#someone has too much time on their hands it seems

[megamindsecretlair]

hey i just need something real nasty between husband and wife with mr.aaron (i say it key and peele😂😂) with some angst before the actual plot🤭

A/N: Ask and ye shall receive, beautiful.

Made You Fall For Me

Pairing: Husband!Terry Richmond x Wife!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. SMUT. Cursing, teasing (fem and male receiving), PIV, oral (female receiving), Reader is able to be picked up, use of pet names, angst. Mentions of death of a loved one, trauma. All consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: It had been two weeks since the anniversary of Mike’s death and Terry still beat himself up over it. Tired of Terry not letting you in, you join him in the shower and show him that he has a life to lead right here and now with you. Story by @uniqueoutlierblog

Word Count: 5,371k

AO3 Link

A/N: Thank you so much for dealing with my hiatus. I'm stronger mentally than I have ever been. Definitely worked on myself and stopped being so hard on myself. The kind asks really helped me find my way back, so have this smutty fic as a giant thank you! Thank you so much for all your continued support! Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Terry sighed as he entered the bedroom. You looked up from your phone to watch your husband. 

His tall frame moved fluidly around the space, taking off of his pants and his shirt. It was soaked through having just finished at the gym. He sat on the edge of the bed to fling off his socks and toss it in the knit hamper. 

“Hey babe,” you said. 

“Hey baby,” Terry sighed.

You stared at the back of his head as his shoulders drooped the longer he sat on the bed. He looked so…dejected. Like someone sucked the air from his tires. You leaned up and let your powder blue throw blanket fall from your shoulders.

This was the second week in a row that your husband was still in this funk. Two weeks since the anniversary of Mike’s death where it seemed like Terry relived it all over again. It started with a dream, the very moment he ran into the hospital carrying Summer. Hopped up on adrenaline, a bullet in his shoulder, and him looking for the next threat. 

Then he would slowly withdraw mentally, checking out of conversations. Floating through the motions of going to work and getting back home. You were worried that he would get into an accident but he was able to operate on auto-pilot, navigating the world just as he normally would. 

It was both sad and amazing that he was able to do so. But this wasn’t your husband. This was a guilt ridden man who sometimes realized that he had no family. You were his family, of course, but he had no living blood relative alive. Mike was his one and only connection and that was severed by hate and pride. 

“Baby, will you please talk to me?” You asked. You fiddled with the edge of your phone. He wasn’t facing you, but you were still nervous to look at his face. You didn’t know which would be worse. Hearing you and choosing not to speak or not hearing you at all because he was lost somewhere you couldn’t reach?  

“I-I’m trying,” he said. He tilted his head to the side. You longed to comfort him, hold him, console him in some way. But every time you reached out, he would stare at you as if he couldn’t feel it. Couldn’t feel you. 

You didn’t know how to help him through this. You’ve lost people, sure, but you always had enough family and friends to fall back on. You didn’t know what it was like for him and he was too stubborn to let you take some of his pain. 

You moved forward and crawled on the bed towards him. He stiffened as you got closer and you wrapped your arms around him anyway. You held on and placed your hand over his heart. It beat rapidly beneath your fingers and you inwardly sighed in relief. He was still in there. His heart still beat.

“You have to stop beating yourself up about this. He wouldn’t want you to blame yourself forever,” you said. You kissed his back and rested your cheek on his skin. He was always so warm, like your own personal fire pit. But due to the sweat, he was cold and clammy. 

“I was supposed to protect him. That was my one and only job,” Terry said. 

“You were supposed to love him. But what happened was out of your control,” you said. 

Terry sighed and stood up, breaking your embrace. He hung his head as he walked to the bathroom. The door closed decisively and you flinched from the harsh sound. The light turned on underneath the doorway. The shower turned on and you didn’t hear anything further. 

Some days you wanted to knock your husband’s teeth in. His overprotective instincts went into hyperdrive, past the point of what was healthy. He refused to think of himself and the consequence be damned. Other times, you just wanted to wrap him in a floofy blanket and never let him out of your sight. You couldn’t very well fault him for wanting to keep you safe when you were the exact same way. 

But this…it varied on when he’d be able to pull himself out of this. Sometimes you’d say or do something to bring him back. Sometimes he’d take a deep breath and release that dark cloud. And sometimes, he’d disappear for a whole day and return back to the sweet, loving man you married. 

But fuck this. You missed your husband. And you were tired of seeing him walk around like a zombie. You got out of bed and headed straight to the bathroom.

Steam rushed out and passed over your exposed skin. You closed the door behind you and noted the discarded underwear on the floor and a red towel on the edge of the sink. Terry’s silhouette moved just behind the foggy glass doors. 

You quickly stripped, flinging your lavender sleep set to the ground with his briefs. You stuffed your bonnet beneath a shower cap and slid the glass doors back. Terry looked over his shoulder at you and you entered the spacious shower behind him. 

The custom shower with tiles painted in different shades of brown was roomy enough for about three people comfortably if they were all intimate. Water cascaded down from a waterfall shower head, pouring down over Terry’s strong body. Water dripped from the edge of his wide nose, his full lips, and his well-defined chest. You followed the trail of water down his belly and over his long, thick dick. Water fell down in his long legs and huge feet. 

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“I’m taking a shower,” you said. You shoved past him and grabbed your wash cloth, pulling it under the spray of water to get it wet. 

Terry huffed. “Had to be now?” He asked.

“Yup,” you said, popping the ‘P’. Instead of grabbing your favorite soap, you grabbed his and lathered up the wash cloth. 

“C’mon,” Terry said. He tugged on your arm for you to turn around. 

You did so and slapped the wash cloth against his chest. “I miss you,” you said, cutting off whatever he was about to say. He closed his mouth and grimaced, jaw flexing. 

You flattened both of your hands against his chest and stepped closer. Water hit your back at a lukewarm temperature. You had no clue how he could shower like this but that wasn’t the point. “I miss my husband and I need you to come back, right now,” you said. 

Terry closed his eyes and his long eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. His mouth worked like he wanted to say something but the words never came. Whatever he wanted to say lodged in his throat and he couldn’t choke it out.

“So after this shower, you better step out of it and remember that you did everything right for Mike. And he made his own choices. That’s not your fault. It has never been your fault. And it’s time you accept that,” you said. 

You moved the wash cloth over his skin, scrubbing him down. Soap transferred to his body in thick suds, falling down his skin. He watched you and shut his mouth as you scrubbed him all over his chest and moved on to his arms. 

His eyes never left yours as you massaged the cloth between his fingers. He sighed and hummed as you found tense spots. You rubbed him deeper in those areas, working out the tension. 

You maneuvered behind him so he could rinse and then washed his back, creating big circles of soap. You moved down to his ass, teasing him a bit. He grunted and then chuckled. Well, that was a good sign. If he was chuckling then at least he was starting to relax. 

You washed down his legs, tickling him in areas. He danced out of your way and you warned him to be careful in this slippery ass shower.

“If you die, I’ll bring you back and kill you again,” you warned.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and smirked. 

You worked your way back to his front. His dick twitched and bobbed in your face. You looked up at him and his head was tilted to the side as he looked down at you. Fuck, he was pretty like this. Above you, staring at you, and in all his naked glory.

He needed to walk around like this more often. For your eyes only. That beautiful male body needed to be on display 24/7. 

You looked at his dick and then slowly dragged your eyes up his body and back to his striking ocean eyes. He took in a deep breath as his mouth curved upward. The rise and fall of his chest had an answering throb in your clit. You dropped to your knees on the hard flooring but it barely registered in your mind. 

Your husband worked his way back to you in the best way you both knew how. Sex was everything to the both of you. The one way you knew you were on solid ground. From the moment you two met, it had been electric and consuming. Always finding ways to touch each other or be near each other and breathe each other’s air. 

You dragged the wash cloth over his dick. At the first press of your hand, he hissed and jerked his hips towards you. You steadied your left hand on his hip and then stroked him with your right. 

He lifted his head towards the showerhead and let the water run down his face. Since he leaned back, water fell on top of your head and face but you kept looking towards him and the look on his face. 

He was hands down the most beautiful man you had ever met. And the kindest. He wasn’t always nice. He had more than enough words to say about folks that crossed him. But he was always kind, always treated people with respect. And he was a gentleman on top of it. Always opened your doors, always stood on the side of the street closest to danger. Every day, you found new ways to fall in love with your man. You only wished he’d forgive himself. 

“I love you. And I miss you. I need you to come back,” you told him. You increased the pressure, giving him long, slow strokes. All the way down to his base, squeezed, and then worked your way back to his tip. 

He groaned and rolled his neck, moving his hips. Your pussy throbbed seeing cum leak from his tip. He leaned one hand on the side of the shower, fingers pushing into the grooves. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. “I’m sorry.” 

“You have to let me in when things get dark, Terry. I don’t like feeling like I’m on the outside,” you told him.

Terry nodded his head and his eyes turned darker. But he didn’t look so far away now. His eyes were clearer, more present. “I hate feeling like I failed,” he said. His jaw flexed and you matched him stare for stare. 

“You did everything you possibly could. You deserve a life too. Not to punish yourself for the life Mike doesn’t have,” you said. You paused stroking and let the sound of the shower fill the room. 

Steam rose to the ceiling in wispy clouds. Soap and water rushed down Terry’s body. His chest rose and fell in heaving sighs but then evened out. Once his breathing returned to normal, you began stroking him again.

He groaned and dropped his head as you increased your strokes. You watched his face and watched the emotions play across his features. His lush lips parted and he moaned, deeply and guttural. “I’m gonna bust,” he moaned.

“Give it to me,” you whispered, just loud enough to be heard above the spray of water. You kept your same pace and three strokes later, Terry’s dick throbbed and his cum splashed onto your neck and titties. 

Terry’s moans were sweet music to your ears. You grinned evilly and kept stroking. He jerked and stuttered with chuckles and reached out to still your hands. He huffed and chuckled, giving you a saucy wink. 

He pulled you up by your arms and crushed his lips to yours as soon as you were within reach. He grabbed the cloth from your hands and hung it on the lip of the shower door. He cupped your neck in both hands and angled your face to meet his rough kisses. You moaned into his mouth. You missed this. You missed him. So damn badly.

The ache in your chest finally lifted now that your man was back. He healed and soothed with every kiss, every swipe of his tongue, every caress of his thumb on your wet skin. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he harshly whispered between kisses. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered back.

Terry pulled back and looked into your eyes. He narrowed his and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “I will call and get help later today. There’s no excuse for how I’ve been acting. You deserve better from me,” he said.

You tilted your head and kissed his wrist. “I do. But I also know we’re in this for life. So I need you to let me in more,” you said.

Terry nodded. “I promise. Thank you, for sticking with me through this shit,” he said.

“That’s what wives are for,” you said with a giggle. 

Terry took a deep breath and then a mischievous gleam made his hazel eyes twinkle. A smirk curved his lips and he began to massage your neck. You hummed and your eyes drooped. “Husbands are for protecting you and taking care of you, right?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said slowly, eyeing him. He was up to something…

Terry flipped you around and pressed your chest against the glass shower doors. You cried out from the sudden cold on your nipples as he pushed until your titties flattened against the doors. He kicked your legs wider to spread for him and your body shivered from his casual roughness. 

“T-Terry,” you sighed. 

Terry locked your arms behind you, hooking his arm around your elbows so that you were unable to move. Terry licked the shell of your ear and you shuddered. He slipped his free hand around your throat to pull your neck back and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna make up for my bullshit,” he promised with heat laced through every syllable. 

“Terry, you don’t–”

Terry cut you off by moving his hand from your neck to his dick. He ran the tip through your dripping folds and then plunged inside with a rough thrust. “Oh shit!” You cried out, twisting your hands to try and slow him down. But because he had your arms trapped, you had no choice but to take his dick.

He angled your hips into a more comfortable position and then he slipped his hand back around your throat. He grunted with every deep thrust, filling you up, and making you take it. 

