. I don’t like anyone.” he laughed “Do you really think I’d get attached to someone so easily? Only a fool would do that.”

As he said that, he opened his locker to grab his jacket, when an envelope fell out. It spun in the air before landing on the floor, face down with the signature showing.

“ ‘[Y/N]’, heart.” Karasu read, “Is that the girl?”

Otoya swiped the envelope up quickly, “You saw nothing.” he shoved it in his bag, pretending nothing happened

“[Y/N]? Do you like her!?!”

“Does she like you!?”

“Why is it signed with a heart!?”

“Is it a love letter!?”

The three boys bombarded Otoya with questions, to which he didn’t answer. “I dunno what you guys are talking about.” He laughed with a smile, but his heart was beating so fast. He was asking himself the same questions, “Does she like me? Do I like her? Is it a love letter? Why is it signed with a heart???”

“Wait [Y/N]? She’s in my chem class, I have a project with her.” Karasu remembered working on it with you

“Lucky bastard…” Otoya whispercursed with a smile under his breath, Hiori and Yuki gave him a side-eye, not knowing what he said

“Wait, doesn't she have a boyfriend-???” Karasu looked at him

“Does she?” Otoya internally panicked, there’s no way you were already taken by someone else. “That’s fine, I can work with that.” he shrugged it off

“Why would she send him a letter then?” Hiori questioned

Karasu laughed, “That was a trap, I just wanted to see if it really was her.” he gave a prideful huff “She is in my class though- I’ll ask her tomorrow.”

Otoya froze in playful betrayal, “I don’t like her. I swear”

Yuikimiya rolled his eyes “Right right.”

Otoya laughed before grabbing his jacket and bag “Whatever. I’m gonna go home now, cya tmr.”

“Make sure to read it!”

“Remember to write back!!”

“Bye lover-boy!!”

The three boys teased him about the newfound crush. Otoya only scoffed and smiled, before walking home, reading the letter on the way. 

He looked around him to make sure no one was watching, before smiling like an idiot at the confession. “Hm. Knew she’d like me.” He felt a surge of pride, “Now i’m guaranteed to win her over.” He tucked the letter away, already thinking about what to write back.

>Karasu

[Adding on from First/Second Encounters, SchoolAU!w/Otoya, Hiori, and Yukimyia]

You and Karasu had been passing each other notes for quite a while now, sometimes in class, or just in the hallway, whenever, really.

The two of you even went out a few times, as friends(??) of course. Eventually making your own codes together as a fun pass-time

Karasu was just eating lunch with Otoya, Hirori, and Yukimiya when you stopped by and slid him an envelope before walking off.

“oOooo, your girlfriend just gave you something~~” Otoya teased, knowing well that he liked you

Karasu just laughed, “She’s not my girlfriend.” He picked the letter up and looked at it carefully

“Not yet.” Hiori added, “You’ve been trying to confess for weeks now, but you always chicken out.”

“Yea, it’s getting kinda depressing.” Yukimiya nodded

Karasu just rolled his eyes before going back to the letter written in code. He took a bit to decipher it, reading it word for word

“What does it say?? I literally can’t read that-” Otoya squinted at the paper

“I think that’s the point…” Hiori commented, before looking back at Karasu “Looks like we lost him…”

Karasu just sat there, smiling to himself, not hearing a single word the other’s said. He was much too caught up in the fact that you had basically confessed, he was worried he mis-read it. He looked over the words again, before tucking the letter away, and covered his stupid smile with his hand, but his whole face was red.

“The words may be hard to read, but his face sure isn’t” Yukimiya laughed at Karasu’s expression “I’m guessing she confessed?”

“What? No?” Karasu tried to play it off, but he really couldn’t stop smiling.

“Awwwww, such cute love birds.” Hiori teased, “When will your relationships be this innocent, Otoya?”

The fboy only shrugged

“Back to Karasu,” Yukimiya turned to him “What are you gonna write back?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Karasu stuffed a spoonful of crappy-cafeteria food in his mouth, still somehow smiling, “You’ll see though. If I’m lucky, the next time you guys meet her, I’ll get to introduce her as my girlfriend”

>Reo

“Reo, can we please take a break” Nagi whined

“Alright, we’re done anyway.” Reo took a sip of his water, finishing up their training. 

The two of them packed up, bagging their things before a small envelope fell out of Reo’s duffle.

“Hey Reo, what’s that?” Nagi pointed at the slip of paper that had fallen in a small puddle, the corner now wet

Reo looked down on it before picking it up and shaking it lightly to get the water off “Looks like another love letter.” He tossed it in a bin with a shrug 

“What if [Y/N] sent it?” Nagi said, knowing 

Reo froze for a few seconds, “What if [Y/N] sent it-” He did a 180° and shifted through the trash for the letter

He felt slightly embarrassed to be digging through garbage, but whatever. He picked the letter back up and inspected it carefully, what if you really did send it?

“Wow, what a sight… the richest boy in school is digging his hands in the trash for some letter…” Nagi mentally judged him, but shrugged it off, used to Reo’s desperation by now

Reo carefully slipped the envelope in his pocket, and turned to leave. He used to read all the love letters he got, he’d be lying if he said they didn’t boost his ego. But ever since he started crushing on you, he couldn’t bring himself to, always imagining it was you who wrote to him (until Nagi told him he looks kinda desperate so he stopped reading them all together). But surely reading this one couldn’t hurt, right?

Once he got home, he went to his room immediately. His caretakers found this a bit strange, but Reo was acting weird ever since he mentioned you, so they didn’t bat an eye

He threw his bags down and put the envelope on his desk, tilting his light to face it. It was like he was dissecting an animal.

He sat down, and opened it carefully, making sure not to touch the still wet corner. He took a few seconds to admire the kuromi theme before reading the letter.

Reo tried to keep a straight face while reading it, but his heart was beating 100x faster than before. He had to take a moment to process after he read it.

There wasn’t even a way to be sure you were the one who sent it, what if he was freaking out over nothing? He looked again at the name signed, but it was muddled out from the water. Reo cursed himself for letting it drop into the puddle.

All he could see was the first letter, and it was in fact yours. But Reo knew better than to get ahead of himself, what if sent back a letter and it wasn’t you!?

He sprung out of his chair quickly and went to go look for his parents.

“Mom! Do we have any restoration technicians?” Reo barged into the room, unaware they were in the middle of a small meeting, he gave a quick apologetic bow to the guests in the room

“Reo honey, is it urgent?” Ms. Mikage asked politely, gesturing at the clients.

“Yes. Very.” Reo nodded, 100% serious.

His mother took a moment to think before replying “There should be one in the services department, though I'm not sure if he’s what you're looking for. Ask for Mr. Deez when you get there.”

Reo bowed, “Thank you, mother.” and with that, he ran out the room and towards the Mikage office.

Usually, he’d book a chauffeur, but he didn’t have time for that, he had to get there now. 

He pushed the glass doors open and stumbled to the receptionist, “I’d like to talk to Mr. Deez from the services department-” Reo took a moment to catch his breath

“I- yessir, right away.” The receptionist quickly dialled the man up and poured Reo a glass of water.

Once the recoverist arrived, he sat down with Reo and examined the letter. “Hm, I’m not sure I can do much for you, but I might know a man who can.” he pulled out his phone and started typing, “What did you say this was? A love letter?”

“Don’t worry about that” Reo said quickly “so did you find someone who can help?”

 “Yes, though he’s a bit far.” He showed Reo the location, “This is his shop, he specializes in these things, often working with detective agencies. You can call him Mr. Nuts” 

Reo took a picture of the map and stood up, “Thank you, Mr. Deez.” Before he could blink, Reo was already running out the door. 

Reo checked the map as he ran, it’d be a 27 minute drive, there’s no way he could run faster. He stopped in his tracks before calling his chauffeur.

Once the car got there, Reo hopped in, coffee in hand. “Take me here.” he showed the man the location, and they were off.

Reo tapped his finger as they drove, getting anxious. What if they didn’t make it before he closed? What if they couldn’t help him? What if he finds out that you weren’t the one who sent it? What if-

“Mr. Mikage, we’re here.” the chauffeur parked and was about to open the door for Reo before he hopped out himself

“Thank you, wait here for me.” it was too late to turn back now, he’d already put a good few hours into this

He walked through the doors and looked around, it was a small shop, tools lying everywhere. “Hello? May I talk to Mr. Nuts?”

“Oh? A new customer? Welcome! I am Mr. Nuts, how may I help you?” an older looking man sat at a rusted table 

Reo explained the situation and handed him the letter, asking for his help.

“I see I see, let’s take a look” The man took the letter and put it under a special light

“Please handle it with care.” Reo couldn’t help but worry

The man pulled out a few tools, some napkins to dry it, and put it under a metal machine. “Here, do you see that?” He pointed at a small screen attached “There’s what you're looking for.”

On the screen showed a filtered picture of the letter, and there was your name signed. 

Reo’s eyes widened, it really was you who sent it to him! His entire face lit up, he couldn’t help but blush a little, the long chase had been worth it.

“Thank you, sir.” he took the letter back and held it tightly “For your trouble.” Reo threw a few bills down before exiting the store

The ride home felt much shorter than the ride there, but Reo couldn’t complain. He plopped down on his bed, letter still in hand. His heart was beating like never before, face still flushed.

Suddenly, a notification from his phone snapped him out,

Reo grinned, “Great idea, Nagi.”

[lynzishell]

The Present ❤️ Selvadorada

Prev // Next

Transcript below the cut:

Asher: Are you just gonna stand there and stare over my shoulder? Atlas: Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you. Asher: You’re fine, what’s up? Atlas: I think I got everything. We should get going soon. Asher: Okay, I’m ready. Let’s do it.

Asher: You know I was kidding when I said you had to carry everything. I can help. Atlas: It’s okay, I got it. Asher: Alright, I’m not gonna fight ya for it, but if you change your mind, let me know. Atlas: I will. Aren’t you bringing your sketchbook? Asher: Nah. I need a break.

Asher: There’s an awful lot of warnings on this sign. Atlas: There’s a lot to be wary of out here, but we have everything we need, and then some. We’ll be fine. Asher: If you say so. I am mildly concerned that it warns of various things that can poison you, but you if you get poisoned, you have a find a local with an antidote. Why wouldn’t we just go to the hospital Atlas: It really says that? Asher: Yes! Atlas: Well, the people who work at the hospital are local, so I’m sure they could still help us. But, just to be on the safe side, try not to get poisoned. Asher: No promises.

Asher: So, what’s the deal with those skeletons, or guards, or whatever, that we saw at the museum yesterday? Did you really have a dream about them? Atlas: I think so. Or something like them at least. All I remember is three skeletons, and the eyes of the one in the middle were glowing red. Asher: You don’t remember anything else? Atlas: [shakes head] I didn’t even remember that much until yesterday.

Asher: What do you think Sam meant by that curse? That they turn your greatest wish into your nightmare? Atlas: I don’t know. Honestly, I think he makes up half the stuff he says on those tours just for fun. Asher: [laughs] Probably. I would. Gotta keep the days interesting somehow. Atlas: Exactly.

Asher: It does make me curious though. What would your greatest wish be? Atlas: I don’t know. I want lots of things. I want to finish this game, and I want it to do well. I want our company to be successful so that we never have to work for anyone but ourselves ever again. Asher: We still need a name for it, by the way. We can’t register without a name. Atlas: I know. We’ll think of something. We have time.

Asher: Okay, but would you really want those things to happen just by wishing for them? Atlas: No, I wouldn’t. The best part is building it together. Asher: So then, let’s say a genie pops up and gives you one wish, what would it be? Atlas: I thought genies were supposed to give you three wishes. Asher: Well, this one’s a dick, so you only get one. Atlas: [laughs] Right, okay.

Asher: Well? Atlas: If I tell you what it is, you’ll just tell me I shouldn’t wish for it. Asher: [sighs] That’s really what you would use your wish for?

Atlas: Yes. I’m sorry, but I would. My biggest regret is all the time I wasted when we first met, all the unnecessary pain I caused. And, I get it, everything worked out in the end, and I’m grateful for that. But, given the opportunity, I would one hundred percent go back and do it all over again.

Asher: You’re infuriating sometimes, you know that? Atlas: Yes.

Asher: There’s got to be better… um, Atlas, what’s that sound? Atlas: It’s the reason we came out here, the place I wanted us to see. Don’t worry, the water is far enough away, but how are you with heights? Asher: Usually fine. How high are we talking? Atlas: Just don’t look down.

Asher: Holy shit. This is amazing. Atlas: Right? It’s even better than I expected. Asher: Is that one of the temples? Atlas: It must be. What’s left of it anyway.

Atlas: So, what about you? What’s your greatest wish? Asher: Oh, that’s easy. My only wish is to be with you forever. No matter what happens in life, as long as I’m with you, I’m happy.

[saphronethaleph]

Around The Galaxy In Eighty Hours

Rey left the Falcon behind, walking up the steps on the Ahch-To island, and she fought the urge to run.

It had taken all this struggle to get here. All this time. The map BB-8 had carried… so many who’d been lost on the way… and now she was here.

She was going to ask Luke Skywalker for help. The legendary Jedi Master, the one who had defeated the Emperor.

As she climbed, though, a niggling little feeling began to gnaw at her.

Where was he, anyway?

She’d been assuming he was somewhere high up, and the Force wasn’t pointing her anywhere else. But she couldn’t see him, and as she reached the very top of the stairs… there was no sign of him.