“Too much, too much,” you whined, trying to lean away from him. Terry pushed into you harder, pinning you to the door, while he continued to fuck you. Your forehead leaned on the doors and your breath fogged up the glass with your moans and sighs. 

“You can take it, baby,” he said, sinking you deeper and harder onto his length. He kissed your neck, licked and nibbled in areas, and moved upwards to your ear. “I love you so much. And I know I’ve been an ass. I haven’t been fair to you,” he whispered in your ear while he continued to dig into your guts.

You weren’t quite prepared for him to be so sweet and so nasty all at once. He gave you no time to fully hear his message or fully focus on his dick inside you so you were stuck in a twisted limbo. Suspended between absolute pleasure and your heart swelling with emotions. 

“That ends today, okay? I’ll prove that I’ll do better,” he said. He grunted and cursed under his breath. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” you moaned. 

“That’s my job as your husband. And it’s a job I take seriously,” he said. He smiled against your neck and then pulled you into a rough kiss over your shoulder. Your lips danced and played with each other as your orgasm rushed to the surface. 

You began to cry and stutter as it washed over you. Terry moaned as you squeezed around his dick. “Fuck, that’s it,” he panted into your ear. 

When you came down, Terry let your arms go. He slipped out with a grunt and stepped back. You missed the heat of him instantly. He rubbed the feeling back into your arms from having them bent back for so long. He grabbed the discarded wash cloth from the top of the shower and rinsed it out.

He lathered up with his soap and then carefully washed down your back and your ass. His finger slipped between your cheeks to tease as he washed you down and you giggled with him. 

Terry turned you around and washed down your front. Washed the cum from your chest that didn’t rinse off from the water. You smiled at each other, finding your way back with every swipe of the cloth across your titties, your tummy, and down your thighs. He ran the cloth between your legs, careful not to get soap in between, and you moaned just from having his hands on you again.

His lips on yours. His eyes seeing you again after weeks of zoning out. Hints of your husband poked through that barrier he erected and now you were let in behind the wall. You grinned at him and leaned on your toes for a kiss. 

The kiss was meant to be innocent and sweet, just something to show that you loved him. That you were there and never letting him disappear again. But Terry kissed you deeper, grabbing you about the neck once more and crushed his lips to yours. 

His tongue slipped inside and then he gently nibbled on your bottom lip with his teeth. “Terry,” you sighed. Your stomach flipped with desire. Pussy throbbing. Once wasn’t nearly enough. 

“I know,” he said. He lifted your chin and brought you in for a sweet kiss. He deepened the kiss even as he maneuvered you towards the shower wall. He lifted you by the ass to wrap your legs around his hips. 

“Fuck,” you cried out. It never ceased to amaze you that he was so strong. He worked hard in the gym to take care of himself but also to lift every pound you had. He lifted without effort, without strain, and grinned when he caught the look on your face. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Terry said. He stared into your eyes as he pushed back into you. Back into your warm, wet heat and you both groaned as he pushed in slowly, all the way down to the base. 

Your nails dug into his back and shoulders, clutching on for dear life. He was huge and thick. Long. He pulled back and then sank in once more, repeating this over and over to make you feel every last inch of him. Feel his mushroom head push against your soft, spongy walls welcoming him in. 

Your mouth dropped open, needing to release something. A cry, a moan, a word. Nothing came as he stroked into you, increasing with each one. Soon, he was slamming into you. His wet, loud strokes echoed in the tiled shower and your cries soon joined it. 

“You feelin’ me?” He asked. 

You nodded. You adjusted your arms around his neck and he dropped his forehead to yours. 

“Look at me,” he whispered. You locked your eyes with him and it somehow made his strokes even more intense. He throbbed inside you. 

“You feel me. Right here and now. I’m not going anywhere. I’m never going away again,” he moaned while he stroked. 

“Terry,” you sniffled. 

Fuck, this was all you ever wanted. You didn’t need him to be perfect. You didn’t need him to be a textbook definition of a husband. You just wanted him present and with you. Sharing his pain and his joys. Sickness and health. Better and worse. Those were the vows you swore before a room full of your close friends and family. 

“I feel you. I feel you right here,” you promised. 

Terry switched up his strokes, getting deeper than before and bottoming out. You both groaned and threw your heads back, getting lost in the sensation of him filling you up. Connecting the both of you. As close as you could possibly be to another human being. 

Terry leaned down and kissed you, playing with your lips, even as his hips slammed into you over and over. Pressure built in your belly, making your thighs quake and your arms tremble. “Terry, please, I can’t,” you begged. It was too much. It felt like you were out of control, out of your norm, unrooted. 

Terry only continued exactly what he was doing. “You’re taking me so well, baby. You can keep going,” he said. 

Your eyes swam and your vision turned blurry as you clung to him and came undone on his dick again. Your cries were loud enough to echo and bounce off of the tiled walls and ceiling, giving you a feedback loop of your own pleasure. It amplified your orgasm and you shut your eyes and surrendered to the overwhelming feeling. 

Terry kissed you all over your face, neck, and shoulders. He pumped you into you until his own hips stuttered and shot loads of thick cum into your pussy. You whined and shivered as he fucked his cum deeper and deeper. 

He slowed to a gradual stop and you stayed connected like that while you both recovered. Water still pelted the both of you and you kissed on each other, soaking up the moment. Terry leaned over and turned off the water, still holding you.

He smiled and kissed your lips. He nuzzled your nose. “Missed this,” he said.

“Me too,” you said. You kissed his cheek. 

Terry carefully stepped out of the shower with you still wrapped around him like a spider monkey. You were glad. Because now that you had him back, you weren’t ready to let him go. As if you would keep him here with you by sheer force of will. 

He moved the towel from the edge of the sink and placed you down, slipping out of you. You kissed and loved on each other while he dried the both of you off. Greedy for more, you reached between you to play with his heavy balls. 

Terry groaned and tilted his head down at you. “You sure you wanna do that?” He asked.

You continued fondling his balls, rubbing them between your fingers, and making him moan. His hips canted towards yours and you bit your lip, needing him back inside. Two orgasms weren’t enough. No number would satisfy you. 

“It’s been too long,” you pouted and looked at him. 

He chuckled and kissed you, taking possession of your poked out lip. He suckled on it and you moaned, feeling your pussy respond and ache from just this small action. 

“Get that sexy ass on our bed. Let me clean up in here and I’ll take care of that,” he said. 

You pouted again and whined but he bit your lip. “Now.” He deepened his voice and arched a perfect eyebrow at you. 

You rolled your eyes and his eyebrow lifted higher. You grinned and hopped off the sink. While being punished for your attitude would be fun, you just wanted him right now. No extras, no games. You wanted to enjoy him and enjoy his body. 

He smacked your ass as you walked out and he chuckled after you shrieked and hid your ass behind your hands. You skipped to your bedroom and laid down on your bed. Cool air blew across your damp skin but it wasn’t freezing or uncomfortable.

The temperature was just right to make you hyper aware of your body. Of the feel of your skin and the thorough fucking Terry just gave you. Your pussy was still sensitive but you couldn’t resist teasing your clit. You ran your other hand along your skin, your belly, and your titties. Squeezing your nipple between your fingers and moaning from the dual sensations. 

“Terry…” you called out, drawing out his name. If he didn’t get in here soon, you were about to take matters into your own hands. 

The afternoon sun was setting low, rich oranges and golds slanting through your curtains and casting a warm glow about your room. Most days, you hated that your place faced east and west, but on lazy days like today, it was perfect. 

Terry moved about the bathroom, you had no clue what he was doing. So you closed your eyes and continued to play with yourself. You grew wetter by the second, your mind filling in with images of Terry’s broad chest. His narrow hips. That monster he had between his legs and the unbridled pleasure he managed to provide every single time. 

God, you loved that man. In every which way you were able to get him. You didn’t have the words to convey it but you’d spend the rest of your life trying to find them. 

You moaned as your imagination took over. Replaying what happened in the shower, the look on his face, the fire in his hazel eyes. You sighed as Terry entered the room.

“Oh, you bold,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. 

You didn’t stop though. You spread your legs further and shifted on the bed so that he could get a clearer view. “All warmed up for you,” you teased. 

Terry’s eyes dropped to the core of you, at the way you held your pussy lips open. Your other hand teased around your clit in figure eights, dipping into your pussy every so often to gather up more essence. 

Terry’s tongue swiped out to lick from one side to the other. Your fingers lost their rhythm. “Keep going,” he commanded. 

You whined and started up again but you couldn’t think straight. Not with him leaning against the wall looking at you like you were a five course meal and he was a starving man. When you just couldn’t find that spot again, Terry smirked and walked closer.

“What happened?” He asked.

“You,” you said. 

Terry smirked and took his time kneeling at the edge of the bed. He grabbed your thighs and pressed his thumbs to your inner thighs, massaging them. “Fuck,” you moaned and twisted, trying to close your legs and trap his hands there.

“Naw. Open back up. That’s what you get for trying to handle it yourself,” he said. 

“It’s been too long since I’ve seen you,” you said and smirked. Terry lifted an eyebrow but his eyes were still on your throbbing pussy. He had to see how you were clenching around nothing. Clenching and reaching for him. 

He leaned down and kissed your clit. He retreated too quickly for your blood and you whined, pushing your hips back towards his face. 

“I’m still apologizing so I won’t make you beg this time,” he said. Without further ado, he dragged his pink, juicy lips through your folds, hunting for your clit. His tongue darted out and teased, dragging the tip through your folds. His tongue was warm as it flattened against your clit and he licked.

“Fuck!” You screamed out. 

Terry smiled between your legs before getting down to business. He suckled and licked and nibbled while he feasted on your pussy. Your pussy throbbed and ached while he slurped up your essence noisily. 

“Fuck, baby. Right there,” you moaned.

Terry locked in to the spot and swirled his tongue around in tight circles. You clutched to the covers, nails digging in for dear life as you twisted and jerked. You reached down to grab onto the back of his head and push his head deeper. 

Terry placed his hands to your thighs and pinned them to the bed while he ate you out, never stopping for breath. He just ate like a man possessed until you were twitching and crying out on his tongue, reaching your climax in record time.

Terry continued to eat you out through it, whispering into your pussy how perfect and sexy you were. How much he had to make up for. Your throat was scratched raw from all the moaning you were doing, too spent to respond. To tell him that he didn’t have a damn thing to make up for. His pain was valid and he had a right to see it through, but he had to see it through. Not just disappear into his head.

None of that came through. Your vision swam as you looked at the popcorn ceiling, too blissed out to form a coherent sentence. Terry replaced the view of the ceiling, leaning down on his fists, as he smirked at you.

“Still with me?” He asked.

“Always,” you sighed. 

He chuckled as he climbed onto the bed. It dipped beneath his weight, jostling you a bit. His knees pushed your legs on top of his thighs. His eyes sparkled as he slipped into you, meeting no resistance from your pussy.

“Shit,” you grunted. You pushed feebly at his chest. Not necessarily to make him stop, but fuck, you needed time to recover. Time to catch your breath. He stole the motherfucker, the least he could do was let you gain it back.

“Nothing feels better than this,” he said. He sank deeper into you, making you curl into him and squeeze his hips with your legs. He grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head, poking your chest out for his lips to capture your nipples.

He suckled on them, going back and forth between the two, while he fucked into you lazily. Unhurried. Like he managed to pause time long enough to focus on delivering you pleasure. His eyes found yours and he smiled, his dazzling grin turning you stupid and pliant.

He groaned as he felt your body relax and he dug into you, harder, deeper, faster. “I love you,” he said.

“I love you,” you moaned.

“Cum with me, baby,” he said.

You whined and focused on cumming with him like he said. You could feel him throbbing inside you, close, oh so close. You panted, sweating, legs trembling, back bowing. He leaned to one side so that he could slip his free hand between your legs to play with your clit.

Your moans increased to a near panic as your orgasm came running at his beck and call. You cried out and your squeezing pussy milked him. He moaned and dropped his head as he spilled into you over and over, his body trembling from the force. 