“Master Skywalker?” she asked, looking around. “Master Luke?”

“Jee-dhai?” one of the locals asked, in a curious voice.

“Huh?” Rey replied, turning. “I… well, I don’t think… I want to be, but I’m not one yet… do you know where Master Skywalker is?”

The hooded alien shrugged, and pointed to one of the rock huts.

Curious, Rey entered.

It was immediately obvious Master Skywalker wasn’t in the hut. There wasn’t room. There was barely room for Rey… but, after a moment, she spotted something odd.

A folded piece of flimsiplast, with a metal-rimmed piece of crystal on it.

Taking the crystal, Rey was surprised to find that it felt… warm, and tingly. It fizzed with an unidentifiable but oddly familiar energy, and she turned it over before opening the flimsiplast.

It held only one sentence.

Use the Force on the crystal.

“...is this going to be a riddle?” Rey asked. “Or a trial of some sort?”

Silence answered her, and she took a deep breath before closing her eyes and focusing.

It was still… difficult, to call on the Force at will, but she could do it.

As she did, the crystal glowed, then filaments of light streamed out of it to form a face.

Master Skywalker’s face. She was sure of it.

“To whoever has found this,” he began. “Firstly, if this is Ben… well done for coming back to the light. And if not… I’m glad there are others besides myself who can use the Force without being tainted by the Dark Side. This crystal has been constructed using the techniques of the ancient Holocrons, which would shatter if they were forced open by the Dark Side.

He paused. “The Caretakers have a few of them, in case they need to replace one. Anyway… if you came here, then either the Force guided you here to Ahch-To or you came following the map. And if you came following the map, you came looking for me.”

Master Skywalker’s expression turned rueful. “So I’m sorry to disappoint you. I’m not here. I left. I grew up on a desert planet, and this place just… unsettles me. It gives me the creeps to see all that water. Hurricanes should be illegal, and this planet has some really nasty ones… anyway, I’ve moved somewhere where I don’t need to worry about that. You’ll find me in the Bespin system, on Cloud City…

Rey’s eye twitched, as the blue illusion of Master Skywalker’s face listed off an address.

The crystal fizzed slightly, and she dropped it before she could break it somehow, then crouched down and picked it up again – not accessing it with the Force, this time.

“Right,” she said, her voice tight, and turned to go right back down the slope again.

“You’re back early,” Chewbacca said, concern in his voice.

“Luke’s not here,” Rey replied, hitting the switch to raise the Falcon’s ramp. “Do you know where Bespin is?”

Chewie blinked.

“What?” he asked. “Yes, I know where Bespin is… you’re saying he’s on Bespin?”

“Apparently,” Rey replied. “Though I suppose the map is a map to where he went, not where he is. It’s not like he was updating it…”

Cloud City was an amazing sight, though it had begun to pall slightly for Rey when it took them half an hour to get a landing permit.

Eventually Chewbacca called in a favour from someone called Lobot, and ten minutes after that Rey rang the door chime on the address Luke had given her.

Then she stood outside, waiting.

It was strange to be in a completely built environment. Even the ground under her feet ultimately had nothing beneath it but air… and yet all this was kept in the air by technology.

If Rey hadn’t known quite so much about how solidly built repulsorlift units were, she might have been unsettled.

The door hissed open, and a woman looked out. “Yes?”

“I’m looking for Luke Skywalker?” Rey asked, awkwardly.

“Oh!” the woman said. “You know, he didn’t leave a forwarding address, but he did ask that something be given to anyone who came looking for him… hold on a moment, please.”

The door hissed closed again, and Rey leaned on her staff and groaned.

“I’m guessing we’re leaving?” Chewbacca asked.

“We’re leaving,” Rey confirmed. “For somewhere called the Dagobah system.”

She held up the crystal she’d been given. “If you’ve never heard of it, this should help, at least. It’s got a planetary map, as well… and a long, long complaint about vertigo.”

“He did once fall out the bottom of Cloud City,” Chewbacca volunteered. “That would give anyone vertigo… here, anyway.”

“So after spending a month here, I realized what training with Master Yoda had let me forget until then,” the pseudo-visible Jedi Master explained, as Rey focused – not without some annoyance – on the crystal she’d found in a hut. “Which is that Dagobah is damp. I can’t walk very far without sinking into the swamp, the only food available is moss soup… Master Yoda stayed here for decades, and I can see the argument that a Jedi should be inured to physical discomfort, but I just can’t take it any more. I’m going to Ajan Kloss.”

“Really?” Rey asked. “Really?”

She focused, drawing out her anger, and expelled it with a sigh.

Where on Ajan Kloss was she supposed to be looking, anyway?

The holocron-alike crystal shimmered, showing an Ajan Kloss planetary map, and Rey committed it to memory before closing her hand around the delicate-seeming crystal.

“All right,” she said. “Ajan Kloss, then! And there had better be a Jedi Master there.”

There was not.

“So it’s been the rainy season…” the next crystal declared. “And it’s not as swampy as Dagobah or as rainy as Ahch-To, but it’s a lot warmer and the combination is absolute hell. I thought it was the rainy season when I was here before, but it turns out that it was actually the dry season. This is the rainy season, and it never gets dry. Nothing gets dry. The humidity is absolutely one hundred percent constantly. The floor’s covered with millipedes and our robes are growing fungus on them.”

Rey shuddered involuntarily.

It did sound bad.

They were fortunately in the dry season again, or at least she assumed so since the rain coming down outside was only moderately heavy and the geography hadn’t been entirely covered by cloud.

“What’s worse, the plants here even grow at night,” Luke complained. “So that’s it. I’m done with this place. We’re moving somewhere where there’s no need to worry about plant life at all…”

“Are you sure this is necessary?” Rey asked, two hours later.

“Yes,” Chewbacca replied, giving her another parka, and Rey put it on somewhat awkwardly. “You’re from a desert world. You know how Dagobah was cold and wet?”

“I’m having trouble forgetting,” Rey replied.

“Well, that’s about fifteen degrees,” Chewbacca explained. “Hoth is minus forty. I was cold there.”

Rey stared.

“...do you have any more warm clothes?” she asked.

Eventually, with some difficulty, Rey struggled into the ruins of the Rebellion’s Echo Base.

It was below freezing cold, and intensely annoying, and what was worse was that there wasn’t even a Jedi Master there. Instead, there was another crystal.

It mostly contained Luke complaining about how kriffing freezing it was, and that he’d spent three days here before electing to move to the Forest Moon of Endor.

“What is this?” Rey asked, after extracting herself from the parkas and as the Falcon sped towards the Endor system. “Is it some kind of sick joke?”

“I’ll give this for Endor, it’s warmer than Hoth,” Chewbacca contributed.

The Endor map led to an Ewok village, where they treated Chewbacca like an old friend and sniffed at Rey with great suspicion before Chewbacca managed to make himself understood enough to explain that she was a friend.