He kissed your cheek but you otherwise laid there and enjoyed the feeling of him crushing you to the bed. Who needed oxygen anyway?

Your stomach rumbled, breaking the beautiful silence after such a powerful moment. You both laughed as it rumbled again. Terry released your hands and you covered your tummy. He pushed your hands away with his chin and then kissed your belly. 

“We’re gonna need another shower and then I need to feed my wife,” he said.

“Feed your wife or feed your wife?” You asked, waggling your eyebrows. You were spent and tired but you could find another round in you for him. Always for him. 

“Both, nasty ass,” he said. He stood up and then pulled you with him to stand as well. He gave you a sweet, tender kiss and promised over and over with both his tongue and his actions that he would become a man worthy of your love. 

The end.

I love you all. The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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[kirammanswifey]

arcane characters in a zombie apocalypse x fem reader (AU)

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: i’ve always wanted to do a dynamic like this, i’m a total zombie fan and i loved how the settings turned out. i’m literally speechless! the post-apocalyptic vibe is on point, and i can’t wait to see how the next parts unfold. this project has mad potential, guys i swear! every new twist has me hooked, and i can’t stop thinking about what’s coming next. it’s definitely got everything to be epic! as you already know request are open ;)

Viktor

The night was thick and cold, the air heavy with the echoes of a world crumbling to pieces. The streets, once bustling with life, were now engulfed in an unsettling silence, broken only by the crunch of debris under your boots. The zombie apocalypse had taken more than words could express. As you moved forward, hunger and thirst became your constant companions, but so was the hope of finding a refuge, a temporary respite amid the chaos.

It was then that you heard it. A soft, ethereal melody, floating in the air like a whisper, like a lament. You stopped, the sound calling to you like a siren, a promise of something human, something real, in a world that seemed to have lost all connection to the soul. Following the trail of the music, you arrived at a semi-collapsed building, an old concert hall. The doors were ajar, and the sound of the piano echoed through the walls, a melancholic tune speaking of losses and longings.

Entering cautiously, your eyes adjusted to the dimness, and there, in the center of the room, was him. Viktor, his slender figure bent over the piano, his long, skillful fingers gliding across the keys with a precision almost mechanical. He didn’t stop when you entered, his eyes closed, lost in a world of his own.

"Are you real or a ghost?" His voice, when he finally spoke, was soft, barely a whisper over the music. He didn’t wait for a reply, his fingers never faltering.

"I’m real... I think," you responded, stepping closer with light steps, as if afraid to break the spell he had created. "Your music... it’s beautiful. But why play for the dead?"

He opened his eyes, his gaze tired, marked by a pain you recognized immediately. "The living don’t listen. They don’t understand. The dead... they make a better audience."

It wasn’t the answer you expected, but you didn’t question it either. There was something in his voice, in the way he said it, that made you feel that this man, this stranger, carried a pain like your own. You sat at a respectful distance, not wanting to interrupt more than necessary.

"Not all the living are deaf to pain," you said softly, your eyes fixed on his hands still playing. "I understand. I’ve lost as much as you, maybe more."

For the first time, his hands stopped, and the silence filled the room. Viktor looked up at you, as if he were truly seeing you for the first time. "Why are you here?"

"I was looking for water, shelter... but now I think I was looking for something else. Something that would remind me there’s still beauty in this broken world."

There was a moment of silence, tense but full of possibility. Then, he nodded, as if accepting your presence. "The water’s in the room behind. You can stay, if you want. But don’t talk too much."

You chuckled softly, a sound you hadn’t made in weeks. "Deal."

Thus began your relationship, silent at first, sharing space with few words. Viktor played, and you listened, finding comfort in each note. Slowly, the walls he had built started to crumble. He would tell you small things, fragments of his life before the apocalypse, the people he had lost. And you shared your own stories, your own scars.

One night, after an especially sad piece, Viktor stopped playing and looked at you directly. "You remind me of someone I used to know. Someone who made me feel like I wasn’t alone."

"And now you’re not," you responded softly, taking his hand in yours, a simple gesture but one full of meaning. "You don’t have to face this alone, Viktor. No one should."

The touch was a catalyst, a spark that ignited something within him. Viktor nodded, his eyes shining with something more than pain for the first time in a long time. "Maybe... maybe you can teach me how to live again."

"And you can teach me to find peace in music," you said, your words sincere, your heart open.

It was the beginning of something deeper, a bond forged not only in shared pain but in the hope of healing together. Every night, Viktor played, not just for the dead, but for you, and in each note, you both found a path to redemption.

Jinx

The roar of gunshots and screams tore through the air, interrupting the unsettling silence of the night. You approached cautiously, your heart racing in your chest, driven by curiosity and the instinct to survive. The sounds came from a narrow alley, a trap of shadows and death.

There, you saw her for the first time.

Jinx, a whirlwind of bright colors and madness, fired with brutal precision, her eyes overflowing with an intensity that froze your blood. Her laughter was a cry of defiance, but also a disguised plea for help. Around her, the bodies of zombies fell, but it didn’t seem like she was fighting just them. There were others, humans, equally dead or dying.

"Come on! Is that all you’ve got?" she shouted, her blue braids spinning as her machine gun spat fire. There was a twisted joy in her voice, but also something deeper, something broken.

For a moment, you hesitated. This girl, this wild creature, was she someone you could help, or someone you should flee from? But something in her eyes, in the chaos of her mind reflected in her gaze, drew you in.

"Enough!" You found yourself shouting, your own words surprising you. "They're already dead!"

Jinx turned sharply toward you, her eyes narrowing, assessing you as if you were the next enemy. "And who are you? The savior of the day?" Her smile was a mix of mockery and distrust.

"No, just... someone who doesn’t want to see more unnecessary deaths," you said, raising your hands in a peace gesture. "You’ve already taken care of them."

For a moment, there was silence. Jinx lowered her weapon, though her fingers stayed tense on the trigger. "Maybe, but there’s always more. There will always be more."

"That doesn’t mean you have to fight alone," you dared to say, moving a little closer. "No need to be a war machine all the time."

She laughed, a dry and bitter sound. "And who are you to tell me what to be? The world is chaos, and I... fit perfectly in it."

"I don’t doubt it," you admitted, your voice soft but firm. "But even chaos needs a moment of calm."

Jinx stared at you, as if searching for something in your eyes, something she hadn’t found in a long time. "You’re strange, you know that? Not many come close when they see what I’m capable of."

"I’m not like the others," you simply said. "And I don’t think you are either."

For the first time, Jinx seemed to relax, lowering her weapon completely. "Maybe you’re not. What’s your name, strange one?"

You told her your name, and she repeated it, as if testing the sound on her lips. "So, are you going to follow me then, or are you just here to preach?"

"I could follow you, if you’ll let me."

She smiled, this time more genuinely. "Well then, strange one. Let’s see how much you can handle."

And that’s how your relationship with Jinx began, a whirlwind of emotions and danger. It wasn’t easy; she was unpredictable, her moods shifting like the wind, and her inner demons always lurking. But there were also moments of genuine connection, of vulnerability she only showed to you.

Over time, Jinx began to trust you more than she ever thought possible. You were the only one who could calm the storm inside her, even though sometimes she dragged you along with her. There were nights when she clung to you, whispering her fears and nightmares, and you were there to hold her.

"You’re always going to remind me that I’m not alone, right?" she asked one night, her big eyes full of a mix of hope and fear.

"Always," you reassured her, gently caressing her face. "As long as you let me stay by your side."

Jinx smiled, a smile that, though still broken, was starting to heal. "Then stay, strange one. Stay with me in this chaos."

And you did. Because, despite everything, the chaos with Jinx was where you started to feel like you belonged.

Vi

The night was dark, barely lit by the fire consuming the camp around you. The screams and mess were deafening, each second a reminder of how fragile life had become in this new world. You were trapped, surrounded by the bandits who had attacked, their cruel laughter and weapons gleaming under the light of the flames.

"What do we have here?" one of them mocked, stepping closer with a depraved smile. "Another victim of this rotten world."

You were exhausted, too weak to resist, but before they could harm you, a roar echoed through the camp. Shadows moved swiftly, and in the blink of an eye, the bandits were on the ground, neutralized by a figure who moved like lightning.

"Get out of here, or the next blow won’t be so merciful," said a firm, deep voice belonging to the woman standing in front of you. She was tall, muscular, with an aura of authority that left you speechless. Her short dark-red hair, along with the visible scars on her fists, made her unmistakable.

It was Vi, the leader of a resistance group. You had heard of her, a legend among the survivors, someone who never left anyone behind. But in person, she was even more imposing.

"Are you okay?" she asked, without wasting time, her eyes scanning your body for injuries.

"Yes... thank you," you managed to say, your voice trembling slightly. "I thought I was... done for."

"Almost," Vi said, with a slight smile that barely touched her lips. "But not while I'm on guard."

She helped you stand, her grip firm but surprisingly gentle. "Let's go, we can't stay here."

As you moved forward with her group, you noticed Vi stayed close, always vigilant. Her presence was comforting, despite her distant attitude. There was something in her eyes that made you think she had suffered too, that her strength didn't come without a cost.

Days passed, and although Vi was reserved, you noticed small moments when her facade would crumble. A lost look at the horizon, a sigh when she thought no one was listening. You couldn't help but feel curious, a need to understand her, to reach the heart of the woman who had saved your life.

"Why do you do this?" you asked one night, when the others were asleep. You were sitting by the fire, and she was on the perimeter, always alert.

"Do what?" she responded, not looking at you directly.

"Lead, protect people like me," you said, your voice soft but firm. "You could just worry about yourself, but you don’t."

Vi sighed, finally sitting next to you. "Because if I don't, who will? The world has already lost too many good people."

"And you’ve lost too, haven’t you?" you ventured, noticing how her eyes darkened at your words.

"We’ve all lost," she murmured, looking away. "But not everyone has the luxury of letting that destroy us."

"But that doesn’t mean you have to face it alone," you said, gently touching her arm. "Sometimes, sharing the weight makes it easier to bear."

Vi looked at you, surprised by your boldness, but she didn't pull away her arm. "I’m not used to sharing," she admitted, her voice almost a whisper. "I’ve always thought showing weakness is dangerous."

"It’s not weakness, Vi," you reassured, holding her gaze. "It’s humanity."

There was silence, one that seemed endless, but eventually, Vi nodded, as if your words had broken something inside her. "Maybe you're right," she said with a faint smile. "Maybe."

From that moment on, your relationship with Vi began to change. She remained the strong, distant warrior, but privately, with you, she began to lower her guard. She confided in you her fears, her memories of the past, and you were there to listen, to support her. In return, Vi became your protector, but also someone who trusted you to be her emotional anchor.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," she said one night, her voice filled with contained emotion.

"I’ll always be here for you, Vi," you replied, gently taking her hand. "Because you give me strength too."

And so, in the madness of thus new world, you both found a reason to keep fighting, together.

Caitlyn

The air smelled of decay and disinfectant. Every step you took echoed through the underground hallways of the shelter, a maze of steel and concrete that promised safety but hid dark secrets. You were injured, exhausted, and desperate for medical help. The last zombie ambush had left your group in ruins, and you had barely escaped with your life.

Following the signs toward the medical room, you stumbled until you reached a door slightly ajar, from which murmurs and the soft hum of machinery emanated. Pushing the door open, your eyes met a sight that froze you in place.

Caitlyn, a woman with a serene and elegant appearance, was standing in front of an operating table. On it lay an immobilized zombie, still half alive, groaning under the cold lights of the lab. Caitlyn seemed absorbed, meticulously recording her observations as if it were a regular patient, not a monstrous creature.

"What... what are you doing?" Your voice came out broken, almost a whisper, but loud enough for Caitlyn to glance up, her blue eyes meeting yours. There was something in them, a mixture of weariness and determination that unsettled you.

"I'm looking for answers," she said, her tone soft but firm. "If we don't understand the disease, we won't be able to stop it."

"But... experimenting on them like this?" you gestured to the zombie in horror. "This... this isn't right."