Then an Ewok shaman said… something… and Rey found herself involved in some kind of blessing ceremony. It was surprisingly useful, in that it actually involved the Force, but Rey was struggling to concentrate by the second hour… and it wasn’t until the fifth that she actually managed to convey the question she had.

The Ewoks discussed amongst themselves, then finally realized what she meant, and led her to a large treetop hut.

An empty hut, with nothing but some folded flimsiplast on the table, and a crystal on top of it.

Rey wanted to scream, but she didn’t want her hosts to take it the wrong way.

“If you’ve ever met Ewoks, you’ll know they’re brave warriors and good people,” Luke said, as Rey slumped over the Dejarik table on the Falcon.

Both she and Chewbacca were watching Luke’s latest message, and part of Rey hoped that wherever it was going to be was far away enough that she could get some rest.

The rest of her was wondering if they could just give up looking.

“But they’re also… a bit much,” Luke went on. “It took a month or two, but ultimately it got to be too much for us, so we decided to move on. This time we’re going to somewhere where we should be able to be alone, and as a bonus we can be out of the rain as well… it’s a lot like a homecoming, in some ways. We’re going to the Great Temple on Yavin Four.”

Chewbacca muttered something, and went to set the autopilot.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I have actually got bored of green,” Rey said, as they flew low over the jungles of Yavin Four. “I didn’t think it was possible to get bored of something that quickly.”

Chewbacca shrugged.

“Are we picking anything up?” he asked.

“Not on the long range,” Rey replied, sitting down and checking the scanners. “Nothing on passive… that’s just because Luke wants to hide, right?”

She detected a note of desperation in her voice. “It’s not because he’s moved on again, right?”

Chewbacca didn’t say anything, but he did raise an eyebrow at her.

Searching the Great Temple took about an hour, and they didn’t find a Jedi Master.

They did, however, find one of the now all-too-familiar crystals, and Rey stared balefully at it before clasping her hands and letting out her anger.

Again.

Then she snatched it up, wanting to know where they were going to have to go this time.

“You know…” Rey said, as they broke orbit. “I actually almost sympathize with that one.”

“You do?” Chewbacca asked.

“Yeah,” Rey agreed. “Knowing that the temples here were literally built by slaves who were members of the original Sith species… it’s a Sith Temple. I imagine any Jedi would be uncomfortable with that.”

She looked down at the crystal. “I really wish he’d put one of these on Ahch-To, though.”

“No argument there,” Chewie mumbled. “At least Naboo is an easy one…”

“I don’t know much about the place,” Rey said. “Only that it was involved with the Clone Wars, somehow. Or maybe something before the Clone Wars.”

The crystal pointed them to a very fine town house in Theed, which did not have Master Luke in it.

Instead, it had a droid, who beeped and whistled at them.

“We’re looking for Master Skywalker,” Rey said. “Please tell me you know where he went.”

The droid beeped again.

“...Master Amidala?” Rey repeated. “But Master Skywalker said to come here…”

“Same person, it’s just his mother’s surname instead of his father’s,” Chewbacca provided. “Show the droid one of the crystals?”

“It can’t hurt,” Rey conceded. “Is this some kind of ancestral home, then?”

She activated one of the crystals, and the droid whistled gleefully before opening an internal compartment and depositing another crystal in her palm.

“Right,” Rey said, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. “It’s a good thing the Falcon is so fast. We must have done a lap of the galaxy by now.”

“We’ve mostly been going through the middle, but yes,” Chewie agreed. “Where now?”

“That’s always the question,” Rey conceded, focusing.

If there was one thing this was good for, it was learning to master her anger.

“I know, I know, I said we’d be here for good,” Luke apologized. “But I ran into a Palpatine on the street yesterday, and it freaked me out.”

He shook his head. “I know, they’re from a different branch of the family, not everyone called Palpatine is evil… but it really unsettled me and I can’t feel comfortable here any more. Not after I heard from Binks about how Palpatine exploited both my parents… and him.”

The Jedi Master let out a long sigh. “But being somewhere I inherited… it helped, really. It reminded me of the other place that I inherited. We’re going back home. Beggar’s Canyon and the Lars homestead. Ben, if you’re the one hearing this… I’m sorry that we couldn’t give you the childhood that my aunt and uncle gave me.”

The force hologram disappeared, and Rey closed her eyes.

“That didn’t even give us a planet,” she said.

“No problem,” Chewbacca replied. “I know where we’re going. I know where Luke grew up.”

He nodded to the droid. “Thanks for your help.”

The droid whistled, waving a probe cheerfully.

Naboo to Tatooine. Mos Eisley to the Jundland Wastes to the Lars homestead, and from there on to Beggar’s Canyon.

Rey could feel the tension building in the air. Like the signs of a sandstorm, but more positive.

Signs of… something. Maybe signs of hope.

“Found something,” Chewbacca said. “Zeroing in on it now.”

The Falcon banked, slowing, and Rey went to the ramp as it opened. Around her, the light transport hovered on repulsorlifts, and she held on to a stanchion as she leaned out into the hot, dry air.

“I can see something!” she reported, through her comlink. “Bring us down another four metres… all right… I’m getting out here, land as near as you can.”

“Got it,” Chewbacca replied, and Rey slipped out of the door.

She landed with a roll, and shaded her eyes to look closely at what she’d spotted.

There was no mistaking it. It was a hangar bay. Built into the side of Beggar’s Canyon, concealed from above except at exactly the right angle, and big enough to service plenty of ships at once.

There were ships there, in fact. Two transport shuttles, a light and utilitarian variety, and a heavier and heavily modified yacht. But there was space for several more, and Rey frowned as she approached.

This didn’t feel empty in the way the other places had been, a difference that only made sense now she’d felt both sides of it.

It felt… lived in.

Then three young adults – a strange four-legged two-armed half-equine, a more familiar Bothan, and a human – came out of a doorway, all looking at her warily.

“Who are you?” the bothan asked. “Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for Master Luke Skywalker,” Rey explained.

“...oh, well, you just missed him,” the half-equine replied. “He’ll be back-”

“Lusa!” the Bothan protested. “Operational security!”

“Right, right,” the now-identified Lusa said. “Why do you want to speak to him?”

“Because we need him,” Rey said, simply. “To fight the First Order. I… brought his old lightsaber?”

She held it out.

“Whoa,” all three youngsters said, at once.

Then the Falcon came flying back over, still looking for a landing spot, and the human gasped.

“Is that the Millennium Falcon?” he asked. “Did you come here with Han Solo and Chewbacca? Does that mean Ben-”

“No,” Rey replied. “Han’s dead. He… Ben killed him.”

That put a damper on the mood.

“...so, where is Master Luke?” Rey asked, after a few seconds. “Who are you? What are you doing here? I’ve been following his messages for more than a day!”

“Well…” Lusa began. “We’re… trainees?”

“The old word was padawans,” the Bothan supplied. “Master Luke decided that… uh… he said that he remembered what Master Yoda said, and that the only thing that mattered was the spirit. That you had to learn to avoid the Darkness, and that everything else you could learn at your own pace, however fast or slow that was.”

“And all the teachers left about two hours ago in their X-Wings,” the human contributed. “So we’re the ones defending the Academy!”

“I am going to need some time to process this,” Rey said. “...wait, in X-Wings?”

“We had a fleet,” Poe said. “Now we’re down to one ship, and you’ve told us nothing!”

He waved his hands, for emphasis. “Tell us that we have a plan! That there is hope!”

Admiral Holdo stared back.

“There is a plan,” she said. “But I don’t have to tell you what-”

“Admiral!” someone interrupted. “Hyperspace signatures! It looks like… they’re snub fighters, twelve of them!”

Holdo’s shoulders slumped.

“And there it is,” she declared, as the tension left, and she sat back into her seat. “Turn the ship! Prepare for close engagement!”

The radio crackled.

“All wings report in,” came a voice, Luke Skywalker’s voice, and it was so unexpected that Poe staggered back a pace.

“Katarn standing by,” one of the fighters reported.

“Horn, standing by,” another voice added.

The reports came, one by one. Jade, Dracos, Solusar, Durron, Ikrit, Binks, Desann, Korr, Penin. Then they broke for an attack run, and Poe could only stare.

He knew he was a good pilot. One of the best.

But even he had to admit that he couldn’t outdo that squadron.

[joanofexys]

i don't want to start a war or anything but i know nothing about cults. so i'm really curious if you have any thoughts on former ravens being in a long-term relationship with other former ravens once they're out of that environment. like maybe it's realistic or maybe it wouldn't cause as many problems as one would assume...

OKAY SO

this is actually such a good question and something i’m very excited to talk about. yet another disclaimer that my experience is unique, as are all cult survivors, and my opinion isn’t like an objective fact just observations from being a cult a survivor. since i haven’t made a cult post in awhile

but cult survivors tend to flock to each other. without even realizing most of it the time. as a cult survivor the majority of my friends are fellow cult survivors. some of them i grew up with and others i befriended without even knowing they were in a cult. you’ll hear a lot of queer people or neurodivergent people talk about their friend groups being predominantly queer or ND just by complete coincidence and i’d say a very similar thing happens to cult survivors. and of course a lot of us also seek each other out as support systems for a sense of community and understanding and shared experiences.

and there are couples who are in cults together and often get married while in the cults who will often deconstruct and leave together. obviously it seems like the majority of the time it’s just one person in the couple leaving the cult but i wouldn’t discount the amount of couples who leave together or say they’re a rarity.

all that to say i think it’s very likely for couples who were secretly together in the nest to stay together. especially because a lot of ravens haven’t worked through the mindset of being in a cult. that us vs them mentality.

it actually probably seems beneficial to them once they graduate. and it’s probably something that reflects well in the media too. a raven couple signing to the same team and then later publicly being a couple. the media gets to use that “power couple” sort of spin. the ravens get someone who understands and a way to still rely on the partner system. it’s a safe option.

and there’s a couple ways it can go. they feed into each other’s patterns. they cling the nest and everything they were taught. they might function fine that way but they’re not healing. they’re not unlearning anything. it could even make it worse, send them spiralling downwards. they could crash and burn. or it’s a way to slowly adjust to the outside world. they don’t drown without someone by their side. it’s a way to ease into everything with someone that understands. and maybe with that they get the time to think about everything they were put through. as they recognize what was wrong with the nest they have someone to turn to when they feel like they can’t tell anyone else. they get to work through things together. relearn healthy relationships and boundaries and how to be people again. and those things that are too heavy, too shameful, too gut wrenching to confess to anyone who didn’t go through it too can finally be said.

or there’s the option of ravens who never dated in the nest seeking each other out afterwards and dating. this is probably something messy and unhealthy for former ravens who have never tried to heal. they’d likely flock back to each other and become codependent, fall back into habits in the nest. but it also has the opportunity of being something healthy. it’s that same sense of community, of understanding.

even former ravens who have adjusted to life outside the nest, who have relearned how to be people, may not feel comfortable with dating or with being surrounded by people who just don’t understand. and i’m not saying that cult survivors can’t date non cult survivors. obviously those relationships happen and they can be fully healthy and loving with a lot of understanding and growth. they work just fine. but there might be some ravens who feel like that’s not possible for them. they’ll find people with similar experiences, other ravens, who just get it.

in general i think it’s incredibly likely that a lot of ravens tend to reconnect or stay together outside of the nest. and that has the potential to be good or bad. i don’t doubt that some of them just cut each other off entirely. some might be more causal friends than anything. but maybe they meet up for breakfast when they’re playing in the same city. they might send each other wedding invites or christmas cards. a text with a therapist’s information and a mention that they’ve been really helpful in working through things. a lot of them might be a lot closer. teams made up almost entirely of former ravens. a lot of them might be roommates. they spend a lot of time together on and off the court. a change from their obligated time spent together in the nest to actually becoming friends. ravens retiring together and following each other into the same field. coaches, journalists, commentators. eventually moving further away but staying in touch. regular phone calls and texting every day.

the ravens healing does not necessitate them cutting each other out of their lives. though that’s something that people might assume. they can continue to co-exist and even maintain relationships with each other in a healthy way if they do it right. and a lot of them might do it unhealthily anyway. it’s unlikely that ravens uninterested in healing or working through trauma will let each other go when their system relied on an unhealthy level of dependency.

[magicalbats]

Kinktober 2024 Day 11: Gepard x Reader

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 4812

Warnings: Afab!reader, childhood friends to lovers, uniform, sex in public, clothed sex, dry humping, much talk of marriage plans, this one is very soft and unproblematic lol

A/N: I love, love, love Gepard, you guys. Fun fact, actually, I kept pulling for him on the standard banner to no avail and I thought for sure I was going to have to wait until I got my free 5* pick at 200 pulls but then I finally got him on Valentine's Day this year! And Serval came with him so I took that as my sign that it was meant to be and she approved of our relationship. lmao

⭐

It was always easy to pick Gepard out in a crowd for a handful of reasons. 

The least of which was his considerable height which made him, quite literally, stand out amongst a population of citizens that didn’t skew much towards being tall. There were a handful of other men who evenly matched him and even fewer still who managed to surpass his size, but they were in the minority by a considerable margin. 

What further distinguished him from the rest was his hair. That pale blond wasn’t an overly common color one could find in Belobog, though certainly not unheard of. It was, however, something of a signature for the Landau family. All of them seemed to have it and the particular shade never differed all that much between them.  