"Not right?" Caitlyn set aside her instruments and approached you with a calmness that contrasted with the situation. "What would you do then? Let humanity go extinct while we cling to our morality?"

Her words left you breathless. There was a brutal truth in what she said, but also a line you felt shouldn't be crossed. "I don't know, but this... this doesn't seem like the answer."

"I need time," Caitlyn sighed, her gaze softening slightly. "And understanding. I'm not proud of what I'm doing, but someone has to do it."

Although your initial instinct was to flee from the scene, something in Caitlyn's vulnerability made you stay. "I need help," you finally said, pointing to the wound on your arm. "I was attacked, and I barely managed to escape."

"Come," Caitlyn said, pointing to a cleaner cot on the other side of the room. "Let me help you."

As she tended to you, the silence between you two became heavy, laden with unspoken thoughts. Caitlyn worked with precision, her face showing a mix of concentration and exhaustion.

"Do you always do this alone?" you asked, trying to break the ice, your eyes fixed on hers as she stitched your wound.

"Yes," she replied without looking up. "Most people don't understand what it takes to survive in this world. They prefer to judge from afar."

"I'm not judging you," you clarified, though part of you still struggled with what you had seen. "But... maybe you need to remember why you're doing this. Not just to stop the virus, but to save what's left of us."

Caitlyn paused, her hands still holding the needle. She looked at you with an intensity that made you shiver. "And you? Why do you fight to survive?"

"Because I believe there's still something worth fighting for," you answered honestly. "And because I think if we forget that, we become them."

There was a long silence before Caitlyn resumed working on your wound, but this time her touch was softer, almost as if she were reconsidering her own actions.

From that day on, a fragile connection began to form between the two of you. Caitlyn remained the distant scientist, but in your conversations, you saw glimpses of the woman she once was—someone who had lost as much as you but still fought to find a purpose. You became her constant reminder that science and humanity were not mutually exclusive.

"Thank you for staying," she said one night, when the experiments had ceased and the shelter was calm. "Sometimes, even I need to remember there's something beyond these walls."

"There's always something more, Caitlyn," you smiled, touching her hand gently. "And you deserve it too."

And so, amidst the darkness, feelings began to emerge that neither of them had expected, a bond that promised not only a cure for the world but also for their broken souls.

Jayce

The ruined city was shrouded in a deathly silence, broken only by the occasional crunch of debris beneath your feet. You had been wandering for hours, searching for supplies in an area that had been abandoned since the outbreak began. The air was heavy with dust and desperation, but your instincts guided you, as if something else was calling you.

Turning a corner, you found yourself facing a half-collapsed building, but through one of its broken windows, a faint light filtered through. Curiosity and the need to survive pushed you inside. As you crossed the threshold, the sounds of an improvised laboratory reached your ears: the hum of machines, the clinking of glass vials, and a soft murmur.

Cautiously, you ventured further into the interior until you saw a man with light brown hair, clad in a lab coat, working frantically among various homemade devices. His concentration was so intense that he didn’t notice your presence until you stepped on a loose piece of metal.

"Who's there?" His voice was firm, though tinged with a slight tension. He quickly turned, and his eyes met yours. There was something in his gaze, a mix of distrust and exhaustion.

"Sorry," you raised your hands, showing that you were unarmed. "I didn't mean to scare you. I was just looking for supplies and saw the light. I didn't know anyone was here."

Jayce narrowed his eyes, evaluating you. "This place isn't safe. What are you doing here alone?"

"Surviving," you answered honestly. "Like everyone else. But it seems like you’re doing more than just surviving." Your eyes scanned the makeshift laboratory. "What is all this?"

Jayce hesitated for a moment before speaking. "It's... an attempt to correct a mistake. I'm looking for a cure for this damn virus."

Your eyebrows rose, impressed by his confession. "A cure? Do you really think it's possible?"

"It's all I have left," he sighed, returning to his instruments. "I can't afford to doubt."

You moved closer, watching his hands as he mixed compounds and adjusted rudimentary microscopes. "Can I help? I'm not a scientist, but I have some medical knowledge. And a lot of desire to make this work."

Jayce looked at you again, this time with a spark of hope in his eyes. "Why would you want to help me? You don’t even know if this is possible."

"Because if there’s a chance, no matter how small, it's worth trying," you replied firmly. "Besides, I don't have much to lose."

A small smile crossed Jayce's lips. "Alright. But if you stay, it'll be on my terms. This isn't a game."

"Understood," you nodded, sitting down in a nearby chair. "Where do we start?"

Days turned into weeks, and what started as a simple collaboration turned into an inseparable partnership. Jayce, always focused and methodical, found in you a companion who not only shared his determination but also reminded him of the humanity behind the science.

There were nights when frustration consumed him, when the experiments failed, and hope faded like smoke. During those moments, you were there, offering him comfort in words and actions, reminding him that he wasn’t alone in his mission.

"Jayce, you can't do this alone," you told him one night, as he sank into his chair, exhausted and defeated. "You have to let someone else share that burden."

He looked up, his tired eyes meeting yours. "I don't know if I can," he admitted. "I've made mistakes before. I don’t want to drag you into my failures."

"This isn’t just your fight," you said, taking his hand in yours. "If we're going to save this world, we’ll do it together."

Jayce gently squeezed your hand, allowing a warmth he had been repressing to seep into his heart. "Thank you," he murmured. "For staying. For believing in me."

"Always," you smiled, drawing closer, your proximity a balm for his restless soul. "You’re not alone, Jayce. And you never will be as long as I’m here."

That night, something changed between you. Science and the search for a cure were no longer the only things that united you. A deeper connection had begun, a bond that grew with every challenge overcome together, with every moment of vulnerability shared.

And so, amidst the chaos and desolation, hope no longer existed solely in Jayce's test tubes but also in the love that blossomed between you both, a cure as essential as the one you were searching for for the world.

Ekko

The night fell heavily over the ruined city, the shadows stretched long between the rubble, and the distant echoes of the infected resonated through the desolate streets. You moved cautiously, your eyes scanning every corner in search of a safe place to take refuge. You had heard rumors of a nearby shelter, but getting there would be nearly impossible without help.

The sound of a metallic click and a blue flash caught your attention from a dark corner. You approached silently, your steps light on the debris. Turning the corner, you saw a young man focused on a holographic screen, his fingers moving with astonishing speed as he hacked into a control system. His white hair shimmered under the dim light, and his face was furrowed in a mix of concentration and frustration.

"Trouble with the system?" you asked, breaking the silence.

Ekko jumped, quickly spinning toward you, his hand flying to a device on his belt. "Who are you? How did you find me?" His voice was filled with distrust.

"Easy," you raised your hands in a peace gesture. "I'm just another survivor, looking for shelter. I saw the light and thought you might help me."

He squinted, scanning you quickly. "I don't need distractions. This is delicate and complicated."

"I'm good with complicated," you replied with a slight smile. "I can help, if you let me."

Ekko hesitated for a moment, his gaze darkened by distrust. But something in your expression, in the determination of your eyes, made him reconsider. "What do you know about zombie control systems?"

"Enough to know you need someone to cover your back while you work," you said, stepping closer. "Besides, it doesn’t seem like you're in a position to turn down help."

He snorted, turning his attention back to the screen. "Fine, but don’t get in my way. This is harder than it looks."

You positioned yourself beside him, watching how his fingers flew over the controls. "Are you trying to access the shelter?"

"Yeah," he muttered, his concentration returning to the task. "If I can hack this system, we could gain access to a safe place. But it's protected by layers of security that... well, they're a headache."

"Let me take a look," you leaned closer to the screen, your fingers brushing against his. "I can help with that."

The days that followed were filled with long hours of work, where you and Ekko collaborated closely, sharing technical knowledge and survival strategies. Every time he wavered under pressure, you were there to offer him a steady hand, a word of encouragement.

One night, as you worked in silence, Ekko spoke, his voice low and filled with guilt. "All of this... the virus... it's my fault."

You looked at him, surprised by his confession. "What do you mean?"

"I was part of an experiment that went wrong," he admitted, his eyes fixed on the screen. "I thought I was helping, but I only made things worse."

You stepped closer, taking his hand in yours. "Ekko, we all make mistakes. But you're doing everything you can to fix it. That's what matters."

He looked at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of vulnerability and gratitude. "You... you see something good in me, despite everything."

"Because there is," you said softly. "And I won't let you drown in guilt. We'll get through this together."

That night, as the world continued to crumble around them, a spark of hope and something deeper began to blossom between you two, a bond that would be as strong as the mission you shared.

Silco

The smell of mold and decay filled the air of the abandoned casino as you moved cautiously, your breath controlled and your senses on high alert. The echo of your footsteps resonated in the silence, broken only by the faint hum of a slot machine that, miraculously, was still working. Your goal was clear: find supplies and get out of there before the place became your tomb.

However, fate had other plans.

"What’s a fascinating creature like you doing in a place like this?" The voice came from the shadows, velvet and dangerous. Your body tensed instantly, spinning on your heels with your hand ready to reach for your weapon.

From the threshold of an old VIP room, a man emerged, his slender figure and sharp gaze striking you immediately. His elegant demeanor, despite the surroundings, and his green-blue eyes trapped you at once. You didn’t know who he was, but his presence carried a weight you couldn’t ignore.

"Looking for luck?" The man raised an eyebrow, his thin, calculating smile evident.

"I don’t believe in luck," you responded firmly, keeping your guard up. "Only in what I can take for myself."

"An interesting philosophy," he murmured, stepping closer with slow steps, his presence dominating the room. "But here, everything has a price."

"I don’t have time for games." You kept your voice steady, trying not to show the slight tremor in your fingers as he stopped a few meters away from you.

"Games?" The man’s laugh was low, almost a whisper. "There are no games, only transactions. And you, it seems, aren’t willing to lose."

"The same could be said about you," you challenged, holding his gaze. "What are you after?"

For a moment, the silence between you two stretched, heavy with tension. The man tilted his head as if deciding whether to reveal more or continue his game. Finally, he spoke, his tone serious and measured.

"The same as you," he said, his voice deep. "Survive."

"And manipulate," you added, not missing a beat.

The man laughed again, but this time, there was something different in his laugh, something you couldn’t quite decipher. "Maybe," he admitted, with a frankness that unsettled you. "But don’t we all manipulate in our own way to get what we want?"

"Not everyone sells their soul in the process," you retorted.

"Ah," he took another step closer, almost touching you. "And you, what would you be willing to do to survive?"

His words hung in the air like a challenge, and for the first time, you noticed the faint shadow of something beyond his cold facade: curiosity. This man, the manipulator, seemed genuinely interested in you, not just as a pawn in his game, but as someone who could be just like him.

"Whatever it takes," you said, not backing down. "But never at the cost of my humanity."

The man looked at you for a long moment, as if committing every word to memory. Finally, he took a step back, his lips curling into an enigmatic smile.

"Then perhaps we can find a common purpose," he offered, his tone softer, almost... inviting?

The relationship that began that night was a constant dance between power and vulnerability. Silco, accustomed to manipulating and controlling, found himself intrigued by your resistance, by your ability to see beyond his calculating facade. And you, despite your reservations, couldn’t help but feel drawn to the enigma that was Silco, to the intensity with which he challenged you and made you question your own limits.

Over time, the barriers between you both began to crumble, revealing a bond that you both had denied for a long time. Silco, the man who seemed unbreakable, showed moments of humanity that only you could see. And you, the woman who swore never to compromise her morals, found in him a reason to reconsider where survival ended and true life began.

Mel

The silence in the field was oppressive, broken only by the crunch of leaves under your boots as you approached the isolated house on the outskirts of the city. You had heard rumors about this place, of a woman who lived there, far from others, taking care of something... or someone. You needed shelter and, perhaps, answers.

The house was old but well-maintained, a sign that, despite the circumstances, whoever lived there kept up an appearance of normalcy. You approached slowly, with the distrust that had become your second nature. You knocked on the door, hoping someone would answer, or that the echo inside would confirm the place was empty.