So it was safe to say if you spotted someone who was rather tall with a boyishly tousled mop of soft blond hair atop his head, it was more than likely the Silvermane captain. And should you still have any doubts, the strong voice of conviction that he used to delegate his men and issue commands was another dead give away. There wasn’t anyone else quite like him wearing the pure white armor of Belobog’s militaristic armed forces who believed in what he stood for with quite so much steadfast tenacity. 

It makes it very hard for you not to smile as you work your way through the densely packed street on a sure trajectory towards the object of your affection. You’d caught sight of him further back at the far edge of the bustling throng of bodies, just as you always did, but now you were close enough that you could clearly hear him speaking over the general din. 

The final nail in the coffin comes when you sidle up alongside him much to the querious looks of the men gathered before him and he turns those striking, crystalline blue eyes on you. Even amongst his fellow Landau’s you’d never seen anyone with eyes quite like his. 

“Oh.” He blurts, clearly surprised at your sudden appearance beside him. “You’re already here? My apologies, I didn’t realize what time - -“

Giggling softly when he cranes his head around in search of any clocks in the immediate vicinity, you reach out to gently tug on the corner of his jacket and bring his attention back around. “Don’t worry, you didn’t lose track and forget about me. I’m just early, that’s all.” 

The tension in his shoulders immediately recedes, and Gepard fixes you with a small but pleased smile. “Ah, I see. I’m glad to hear it then. You had me a bit nervous for a moment there.” 

“It’s okay. I know how busy you are.”

“Yes, well …” 

Trailing off, he somewhat awkwardly turns his gaze towards his men again and you follow his line of sight to find them rather blatantly watching the scene play out. Shameless gossips, all of them. 

Not that you could really blame the soldiers for their interest considering how stringently upright and respectable their captain was, so getting to see him interact with a woman wasn’t something they were very used to. Even Serval, his older sister, was rarely seen with him despite her past ties to the Silvermane’s so it doesn’t exactly come as a great surprise that they would be curious. 

But it’s clear that Gepard isn’t entirely comfortable having a rapt audience like this, and he gives a deliberate cough to make sure they were listening. As if there were even any doubt. 

“I’m going to step away for a moment but you all have your orders. Make sure you don’t get distracted just because there’s a festival going on.  I’ll be back momentarily.” 

Turning towards you again to a masculine chorus of ‘yes, sir’s, Gepard politely reaches out to take your elbow so he can steer you away from the onlookers. You send them a quick wave over your shoulder but allow him to direct you where he wants, happy to go along with him wherever he might choose to go. 

The two of you had known each other since you were children, though it was kind of hard not to be at least passingly acquainted with everyone who happened to be in your general age range when Belobog had such limited space to offer its citizens. The reopening of the Underworld had returned the settlements' range back to its former reach though, and now there were even efforts being made to expand outward as well. And although you’d seen less of each other at the onset of adolescence and into early adulthood, there was still an infinite wealth of trust between you and him. If he suddenly said to run out of the city into the barren, frozen tundra beyond you wouldn’t have even thought to question it. 

Luckily he just pulls you away from the busy square and down a quieter side street though. You’re glad for it since you weren’t wearing anything heavier than a thick sweater to keep you warm, and you don’t think you’re up for a trek through the endless snowdrifts outside the walls. 

Stopping together just short of one of the many heaters dotting the street, he finally moves to look down at you again. It’s with a much more at ease smile this time and you can’t help the resulting pang you feel in your chest. 

It wasn’t always like this. He wasn’t always so tall and filled out, and you didn’t always have to tip your head back to look him in the face. 

You also didn’t always feel quite so compelled to tug him down for a kiss, but in terms of developments this one was still quite new. Even his strict father didn’t yet know about the recent change in the dynamic between you and his son, and there was very little that ever managed to slip under his radar. Perhaps he was just finally starting to slow down in his old age though. 

“You look lovely today” Gepard tells you in the here and now, giving his uniform a vague gesture with his gloved hand. “I almost feel out of place wearing the same thing I always do when you’re dressed up so nice. I’m sorry I can’t run home and change.” 

“I don’t want to hear another word about it. You look dashing, as always.” Pinning him with a sly grin, you reach out to slip your finger into the fur sash around his waist and give it a brief tug. “I like your uniform, but you already knew that. I’m not sure if anyone else pulls it off quite like you do.”

Eyes widening to accompany the faint splash of pink that creeps into his face, Gepard steps back from you with a surreptitious glance over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was looking. “Don’t joke around like that! My men are already whispering - -“

“Then let them whisper. Your father has to find out about us at some point.” 

“That’s not what worries me.” He insists, sending you a rueful glance. “You know this isn’t proper. If people start to suspect we’ve been … intimate before I’ve even asked for your hand, that’ll cause us both a whole world of problems.” 

Feigning a soft huff, you bring your hands up to brace them on your hips in an intentionally haughty pose. “There’s an easy fix for that, Gepard. Would you like to hear it?” 

He tips his head, blinking at you rather inquisitively now. “Certainly. If you’ve got such a great idea then - -“

Stepping into him and cutting Gepard off, you reach up to grab hold of his collar at the same time you bounce forward on your toes. Despite being both much bigger and much stronger than you, he doesn’t even pretend to fight it and just lets you pull him down into an eager kiss that makes him noise a soft little sound of surprise. 

He’s much too good and chivalrous, you think to yourself when his hands come up to politely curl around your shoulders rather than anywhere else he could have grabbed you. His upbringing shows in everything he does though, including the way he tentatively kisses you back as if you hadn’t already made it abundantly clear just how much you enjoyed feeling his lips on your skin. It seemed he was always going to let you set the pace though, at least until some inevitable tipping point was reached and he couldn’t help but let go of those pesky inhibitions holding him back. 

Oh well. That just meant you had that much longer to teach him a few more things before setting him loose on your body. And you were certain he’d take these lessons to heart because he was nothing if not resolute in every task he took on. You didn’t doubt for one second that love making would be any different in that regard. 

Finally rocking back to peer up at him, you give Gepard a great big smile. “Propose to me then. They can’t say anything about it if we’re already engaged, right?” 

Taking a moment to search your face with a glimmer of fond admiration reflecting in his steady gaze, the Silvermane captain eventually breathes out a slow sigh through his nose. “There’s nothing I’d love more, you know that. But there’s a certain way these things need to be done.”

“Such as?” 

“After I get permission from both our parents’, for starters.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh as you look up into his handsome face. You almost wished you had the capacity to be annoyed with him and his adamancy for following the rules, but you really just can’t find fault in it. There wasn’t anyone who embodied the spirit of the Amber Lord’s preservation quite the same as he did, after all. It was an admirable trait to have, even if you yourself weren’t much for upholding tradition or customs. 