The door creaked open, and there she was: Mel. Her beauty was ethereal, almost as if she didn’t belong to this desolate world. Her eyes, however, were another story, filled with a pain you recognized instantly.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was soft but had an edge that made you hesitate before answering.

"I’m looking for a safe place," you said, keeping your hands visible to show you weren’t a threat. "I just need to rest for a while and move on."

Mel studied you for a moment, her eyes searching for something in your expression. "No one comes here by accident," she murmured, almost to herself. "Come in."

The inside of the house was warm, a contradiction to the cold you felt in your chest. Mel led you to the living room, where the fire flickered weakly. The house was decorated with little keepsakes, photos of better times. However, a door at the end of the hallway was locked, and your instinct told you that was where the real reason for her isolation lay.

"Why are you here, really?" Mel sat down in front of you, her hands folded in her lap, but her eyes still filled with caution.

"I didn’t want to stay in the city. There’s... there’s nothing there for me." You averted your gaze, unable to hold hers for long. "I lost my family."

The tension in the room thickened, and for a moment, Mel seemed to wrestle internally. Finally, she sighed and offered you a cup of tea. "I’ve lost things too... important things."

The conversation halted, but in that silence, something began to form. An unspoken understanding between two broken people in the same world.

Days passed, and during that time, you noticed that Mel would disappear for hours, always returning with a distant expression. You didn’t want to press, but curiosity, mixed with concern, was a potent combination.

Finally, one night, when the moon was high, you got up and followed Mel. You found her in that locked room, the door slightly ajar now. Inside, you saw a child... or what was left of one. His skin was pale, his eyes hollow, but he still moved, still responded to Mel.

"He shouldn’t be here," Mel whispered, noticing your presence. "But I can’t let him go. He’s all I have left."

"I don’t judge him," you said, moving closer slowly. "I just wanted to understand."

"Understand what?" Mel turned to you, her eyes filled with tears. "How can a mother hold on to something that’s no longer her child? How can I live with this lie?"

"Because you love," you answered, your voice soft, almost a whisper. "And love isn’t always logical."

That was the moment everything changed. Mel began to open up more, sharing not only her pain but also her hopes, her fears. And in those moments, you became someone special to her, someone who didn’t judge her, who saw her as a woman fighting to keep a spark of her humanity alive.

The relationship between the two of you grew amidst the ruin, with each day bringing you closer, with each confession building a bridge of trust and understanding. In a world where everything was lost, you had found something new in each other: a reason to keep going.

Sevika

The sound of gunshots echoed through the ruins, blending with the screams and chaos around you. You were running, your feet frantic on the gray ground, the air thick with the dust rising from the collapsed structures. Your refuge had been attacked, and just as you found yourself trapped, a shadow intervened between you and the danger.

The woman who rescued you was unlike the others. Her presence was imposing, an echo of strength and determination. Her face was marked by scars, not only physical but emotional as well. Desperation was palpable in her eyes, but also a kind of warm darkness, as if she had long since given up on the light. You didn't say anything when her firm hands lifted you and dragged you to a safer place. The warmth of her body, the tension in her posture, all spoke of a heavy past, battles fought long before the one you'd just faced.

"Are you okay?" Sevika's voice was deep, sharp, but there was something in her tone that, though distant, made you feel like you weren't alone.

"Yes," you responded, though the fear still gripped your chest. "Thank you."

"It's nothing. Not the first time I've done this." Her intense gaze scanned the area before settling back on you. "Why do you keep fighting? There's no hope here."

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the world around you faded away. The question she asked, so simple and direct, struck a deep chord. Sevika wasn't expecting an answer, but in that moment, you felt the need to share the truth.

"Because I believe there's still something worth fighting for," you said, each word full of conviction. "People can be better, even in a broken world."

Sevika looked at you for a long moment, as if your words were a puzzle she was trying to solve. For a brief instant, her disbelief showed, and a bitter smile formed on her lips.

"That's what sets us apart, you see? I don't believe in those people anymore. Humanity is lost. There's no redemption."

Her words were like a dagger thrown without remorse, but something in her tone suggested that, perhaps deep down, she still wanted to believe it. She wanted it as much as you did.

Time passed, and although at first her presence was a kind of protective shadow, your own faith in the good of people began to penetrate the hardness of Sevika. Day by day, you realized that beneath that layer of disillusionment, there was something more. When the battle finally ended and the calm seemed to settle in the camp you'd managed to find shelter in, Sevika began to share fragments of herself. Her gaze was no longer as cold when she looked at you; she even let out a low laugh when, with your unwavering optimism, you insisted that the world could still have a chance.

"You’re going to end up killing me with all this hope," she joked one day, as you walked through the ruins of what once had been a vibrant city.

"I’d do it gladly," you replied, smiling. "If it meant you’d ever see that there’s more to this world than just survival."

And it was in those small interactions, in that resistance to disillusionment, where something more began to grow between you. Sevika started to depend on you, though she never said it aloud. Perhaps she didn’t understand how, but she felt that your presence was the only reminder of something she had lost long ago: the belief that even the most broken could find purpose, a path.

One night, after a long day, you sat next to her, watching the fallen stars that adorned the sky. The softness of the moonlight illuminated her face, and for a moment, you could see something beyond the woman hardened by life. She, who had never shown vulnerability, slowly turned toward you, her voice barely a whisper.

"I don’t understand why you follow me, I don’t understand why you haven’t walked away. What I do... what I am... isn’t something someone like you should stay for."

Your hand touched hers, without thinking. "Because I believe in you, Sevika. And I don’t care what you’ve done, what you’ve lost. The only thing that matters to me is what you choose to do now."

There was a long silence, but not an uncomfortable one. Sevika didn’t answer right away, but something in her expression changed. Somewhere inside, she began to accept what she hadn’t been able to believe before: that maybe, just maybe, humanity wasn’t as lost as she thought. And perhaps, just perhaps, there was something in her worth saving.

From that moment, the barriers between you began to crumble, though Sevika would never stop being who she was. She was a woman who had lost much, but also someone capable of changing, even if only in small doses. And you, with your unshakable faith, continued to be her refuge, her contradiction, the reminder that maybe hope hadn’t entirely disappeared after all.

[unconventional-lawnchair]

dark!barty has been on my mind so much lately!! need jealous, possessive, obsessive, barty!

AN: HECK YEAH THIRD POST OF THE NIGHT BABIEEE- Almost all my drafts are done

Trust and Obedience

Dark!Obsessive!Barty Crouch Jr. x Reader

Summary: Small snippets of moments between you and Barty, where you really should have picked up on his spiral.

WC: 11.2k... someone teach me how to write normally-

CW: Chocking, reader is referred to as 'belonging' to Barty, Barty is controlling and (at times) read as condescending, sniffing, reader trusts him way too much, slightly oblivious and innocent reader, the ends gets very ~spicy~ but cuts before anything actually happens- skip the last scene if you aren't interested in that.

It was late- far later than any of self respecting 5th year should have been awake- but no one seemed eager to call it a night. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the stone walls of the dormitory. The room was cozy, its deep green and silver tones softened by the golden glow of the flames.

Pandora was sprawled on Regulus’s bed, flipping idly through a magazine, her long hair hanging over the edge as she hummed softly to herself. Regulus sat by the window, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, gazing out into the dark grounds below. Meanwhile, Evan sat cross-legged on the floor, his wand in hand as he absentmindedly practiced non-verbal spells on the edge of a quill, making it levitate an inch off the ground before it wobbled and fell.

And you- you were seated on the floor, leaning back against Evan’s bed where Barty lounged behind you, your knees drawn up as you flipped through a book. You were engrossed in whatever you were reading, your brow furrowed slightly in concentration. Every now and then, you’d let out a soft sigh of frustration, your lips pursing as you tried to make sense of the passage in front of you.

Barty wasn’t paying attention to his own book. He hadn’t been for a while. Instead, his eyes lingered on you, taking in the way the firelight danced across your features, the way you absentmindedly chewed on your lower lip when you were deep in thought. He liked watching you like this, when you were unaware of the intensity of his gaze.

Evan, clearly annoyed by the quiet tension in the room, flicked his wand and muttered something under his breath. Your book snapped shut on its own, making you jump slightly.

“Evan!” You gasped, glaring at him.

“What?” Evan drawled, smirking. “You’ve been staring at that thing for ages. Thought I’d do you a favor.”

“You’re such a git,” You muttered, reopening the book.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed. “Oh, leave her alone, Evan. You’re just grumpy because you lost to Regulus in Gobstones earlier.”

Regulus didn’t react, still gazing out the window as though he hadn’t heard a word.

Barty leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he watched you with quiet amusement. You sighed again, leaning your head back against his legs, frustrated with how the numbers and letters on the page kept dancing between each other. Without thinking, his hand moved on its own, brushing through your hair in a slow, deliberate motion.

You didn’t pull away. You never did.

His fingers trailed down, grazing the nape of your neck, where they lingered just a second too long. He felt you shiver slightly under his touch, a small reaction you probably didn’t even notice yourself, but it made something twist deep in his chest.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice low, almost soothing. “You’re too tense.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly to look up at him, completely oblivious to the way his eyes darkened, to the way his fingers curled slightly as if resisting the urge to hold you there, to press against the pulse point beneath his touch. He imagined wrapping his hand around your throat- not to hurt you, never that- but to feel the proof of your life beneath his fingers. To remind you that you were his, even if you didn’t realize it yet.

“You’re always like this,” Evan muttered, clearly irritated. “Touching each other.”

Pandora propped herself up on her elbows, grinning. “I think it’s sweet,” she said, her tone dreamy. “They’re comfortable with each other. You wouldn’t understand, Evan.”

Barty didn’t respond, his hand still resting lightly on your neck. He liked the way it felt, the way you trusted him so blindly. It unraveled something in him, made the ever-present hunger beneath his skin burn hotter.

You laughed softly, oblivious to the tension crackling in the air. “We are just friends,” you said lightly, not noticing the way Barty’s fingers twitched slightly at your words. “Right, Barty?”

His grip tightened ever so slightly- just for a moment, just enough for him to feel your pulse quicken beneath his touch- before he forced himself to relax. He didn’t like hearing you say it, didn’t like the way it sounded coming from your lips. Just friends. But it was enough for him, for now.

He played along, as he always did.

“Sure,” He chuckled, his voice steady, though there was a hint of something darker beneath it. “Just friends.”

Evan scoffed, clearly unimpressed, while Pandora gave a soft, knowing hum, her gaze flicking between the two of you with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Friends don’t touch each other like that,” Evan muttered under his breath, flicking his wand again to make the quill hover once more.

Pandora ignored him, turning her attention back to her magazine, and Regulus remained silent, as always, seemingly uninterested in the whole exchange.

“We do.” Barty challenged listlessly- only for a small smirk to over take Evans face.

Evan’s smirk widened, the mischievous glint in his eyes sharpening as he caught sight of Barty’s fingers resting lightly on your neck. The tension radiating from Barty was palpable, his normally chaotic demeanor stretched thin, but Evan didn’t seem to care.

“Well, if you’re just friends,” Evan said, dragging out the words in a tone that bordered on taunting, “then she won’t mind if I-”

He took a step forward, reaching toward your shoulder, but he didn’t get far.

Barty’s hand moved faster than anyone expected, tightening on your neck- not enough to hurt, but enough for you to notice. His other hand shot out, palm flat against Evan’s chest, stopping him mid-step with a force that was anything but playful. His eyes locked on Evan’s, cold and unyielding.

“Don’t. Touch.” Barty practically growled, his voice dangerously low. There was no trace of humor left, only a thinly veiled threat simmering beneath the surface. His entire posture was tense, like a guard dog poised to attack at the first sign of danger.

Pandora sat up fully, wide-eyed but clearly entertained than alarmed. “Oh dear,” She mused softly, a smile playing on her lips. “You’ve done it now, Evan.”

You, oblivious to the darker undercurrents in Barty’s reaction, reached up to touch his wrist lightly, as if to reassure him. “It’s fine, Barty. He’s just being annoying.”