“That little wrinkle you get between your eyebrows when you’re thinking too hard about something is very cute,” He murmurs, a fond note dancing in his voice now as he bends closer to place a soothing kiss to the spot in question. “But I still wish you wouldn’t fret over this so much. You have my word that what I feel for you is true and my loyalty cannot be called into question. It may not be officially sanctioned yet, but I’ve already sworn my vows to you as far as I’m concerned.” 

“I know.” You murmur, all but preening under his tender, doting affection now. “Thank you, Gepard. I’m just eager to be with you.” 

“As am I, rest assured. But we’ll get there soon enough. You just need to have patience, sweetheart.” 

Your smile takes on a mischievous edge as you bring your hand up to meaningfully tug on his jacket. “Then let’s do it. Come on, it’ll be fun.” 

“Right here?” He asks, incredulous. “You’re crazy. We can’t possibly do something like that in public. And I can only stay for a few minutes more before I’m needed back at - -“

“Please.” You cut him off, imploringly batting your eyelashes up at him. 

Visibly conflicted, Gepard opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it and closes it again. Grumbling a low sound under his breath, he turns his face from you as if he couldn’t bear to look for another moment longer without folding, but you could tell you’d already won. Those vows he’d spoken of had been sufficient enough for him to bend the rules just a little bit, as much as he was likely capable of. It wasn’t much once you got right down to it and you suspected this arguably small allowance caused him much more grief than simply waiting it out would have, but he was much too softhearted to say ‘no’ to you indefinitely. 

This part of your dynamic, at least, hadn’t changed one bit over the years. He’d always had a hard time not giving into your demands, going along with whatever cockamamie game or scheme you concocted even when he was nearly in tears while doing it. That just showed how seriously he regarded the tradition of marriage though, if he still refused to budge that last little bit even now. 

But on this one thing he was grudgingly willing to relent and he does indeed give in to the coaxing tug on his jacket with another low rumble, allowing you to pull him into the cramped alley you were standing next to. It’s noticeably chillier the further you move from the street heater but you trust him to keep you warm, just like he always did. 

You can’t help giggling an eager sound as you back up towards the wall when you deem that you’re far enough from the lip of the alleyway that you wouldn’t be easily spotted should anyone happen by. He obediently shuffles after you, bringing one hand up to firmly brace against the rough bricks just next to your head as he hunches close to cage you in. The other he uses to slip under your chin and tip your face up at him, that steady, tepid blue gaze meeting yours. Feeling your anticipatory excitement wind just that little bit tighter, you reach out to give his waist an encouraging squeeze. 

“Here should be fine, right?” 

“This is hardly what I would consider fine,” He grumbles back, resigned to his fate but clearly not entirely unwilling. “You’ll be the death of me some day if you keep this up. I hope you know that.” 

“As if I’d let you get away that easily.” 

Grinning, you once again rock forward and go up on your toes so you can entice him down for another kiss. It works, of course, and he bends closer to slot his mouth over yours with a stilted sigh. His lingering reticence quickly dissipates though as you work your lips over his, tasting him in such a full bodied head rush that it almost leaves you dizzy. 

The clean scent of him mixed with the vague smell of ozone swarms your senses and makes you want him even more, hungrily tipping your head to deepen the exchange. Gepard hesitates to do it, still ever mindful of where this was taking place, but he gradually opens his mouth to allow his tongue to come up and brush against yours. It had taken you about a week to convince him that this kind of intimate kissing wouldn’t break the rules so terribly that his father would disown him on the spot if he ever found out about it. And you bask in it now, relishing the warm push and enticing pull of his tongue as it dances with yours. 

At the same time you let your hands wander over the front of him to feel along the cool press of his armor, all the bits and bobbles on his uniform. You hadn’t been joking earlier about liking it. In fact, you really liked it and you were glad for his willingness to humor you while wearing it. He’d always been a cute kid with those sweet, sweet blues in his eyes and age had only improved on what was already there. 

But he’s much more reserved than you are about allowing his touch to drift any lower than where it’s somewhat possessively curled around the side of your neck, so you reach up to grab at his blocky wrist. Gepard noises a soft sound into your lips as you drag his hand down and redirect it to your chest. At first his fingers remain stiff and unreciprocal when you push the palm into one breast but then a faint shudder works through him to accompany the quiet rumble of a masculine groan. 

Carefully closing his fingers around the swell of your tit, he gives it a brief, groping squeeze to almost make your toes curl in your boots. He was always so gentle and hyper aware of how he handled you, which was a good trait for someone as big and strong as he was to have. You knew he could have hurt you if he really wanted to and it would have been exceptionally easy for him to do so, but the loyal captain had never so much as even raised his voice at you. He was the exact opposite of his father in so many different ways and his strictly disciplined self control assured you he would never become like the man who’d raised him. 

It was kind of sweet, in all honesty. How he insisted on treating you like fragile glass that might shatter in his hand if he wasn’t cautious enough despite your insistence to the contrary. He was much too soft for roughhousing. Always had been. 

But the more he kneads at your breast through the front of your sweater, the more comfortable he becomes with doing it. Just as every other time, after that initial uncertainty wears off, Gepard takes to it with natural aptitude.

His hands are big to match his considerable size and he makes easy work of palming the swell of your chest to squish and slightly lift it. Still exceedingly gentle, still mindful of how much pressure he applies, but so incredibly attentive to the task that you can’t quite stifle the needy mewl that crawls up your throat. You could feel the nipple slowly growing stiff and pebbled against the cup of your bra, and you finally pull back from the kiss to look up at him again. 

“Ohh. That feels good, Gepard. Keep doing it, just like that.” You encourage him with the softly issued, hushed praise as you dreamily slide your fingers over the gauntlet he’d been gifted by the previous Supreme Guardian. Each metal ridge and divot registers in your mind and yet you hardly even notice it at all when he was groping your chest like that. 

It seems to be the same for him on some level, and you can tell he doesn’t perceive anything other than you in that moment when he bends his head close to lightly press your foreheads together. The world may as well have come to a screeching standstill at that very moment for as little as anything else mattered, and you tip your face up slightly to better look at him from this angle. 

“You’re doing such a good job.” You tell him earnestly, giving your back a subdued arch to press your tit further into his hand. “I can’t wait to finally have you on our wedding night.” 

A low, long suffering groan rumbles out of him, eyes sliding shut while he rides out the faint tremor that seems to work down his spine in response. “Don’t say that. It’s already hard enough to behave myself when you’re so …” 

“So what?” 

His eyes open again to look at you as the hand braced against the wall comes down to hesitantly join the other in kneading your breasts. “So perfect. So beautiful and smart. And frustratingly clever too.” 

“Oh,” You breathe out when he lifts your chest in both his palms to pinch and squeeze at you more vigorously. “Is that what you’re calling it now? Clever?” 

“Yes. Trouble is probably more accurate but I was trying to be polite.” 