But Barty didn’t relax. His gaze didn’t waver from Evan, who raised his hands in mock surrender, though the smirk never left his face.

“Merlin, calm down,” Evan muttered, backing up a step. “It was just a joke.”

Barty didn’t move, didn’t speak. He watched Evan retreat like a hawk, as though daring him to try again. Only when Evan dropped back onto the floor, still smirking but clearly deciding not to push further, did Barty loosen his grip on your neck. His fingers lingered for a moment longer before falling away entirely, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

Pandora giggled softly. “You’re so protective, Barty. It’s sweet, really.”

You gave Barty a puzzled look, still unaware of the possessive storm swirling behind his eyes. “You didn’t have to react like that,” you said lightly. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Barty didn’t answer immediately, his jaw clenching as he forced himself to remain calm. It was a big deal- to him. The idea of anyone else laying a hand on you, even in jest, made something dark and primal rise to the surface. But he couldn’t say that to you- you'd think he'd gone mad. Or worse- you'd worry about him.

“He shouldn’t touch you,” he muttered instead, his voice quiet but firm, as though that explained everything. “You don't know where he's hands have been.”

Evan scoffed from his spot on the floor, leaning back on his elbows. “You’re ridiculous,” He bemoaned, clearly amused by Barty’s reaction. “It’s not like she’s-”

“Careful, Rosier.” Regulus said suddenly, his voice calm and detached as he continued to gaze out the window. He slowly turned to look ag you guys, smirking as his eyes locked with Barty’s. “That's Barty’s girl. Everyone knows that.”

Evan fell silent, his smirk fading slightly as he glancegavs a dramatic groan and leaned back against the couch, smirking at you as Barty chuckled.

“Exactly right, Reg.” Barty smirked and flattened his palm against your neck, but again, you gave no reaction. 

Evan gave another dramatic groan, leaning back further against the couch. He shot you a playful glare, though his smirk betrayed any real annoyance. “Unbelievable. You just let him do that?” He gestured toward Barty’s hand, still resting possessively on your neck. “Merlin, you’re both hopeless.”

Pandora grinned from her spot on the bed, clearly enjoying the scene. “Hopelessly sweet,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Honestly, it’s like watching a couple who refuse to admit they’re together.”

You let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes as you stretched your legs out, nudging Evan’s ankle with your foot. “Oh, stop it. You’re all making it a bigger deal than it is.”

Barty didn’t say anything, but his smirk grew, fingers flexing ever so slightly against the curve of your neck. You didn’t even notice, too busy teasing Evan by nudging his foot again in a childish game of footsie.

“You’re asking for it now,” Evan warned, leaning forward slightly, clearly ready to retaliate. He grinned wickedly, flicking his wand toward your leg to tickle your ankle with a harmless jinx.

You squealed, jerking your leg away as you laughed. “Evan, you prat!”

The sound of your laughter filled the room, light and carefree, and Barty’s gaze softened, though the possessiveness never fully left his expression. He liked seeing you like this- happy, playful, surrounded by people you trusted.

But still… his hand remained on your neck, a silent claim no one else seemed to question anymore.

Regulus returned his attention to the window, his smirk fading into the same detached calm he always carried. Pandora giggled quietly to herself, watching Evan and you bicker as if it were her favorite form of entertainment.

Meanwhile, Barty leaned back against the bed once more, his fingers trailing down your neck in a slow, deliberate motion before falling away entirely. He didn’t need to say anything. He didn’t need to react further.

Everyone here knew it. You were his. Even if you didn’t realize it yet. 

He could wait. He always had.

~~~

It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, and most of the house is either outside enjoying the crisp autumn air or scattered around the common room. You’ve just come back from Hogsmeade, a small bag in hand filled with little trinkets and things you’d picked up during your trip. Among them is a new perfume you’d been curious about, a light floral scent with hints of vanilla and something warmer, richer.  

You dab a little on your wrists and neck, the scent quickly enveloping you in its delicate sweetness. You smile, pleased with your purchase, and- after thanking a fellow sixth year who held the door for you- stand behind the couch, tossing Evan a sweet he had begged you to grab for him.

Barty, seated across the room with Pandora and Regulus, had barely been paying attention to the conversation- until now. The moment the scent reaches him, something shifts. His gaze sharpens, zeroing in on you as if drawn by an invisible thread. He gets up, crossing the room with a casualness that doesn’t quite hide the intent behind his movements.

“You smell different,” He murmurs as he comes to stand behind you, his voice low, almost reverent. Before you can respond, he leans down slightly, his hands settling lightly on your shoulders as he inhales the scent lingering around your neck. “What is that?”

You laugh softly, turning your head slightly to glance at him over your shoulder. “It’s just a new perfume I bought today. Do you like it?”

“Like it?” He repeats, his hands sliding down your arms, his grip warm and grounding. “It’s you.” His voice is softer now, almost dazed, as if the scent alone has enchanted him. He leans closer again, this time pressing his face against your hair, taking in more of the scent. “You smell… amazing.”

You roll your eyes playfully, but the blush rising to your cheeks betrays your flustered reaction. “Alright, alright, you’re acting like I invented the stuff.”

Barty chuckles, wrapping his arms loosely around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Can’t help it,” he says, his voice lower, more intimate. “You smell too good.” His hands tighten slightly, his fingers brushing lightly against yours as he murmurs, “You should wear this more often.”

The whole scene feels strangely domestic- like something a lovesick boyfriend would do. But to you, it’s just Barty being overly affectionate, as always.

But Evan? Evan isn’t having it.

He throws up his hands dramatically, gesturing wildly at the two of you. “Oh, come on! You two have to be taking the piss at this point!” He points an accusatory finger between you and Barty. “You two must to be shagging!”

Pandora giggles from her spot by the fire, clearly delighted by the chaos. Regulus, as always, remains stoic, but there’s a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“We’re not,” You say quickly, laughing as you try to wriggle out of Barty’s grip. But he doesn’t let go, holding you firmly in place, his smirk growing as he glances at Evan.

“Jealous, Rosier?” Barty drawls, his tone lazy but his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I can’t help it if I appreciate good company.”

“Good company?” Evan repeats incredulously. “You’re practically glued to her! Friends don’t do that! Friends don’t-” He gestures wildly again, flustered. “-sniff each other!”

Pandora bursts out laughing, nearly doubling over as she watches Evan struggle to find the right words. “Oh, Evan, leave them alone..”

Barty doesn’t move, still holding you loosely in his arms, his fingers idly tracing patterns against your wrist. You’re flustered but laughing, brushing it off as nothing more than playful teasing.

But to Barty, this is something else entirely. The scent, your warmth, the way you relax so easily in his hold- it’s driving him mad in the best way possible. He knows Evan’s teasing is harmless, but part of him bristles at the idea of anyone thinking they could have what he already considers his.

“We’re just friends,” You say again, more for Evan’s benefit than anything else. “Barty’s always like this.”

Evan stares at you, utterly exasperated. “Always like this? You’re telling me he always holds you like you’re the love of his life and sniffs you like you’re bloody Amortentia?”

Your cheeks flushed a passionate rosey shade. “I- well- the sniffing is new!”

Pandora chokes on another laugh, clutching her stomach as Regulus finally speaks, his voice calm but dry. “You might as well give up, Evan. They’ve been saying the same thing for years.”

Barty doesn’t respond to any of them. He doesn’t care what Evan thinks, or even what Pandora finds amusing. All that matters is you- your scent, your warmth, the way you let him hold you without question.

He presses his lips briefly to your hair, a gesture so soft and quick that it goes unnoticed by everyone but you. “You smell perfect,” he murmurs again, just for you.

And though you laugh it off, brushing away the warmth spreading across your cheeks, something about the way he holds you lingers in your mind far longer than it should. 

To you, it’s just Barty being affectionate.

To Barty? It’s you unknowingly giving him another reason to be completely, utterly obsessed.

~~~

Your head girl dorm was warm and inviting, filled with the blue haze from the lake just a few yards below. Pandora, Evan, and Regulus were already there, lounging comfortably- Pandora on your bed, Regulus perched in one of the armchairs, and Evan sprawled on the floor, fiddling with his wand as he always did.  

Their conversation had been light and easy until the door swung open, revealing you storming in, frustration written all over your face. Barty followed closely behind, his expression unreadable, calm in a way that only made your irritation grow.

Pandora’s brows raised as she exchanged a glance with Evan, who straightened slightly, clearly intrigued by the tension crackling between you and Barty. Regulus didn’t react outwardly, but his gaze flicked toward the two of you, quietly observing.

“I can’t believe you did that!” you snapped, spinning on your heel to face Barty as you threw your bag onto the bed. In all the years they’d known you, none of them- not Pandora, Evan, or even Regulus- had ever heard you truly raise your voice at him. Sure, you’d been upset with Barty before; you’d sighed, pouted, and even shot him the occasional glare. But shouting? Walking away from him? That was unheard of.  

“You had no right,” you continued, your voice sharp, crackling with a frustration that felt foreign even to you.

The door clicked softly shut behind him as Barty stepped inside. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his posture maddeningly relaxed, yet there was a tension about him, an unspoken electricity in the way his eyes locked onto yours. His calm wasn’t comforting- it was unnerving, especially when paired with the fiery crackle of your anger. 

It was impossible to tell what unsettled the others more: the rare sight of your hostility or the uncharacteristic stillness in Barty’s demeanor. For once, the boy who thrived on chaos and disruption seemed like the eye of the storm- calm, deliberate, and entirely unbothered. 

Pandora exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Evan, who raised his brows in silent surprise. Even Regulus, who rarely looked interested in anything, shifted slightly in his chair, his gaze sharpening as he observed the brewing tension between you and Barty.

Barty didn’t respond immediately. He stood there, leaning casually against the closed door, as if he were giving you a moment to let your words hang in the air. His eyes, however, remained fixed on you, dark and unwavering, his calm exterior betraying the intensity simmering just beneath the surface.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Barty muttered evenly, his voice low and composed. “I told him what he needed to hear.”

“What he needed to hear?” You repeated incredulously, your voice rising, practically echoing off the stone walls of your dorm. “He asked me on a date, Barty. Me. Not you.” 

Pandora leaned forward slightly, clearly invested in the unfolding argument, while Evan smirked, obviously enjoying the drama. Regulus remained quiet, his gaze steady, but his lips twitched ever so slightly in amusement.

The tension crackled in the room like a live wire, yet Barty remained infuriatingly calm, his hands still tucked into his pockets, his head tilted ever so slightly as he watched you pace back and forth. Your frustration was evident, radiating from you in waves, and yet he didn’t seem the least bit concerned. If anything, he looked amused.

“You didn’t have to do that, Barty,” you huffed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You always do this- stepping in, making decisions like I can’t handle myself.”

Barty leaned back against the closed door, his smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he spoke, his voice low and even. “You say that like I did something wrong.”

“Because you did!” You spun on your heel to glare at him, your cheeks flushed from a mix of anger and embarrassment. “He was just asking me on a date. That’s all. I could’ve handled it.”

“He didn’t deserve to ask you anything,” Barty replied smoothly, his tone infuriatingly casual as his dark eyes stayed locked on yours. “I did him a favor, really. Saved him from wasting both our time.”

You groaned, your fists clenching at your sides as you stopped in front of him, your head tilted back to meet his gaze. “It’s not your job to decide that.”

Barty finally moved, leaning forward slightly, the space between you shrinking as his smirk softened into something more dangerous. “It is when it involves you,” he said simply, his voice softer now, almost tender. “You’re my best friend.”

The weight of his words settled over you, and for a moment, your resolve wavered. You hated how easily he could disarm you, how the sharp edge of your anger dulled the moment his tone softened, the way he tilted his head like he was waiting for you to see things his way.

Pandora, perched on your bed with her legs crossed, was watching the scene unfold with wide, curious eyes. Evan, sprawled on the floor, had long since given up pretending to be interested in his wandwork, his smirk growing wider with every passing second. Even Regulus, who rarely seemed to care about anything, was watching now, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Barty with quiet interest.