The two of you laugh at that, Gepard’s masculine rumble intertwining with your girlish giggles to create a truly harmonious sound that almost seems too good to be true. It was at times astounding how much you actually complemented each other, to the point where your relationship now seemed like a foregone conclusion in retrospect. Where he was unfalteringly honorable and stubborn, you were soft and playful. It was a good balance, you’d quickly come to find. 

And when you reach down to feel across the front of his neatly ironed slacks only to find him hard and eagerly straining towards you, you’re filled with a giddy sense of wonder at how you’d managed to coax him even this far. Doing this in the privacy of your little apartment was one thing and already an impressive feat. But to do it here, outside on the street where anyone could happen upon you at any time? It was downright unbelievable, or it would have been were you not seeing it with your own two eyes. Had you not been holding the weighty proof of his feelings for you in the palm of your hand. 

Feeling your cunt squeeze in anticipation, you tip your head back to accept the kiss he leans down to press into your mouth with a faltering groan. To get his pants undone you need to bring both hands together to work in tandem, and your lips hungrily push back against him while you work on the series of buttons keeping his placket shut. You’re admittedly a bit surprised he doesn’t change his mind right then and there, but just as with everything else once he’d made up his mind about something there was no going back on it. 

Taking your time, you carefully free him just enough to let his rigid length slip out into the open, making him hiss a soft sound at the chill on his skin. His cock bobs between your body and his, looking like it wanted to retreat back into the warm safety of his slacks but was just a little too excited to truly flag. Cooing a gentle sound of comfort at him, you shuffle close to throw your arms over Gepard’s broad shoulders and he gratefully wraps his around you so he can pick you right up off your feet. 

Once he’s got you secured to the front of him, he shuffles closer to the wall to pin you there. Your skirt is all askew around your thighs now, trapped in the press of your bodies as he settles comfortably into the space of your parted thighs with his cock pressed right up against your panties. This was as far as he would allow it to go, always insisting that the thin final barrier of your underwear remain until all of the customary criteria were met first. But oh, you’re so incredibly grateful for even that much as you shudder at the tight, hot press of him right along your slit. 

Sometimes it felt like he was driving you mad, and this was very much one of them. You could have screamed for him to just take you already, public decency be damned, when he starts up a slow, steady grind that has his stiff length digging into your cunt. It feels good as far as compromises go and yet it just makes you all the more eager to feel him touching you skin to skin, moving inside you rather than this. 

You move with him though, working your hips to help guide him and set the pace you want which he happily obliges. The intense look of concentration on Gepard’s face urges you to lean further into him so you can kiss over his brow, his temple, the bridge of his nose. He moans a breathy sound when his focus starts to slip because of what you’re doing and the power behind his thrusts picks up a notch to match that spike in his arousal. He was particularly sensitive after years of waiting with only his own hand for company, but something told you he’d still display this same lack of willpower even many years after you were married. There were some things even experience couldn’t change, and his puppy-like eagerness to please was no doubt one of them. 

Working your mouth lower to glance over his smooth cheek, you once again find his mouth and you coaxingly kiss him to encourage his efforts. Just as you’d expected, he does a sufficient job of keeping you warm like this, two bodies moving in near perfect unison with each other to reach the finish line. You hardly even notice the now distant chill as you rake your hands through his enviably soft hair and clutch him more firmly against you. 

A ragged, tortured sound slips out of him when Gepard eventually pulls back just enough to gasp into the scant space and you take advantage of that opportunity to nip at his bottom lip. He made you so hungry, so deeply irrational with want that you momentarily forget where you are. And you think the same goes for him because he presses his weight more firmly into you, all but flattening you against that smooth bricked wall as his hands travel lower to take greedy, grasping handfuls of your hips. 

If the chance of discovery were not so great you would have liked to simply reach down and guide him into your waiting cunt, consequences be damned, but you have to make do with simply pressing back on the rigid length digging into you to get your fill. You just become more wild with it as the seconds tick by, enthusiastically writhing in his arms until you can feel the gusset of your panties starting to soak through with slick. He really was driving you mad. 

“Keep going, Gepard.” You whisper to him, breath hitching in your chest to make your lungs stutter. “I’m getting close. Don’t stop.” 

“I am too.” He hisses back. 

It’s not hard to see he’s struggling against the exact same urges you are, his jaw tight with the clench of his teeth, but he admirably maintains his noble bearing throughout. No matter how wild or desperate your squirming becomes, he just keeps steadily holding you there against him while the distant sound of an ongoing festival drifts in your general direction from a few streets over. 

You realize exactly how dangerous this is, of course, and you’re sure he does too. Yet that doesn’t deter either of you from chasing your pleasure together, and your pussy achingly throbs when the motion of his hips starts to turn stiff and uneven. The way Gepard rattles a high strung sound of pure, unfiltered bliss into the still alley nearly sends you careening right over the edge, and you blindly clutch at him when the internal pressure starts to reach its breaking point. 

But he seethes, holding back his own release until the tension in you finally snaps and you cum with a jerky spasm. The immediate rush of live wire sensation has your eyes rolling back in your head while you whimper a frazzled yet deeply satisfied noise of pleasure, shaking fitfully in his hold until the spasms recede a drawn out moment later. 

It’s only then that he nudges you up a little higher to let his twitching cock slip out from between your legs. The strength he exhibits when he jostles you around like you weighed little more than a child, reaching under you with one hand to politely gather the back of your skirt out of the way, is incredible in its own right. There weren’t many who matched him in strength, even amongst the Silvermane’s, and that was never more apparent than it is in situations like this. 

Twisting your fingers into the shoulders of his uniform, you lean in to catch his kiss-swollen lips again, and he responds with a rumbling sound of relief into your mouth. He shudders almost instantaneously, wheezing through his nose while he impotently shoots off into the air, splattering the wall and the ground with his spend. It’s such a full bodied release that you can feel his orgasm working through him where you’re pressed right up against one another and you seethe a sensitive sound at the thought of how he might feel cumming inside of you instead. 

The worst part is that even though he always seems to feel it right down to his very bones he still recovers quicker than you, and you mewl a quiet, dreamy sound when he straightens from the bent kneed slouch he’d fallen into. Turning your face to drop it against his shoulder, you allow yourself a content hum of satisfaction that he mirrors back at you with a low rumble of his own. 

“I’ll say it again,” He murmurs, pressing his mouth against your hair in a lingering kiss. “You’re going to be the death of me at this rate.” 

Smiling and giddy, you force your body to cooperate even though it really doesn’t want to, sluggishly leaning back to look at him. “I’ll make it up to you later, Captain. Promise. But for now, would you like to go enjoy the festivities with me?” 

He pins you with a boyishly earnest smile, his lovely eyes dancing with delight. “Of course I’d love to. Nothing would make me happier, sweetheart.”

⭐

Cross posted: here