You took a step back, shaking your head as if to clear it. “I’m not a child, Barty. I can make my own decisions.”

His expression didn’t change, but his hand moved, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture so soft, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. “I know,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t look out for you.”

You hated how easily he got under your skin, how his touch unraveled you no matter how much you tried to hold yourself together. “You don’t always have to protect me, Barty,” you muttered, though your voice lacked the bite it had earlier. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can,” he said again, his hand lingering at the side of your face, his thumb brushing lightly against your cheekbone. “But I’m still going to.”

You huffed, crossing your arms as you tried to look anywhere but at him, though his gaze was like a tether pulling you back. His hand didn’t move from where it lingered near your face, warm and steady, and you hated how your resolve was crumbling under the weight of it.

“You’re pouting,” Barty said, his tone calm but laced with amusement, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“I am not,” you shot back quickly, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed you.

“You are,” he said simply, leaning in just a fraction closer. His smirk softened into something almost affectionate as he added, “It’s cute, though. You can keep doing it.”

Your jaw dropped slightly, and you stumbled over your words, caught completely off guard by the casual compliment. “I- I’m not pouting,” You insisted, though your voice wavered, and the corners of your lips twitched as if you were fighting the urge to smile.

Barty chuckled, his thumb brushing ever so lightly against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. “Sure, you’re not,” he teased, his voice dropping lower, softer. “But I don’t mind if you do.”

Pandora let out a small squeal of delight from her perch on your bed, clearly enjoying the interaction far too much. “Oh, this is precious,” she giggled, kicking her legs in the air. “You’re so hopelessly sweet, the both of you.”

Evan groaned dramatically from his spot on the floor, throwing his head back against the carpet. “Merlin, you’re both insufferable. Just snog and put us all out of our misery.”

Your eyes widened, and you whipped around to glare at him. “We are not-” but your voice trailed off when Barty’s hand slid to your shoulder, grounding you.

“Calm down, Evan,” Barty drawled, his smirk growing wider as he glanced over at the other boy. “You’re just jealous she likes me better.”

Evan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “As if. I just want to live in peace without the two of you staring at each other like a pair of lovesick Puffskeins.”

You felt your cheeks flush even hotter, but before you could protest again, Barty gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, drawing your attention back to him. His expression had softened now, his eyes searching yours.

“You can keep pretending to be mad at me if you want,” he murmured, his voice quiet enough that only you could hear. “But I know you’re not.”

You let out a loud, dramatic huff, throwing your hands in the air as you turned away from him. Without another word, you stomped over to your bed and flopped onto it with a groan of pure frustration, your legs dangling over the edge. The sound was almost comically displeased, and you kicked your feet against the mattress in a childish show of annoyance.

Behind you, Pandora stifled a giggle, and even Regulus quirked an amused brow, though he said nothing. Evan, on the other hand, looked entirely too pleased with the chaos unfolding before him.

Barty, unbothered by your theatrics, followed you over with that maddeningly calm expression still plastered on his face. He knelt at the foot of the bed without a word, slipping your shoes off one by one with deliberate care. You made a point to keep your arms crossed and your lips pressed into a pout, but the edges of your resolve wavered ever so slightly as his fingers brushed your ankles.

When he was done, he rested one elbow on the bedframe and leaned in close, his other hand resting against the mattress near your hip. His gaze was heavy, and it pinned you in place despite your best efforts to avoid looking at him.

Finally, you peeked up at him through your lashes, still pouting as you muttered, “You’re terrible at this friend thing, Barty.”

He let out a low sound- half groan, half sigh- as his head tilted slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a mix of exasperation and amusement. “I know,” he said softly, his voice carrying that same infuriating calm that made your chest tighten. “I’m bloody awful at it.”

You huffed again, though it came out weaker this time, and you buried your face in your hands for a moment before peeking out at him once more. “You’re not even trying to be better.”

“I’m not,” he agreed shamelessly, leaning in closer, his face only inches from yours now. His smirk softened, and for a moment, his expression bordered on something more vulnerable. “But I’m not sure I want to be better.”

That caught you off guard, and for a second, you forgot to be annoyed as you stared at him, your heart skipping a beat. You weren’t sure what he meant, not entirely, but the way his gaze lingered on yours made your chest feel uncomfortably warm.

“Hopeless,” Evan muttered from across the room, breaking the moment as he rolled onto his side with a dramatic groan. “The both of you.”

Pandora just grinned, resting her chin in her hands as she watched the scene unfold with unabashed delight. “Don’t mind him,” she said, her voice sing-song. “I think it’s sweet.”

You let out another huff, though this time it was more embarrassed than angry, and you shoved at Barty’s chest lightly. “I can't stand you,” you muttered, your cheeks flushing as you turned your face away.

Barty chuckled softly at your reaction, his smirk growing as he caught your chin with his fingers, gently tilting your face back toward him. “You say that,” he murmured, his voice low and laced with something that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit, “but you don’t really mean it.”

You swatted at his hand half-heartedly, but he didn’t let go, his thumb brushing along your jaw in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “I do mean it,” you insisted, though your voice wavered, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

Pandora giggled from her spot on the bed, clearly delighted by the dynamic. “Oh, come on,” she teased, propping herself up on her elbows. “Just admit he’s your favorite, and we can all move on.”

Evan groaned dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. “If she says it, I’m leaving. I can’t bear to hear her feed his ego.”

Barty’s smirk turned almost predatory, and he leaned in just a fraction closer, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Go on,” he urged, his voice soft and teasing. “Tell them I’m your favorite.”

You glared at him, though it was half-hearted at best. “You’re impossible,” you muttered again, but there was no real heat behind your words.

Barty’s grin widened, and he finally let go of your chin, leaning back slightly as he rested his forearms on the edge of the bed. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said smugly, clearly pleased with himself.

Pandora clapped her hands together, her grin as wide as his. “I knew it!” she exclaimed. “You’re both hopelessly sweet. It’s adorable, really.”

Regulus, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke, his voice calm and dry. “Can we move on now? Or are we just going to sit here while they flirt all night?”

Your face flushed even hotter, and you buried it in your hands, groaning. “We’re not flirting!” You insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

Barty laughed, the sound warm and rich as he reached out to ruffle your hair. “Sure we’re not,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “Whatever you say.”

You swatted at his hand again, but this time, you couldn’t help the small, reluctant smile that tugged at your lips. No matter how frustrating he could be, he always had a way of making you forget why you were mad in the first place.

~~~

The common room was alive with celebration, the emerald and silver banners draped across the walls shimmering in the floating candlelight. Music pulsed softly in the background, mingling with the chatter and laughter of students sprawled across couches and cushions. The Ravenclaw-Slytherin match had been brutal, but the RavenClaw team had emerged victorious, and Barty- of course- had made himself the star of the night.

You were perched on the arm of a chair across the room, a cup of butterbeer in your hand, but your attention was focused on Barty, who was lounging on one of the larger couches near the hearth. A girl- a sixth-year Ravenclaw whose name you didn’t remember- was leaning far too close to him, her laugh too loud, her hand brushing his arm as she spoke.

Your stomach twisted, and you took a sip of your drink, trying to ignore the uncomfortable knot of jealousy that had taken root. But the sight of her leaning closer, her hand lingering on Barty’s shoulder, made your blood simmer.

Pandora was the first to notice your pout. She had been sitting cross-legged on the floor near the couch, her chin resting on her hand as she observed the lively room. Her sharp eyes caught the way your gaze kept darting toward Barty and the Ravenclaw girl, and the faint downturn of your lips sent her curiosity spiraling.

“Did you just… pout?” Pandora asked, her tone laced with amusement. She sat up straighter, nudging Regulus with her elbow to get his attention. “Reg, are you seeing this?”

Regulus, ever the picture of detached elegance, arched a brow and looked up from the book he was pretending to read. He followed Pandora’s gaze, his eyes landing on your furrowed brows and the way your fingers gripped your cup a bit too tightly. A smirk slowly curled at the corner of his mouth.

“Well, this is new,” he drawled, closing his book with deliberate care. “She looks… upset. Over a person, no less. That can’t be right.”

Pandora giggled, shifting closer to you with an eager grin. “What’s the matter, love?” she teased, her voice sing-song. “You’ve got that look like someone just stole your favorite quill. What did she do?”

Your head whipped toward them, cheeks flushing under their amused scrutiny. “I don’t like her,” you blurted out, the words leaving your lips before you could stop them.

Pandora’s jaw dropped, and she gasped dramatically, clutching at her chest like you’d just delivered the most scandalous confession of the century. “You don’t like her?” she repeated, her grin widening. “You? The girl who likes everyone?”

Regulus leaned back in his chair, resting his chin in his hand as he observed you with quiet amusement. “I didn’t think it was possible,” he said lightly, his smirk deepening. “The golden girl of our odd bunch doesn’t like someone. Are you feeling alright?”

You groaned, turning away from them in a futile attempt to hide the heat spreading across your cheeks. “It’s not a big deal,” You muttered, your fingers tightening around your cup. “She’s just… annoying.”

Pandora’s laughter bubbled out again, and she leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “Annoying? How so? You’ve never called anyone annoying before.”

You bit your lip, casting a quick glance at Barty and the Ravenclaw girl. She was still leaning far too close, her laugh grating in your ears as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “She’s loud,” you mumbled, your voice tinged with irritation. “And she keeps laughing at everything he says like he’s Merlin reincarnated.”

“Oh, she’s loud, at a party” Pandora turned to look at Regulus in exaggerated aspiration, her tone dripping with mock seriousness. “How dare she.”

“And laughing?” Regulus added with a feigned gasp. “What an outrage.”

“She’s touching him.” You snapped, your voice a little louder than you intended. Both Pandora and Regulus froze for a moment, staring at you in stunned silence before breaking into twin peals of laughter.

“Touching him?” Pandora echoed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, darling, Barty would be thrilled to hear you now.”

“Tragic,” Regulus murmured, shaking his head with mock pity. “Jealousy really doesn’t suit you.”

“I am not jealous,” you said sharply, your voice a touch too defensive. The way they both exchanged knowing looks made your stomach twist even more.

“Oh, sure,” Pandora said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “You’re not jealous. You just don’t like the girl because she’s breathing the same air as Barty.”

Regulus leaned forward, propping his elbow on his knee as he smirked knowingly. “Breathe a little louder, and she might vanish,” he teased, his tone smooth and laced with amusement. “You’re practically glaring a hole into the back of her head.”

You whipped your head toward him, cheeks burning hotter than the fireplace behind you. “I’m not glaring,” you snapped, though the defensive edge in your tone betrayed you.

Pandora was practically bouncing now, her grin threatening to split her face in two. “Oh, this is delicious,” she cooed. “You’re jealous. Admit it. Come on, it’s alright to say it.”

“I’m not jealous,” you insisted, though your voice cracked slightly on the last word. You took another sip of your butterbeer in a vain attempt to calm yourself, but the sight of the Ravenclaw girl leaning closer to Barty made your grip tighten on the glass.

Pandora leaned toward Regulus, cupping her hand around her mouth as if whispering a grand secret. “Do you think she realizes she’s been holding that butterbeer like she wants to hex it?”

Regulus tilted his head thoughtfully, his lips twitching. “I doubt it,” he murmured back, loud enough for you to hear. “She’s too busy deciding whether to hex the butterbeer or the girl.”

You let out a frustrated groan, setting your cup down with a louder-than-intended thud. “You’re both impossible.”

“And you’re completely transparent,” Regulus shot back smoothly. His silver eyes gleamed as he leaned closer, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt. “If you’re so bothered, go do something about it. Merlin knows Barty would fall over himself if you so much as batted your eyelashes.”

Pandora nodded fervently, her curls bouncing as she clapped her hands together. “Oh, yes! Just go over there and ruin her night. It’s what she deserves, really.”

You shook your head, determined to ignore them, but the Ravenclaw girl’s hand brushing Barty’s arm again made something snap inside you. Before you could stop yourself, you stood abruptly, drawing the attention of Pandora and Regulus.

“Finally,” Regulus muttered under his breath, a smug grin curling his lips.

“Go get him, love!” Pandora called after you, her voice sing-song and filled with glee.

Your stride across the common room was purposeful, your heart pounding as you ignored the heat of Regulus and Pandora's amused stares boring into your back. You weren’t even thinking; your legs seemed to be moving on their own, fueled by a mix of irritation and something deeper, something you weren’t ready to name.

Barty noticed you before you even reached him. His sharp eyes flicked up, his smirk softening into something unreadable as he leaned back against the couch, one arm slung lazily over the backrest. The Ravenclaw girl, oblivious to the shift in his expression, was still chattering on about something inconsequential, her fingers grazing his arm again.

You didn’t stop to acknowledge her. Without so much as a glance in her direction, you stepped into Barty’s space and, in one fluid motion, sat yourself down on his lap. 

The Ravenclaw girl froze mid-sentence, her mouth hanging open as her wide eyes darted between you and Barty. Pandora let out a loud, delighted gasp from across the room, and Regulus snorted, barely able to hide his amusement. Even Evan, who had been engrossed in a conversation with another group, glanced over with raised brows.

Barty, on the other hand, didn’t seem the least bit fazed. If anything, his smirk widened, and his hands came up instinctively, one settling on your waist while the other rested casually on your thigh, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

You didn’t say a word as you settled into Barty’s lap, your arms crossing loosely over your chest as you stared up at him. Your expression wasn’t sassy or confrontational- it was soft, expectant, and patient, the kind of look only you could manage, one that could coax a response out of anyone without so much as a word. 

Barty’s smirk twitched, his sharp eyes softening as they met yours. The quiet patience in your gaze was like a silent challenge, and it drew him in immediately. The Ravenclaw girl’s voice faltered into awkward silence as his attention shifted entirely to you. 

“Something I can help you with, love?” he asked lightly, his tone teasing but his hands steady as they rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, grounding you both in the moment.

Still, you didn’t speak. You only tilted your head a fraction, looking up at him with those wide, trusting eyes that had always been his undoing. Your lips pressed into the faintest pout, and though it was subtle, Barty recognized it instantly. He couldn’t help but chuckle, the sound warm and rich as it rumbled in his chest.

Pandora, from her spot across the room, clutched at her heart dramatically. “Merlin, she’s too sweet! Look at her!” she whispered loudly, nudging Regulus, who arched a brow but remained otherwise composed.

Regulus’s silver eyes flicked to you and Barty, a faint smirk playing at his lips. “She’s not saying anything because she doesn’t have to,” he muttered, his voice dry but amused. “That look alone does all the work.”

Meanwhile, Barty was focused entirely on you, his smirk softening into something more tender as he leaned closer, his hand sliding up your back in a lazy, possessive motion. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a quieter, more intimate tone. “What is it? You’ve got my attention.”

You tilted your head slightly, your pout deepening just enough to tug at his chest. “You were busy,” you said softly, your voice carrying no hint of accusation, only quiet disappointment. 

Barty’s expression flickered, the teasing edge of his smirk replaced with something almost apologetic. He shifted slightly, pulling you closer until your knees bumped against his. “I wasn’t too busy for you,” he said, his tone softer now, his eyes searching yours. “You know that.”

Pandora let out a delighted squeal, practically bouncing in her seat. “Oh, I love this,” she crowed. “She’s not even mad- just quietly disappointed. It’s perfect.”

Evan groaned from his place by the fireplace, throwing his hands up. “It’s maddening, is what it is. She doesn’t even have to try, and he’s practically falling over himself.”

You were trying to be nice. You really were.

But she was still right there.

You tilted your head slightly, your pout giving way to a small, mischievous smile. Slowly, you leaned closer to Barty, your fingers lightly brushing against his shoulder as you looked up at him, your voice soft and teasing. “You know,” you began, your tone low enough that only he could hear, “I might have something for you.”

Barty’s smirk widened as he leaned in, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. His eyes searched yours, flickering with intrigue. “Oh? And what might that be?”

You let him lean in closer, his face just inches from yours now, the scent of your perfume enveloping him. He closed his eyes for the briefest moment, inhaling deeply as if trying to commit it to memory. When he opened them again, his gaze was darker, more focused, his lips quirking in an almost predatory grin.

“A reward,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his ear as you tilted your head slightly, letting him catch another wave of your perfume. His grip on your waist tightened instinctively, and you felt the faintest tremor run through him.

“For the win?” he asked, his voice dropping to match yours, the words laced with anticipation. His free hand slid down to rest lightly on your thigh, his fingers flexing against the fabric of your skirt.

“For the win,” you confirmed, your smile growing as you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His smirk faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by something softer, something more vulnerable.

“And where,” he asked, his tone still teasing but with an edge of genuine curiosity, “might I find this reward?”

You leaned in again, your lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered, “In your dorm room.”

The words hung between you like a challenge, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to hold its breath. Barty’s eyes widened just slightly, the faintest flush creeping up his neck before his smirk returned, sharper than ever.

Pandora let out a gasp from across the room, clutching at Regulus’s arm as she whispered, “Did she just say what I think she said?”

Regulus didn’t answer immediately, his silver eyes fixed on the two of you with quiet amusement. “She did,” he murmured, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smirk. “And I think she means it.”

Evan groaned dramatically, covering his face with his hands. “Merlin, this is unbearable. Just go already and put the rest of us out of our misery.”

You ignored them all, your attention locked on Barty as his smirk softened into something almost affectionate. “Well then,” he murmured, his voice low and warm as he tightened his grip on your waist. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

You slid off his lap with a graceful motion, your fingers trailing down his arm as you stood. Barty followed without hesitation, his movements fluid and deliberate as he kept his hand on the small of your back, guiding you toward the staircase.

Behind you, Pandora’s laughter rang out, bright and full of delight. “Oh, this is brilliant,” she exclaimed, practically bouncing in her seat. “I’ve never seen anything so perfectly dramatic in my life.”

Regulus chuckled softly, shaking his head as he returned to his book. “Let them have their moment,” he said simply, his tone tinged with amusement. “It’s been a long time coming.”

As the two of you disappeared up the staircase, the sound of your friends’ laughter faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of your footsteps and the quiet hum of anticipation crackling between you and Barty. 

You glanced over your shoulder, your smile softening as you caught his gaze. “You really weren’t too busy for me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

“Never,” Barty replied without hesitation, his voice steady and sincere. “Not for you.” 

And in that moment, as the door to your dorm room swung shut behind you, you realized that you didn’t need to say anything else. Because she was still down there on that couch.

~~~

The night of your graduation had felt surreal, every moment tinged with a bittersweet haze. The castle, your friends, the life you had known for so many years- it was all slipping away into the past. But there was Barty, steady and constant, as if anchoring you to the present. His presence, sharp and magnetic, was the only thing keeping the melancholy at bay.

After the celebrations, the laughter, and the endless teasing from Pandora and Evan, Barty had pulled you aside. His hand, warm and firm, clasped yours as he whispered in your ear, “Come with me.”

The suggestion, laced with something that felt more like a command than a request, sent a thrill down your spine. 

The night air was crisp as Barty guided you along the dimly lit path, his grip firm but gentle. You had no idea where he was taking you, but his silence spoke volumes. There was a nervous energy to him, the kind of tension he couldn’t quite hide. It wasn’t often that Barty Crouch Jr. seemed unsure of himself, but tonight, there was a vulnerability in his every step.

When you arrived, you couldn’t help but blink in surprise. The small estate before you was a far cry from the grand manors both of you had grown up in. The house was simple, modest, with ivy creeping up the stone walls and a soft glow emanating from the windows. It looked warm, inviting, but entirely unlike the opulence you had expected.

“Barty…” you began, but he shook his head, pulling you toward the door.

“Just… let me show you,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. There was an edge of uncertainty to it, as though he wasn’t sure how you’d react.

He pushed open the door, revealing a small living room. The space was cozy, with a low ceiling and a worn but comfortable-looking sofa. A fireplace crackled softly in the corner, casting flickering shadows across the room. The furniture was simple, not at all like the ornate pieces that filled your childhood home, but it felt… lived-in. Real.

Barty glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, watching your reaction carefully. “It’s not much,” he admitted, his voice tinged with hesitation. “But I wanted it to feel like… like a home.��

You didn’t say anything at first, letting him guide you through the space. The kitchen was small, the kind of place where two people might bump elbows while cooking. The floors creaked softly under your feet, and the scent of wood smoke lingered in the air.

“It’s cozy,” you said finally, your voice soft. And you meant it. There was something about the simplicity of it all that felt refreshing, grounding. It wasn’t about grand gestures or flaunted wealth- it was real.

Barty seemed to relax slightly at your words, his shoulders dropping as he led you down a narrow hallway. “It’s nothing like what we’re used to,” he said, glancing at you again. “But I didn’t want this to be about… them.” He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I bought this place with my own money. Not my father’s.”

That caught you off guard, and you turned to look at him fully. His expression was unreadable, but his hands fidgeted slightly at his sides- a rare sign of nerves. “Barty…” you started, but he cut you off.

“I wanted to give you something that was ours,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Something that wasn’t tied to the Crouch name or anything else. Just… us.”

Before you could respond, he opened the final door at the end of the hall, revealing a bedroom that stood in stark contrast to the rest of the house. The room was larger than you expected, with high ceilings and a grand four-poster bed draped in rich white and cream fabrics. The walls were lined with shelves, some filled with books, others empty, waiting to be filled. A plush rug covered the wooden floor, and the faint scent of fresh paint lingered in the air.

“This is the only room that’s finished,” Barty admitted, his voice softer now. “I spent most of my time on it because… well, I wanted you to have a space that felt special. Somewhere you could feel like you belonged.”

You stepped inside, running your fingers over the edge of the bedframe. The room was beautiful, but it was the thought behind it that left you speechless. Barty had always been brash, confident to the point of arrogance, but this… this was different. This was him laying his heart bare.

“Why?” you asked finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why do all of this for me?”

He stepped closer, his hands finding yours as he looked down at you. “Because you’re everything to me,” he said simply, his voice steady and sincere. “And I wanted you to have a place where you could feel that. Where you could see how much you mean to me.”

Your chest tightened at his words, a warmth spreading through you that you couldn’t quite describe. You glanced around the room again, taking in the details- the care he had put into every corner, every choice. It was all for you.

“It’s perfect,” you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. “Barty… it’s perfect.”

Barty stood there, watching your expression with a vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. His hands, normally so assured, fidgeted slightly at his sides before he clenched them into fists, as if trying to ground himself. The sight of you standing in the room he’d poured his heart into was almost too much to bear. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest, a steady, insistent rhythm that only grew louder as the silence stretched between you.

You turned back to him, your eyes soft, full of emotions you hadn’t yet put into words. “Barty,” you murmured, stepping closer. “Why are you so nervous? This is… it’s beautiful.”

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair in a rare display of uncertainty. “It’s not just the house,” he said, his voice low. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in. Barty had always been intense, magnetic, impossible to ignore, but this… this was different. There was a raw honesty in his gaze, a kind of vulnerability you weren’t used to seeing from him.

He took a step closer, his hands finding yours as he held them between you, his grip firm yet careful. “I’ve been trying to say this for years,” he admitted, his voice trembling slightly despite his best efforts to stay calm. “But every time, I stopped myself. I thought- maybe you’d laugh, or maybe you wouldn’t take me seriously.”

“Barty,” you began softly, but he shook his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as if afraid you’d slip away.

“No, let me finish,” he said, his voice firmer now, though still tinged with that same vulnerability. “From the moment I met you, you’ve been it for me. The only person who’s ever made me feel like there’s something worth fighting for, something worth… building a life for.”

Your chest tightened at his words, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as you stared up at him, your heart pounding in your ears. He stepped closer still, his hands releasing yours only to cup your face, his thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks.

“This house,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “It’s not just for me. It’s for us. Because I want you to have a place that’s ours. A place where you can feel safe, loved, cherished. A place where you know, without a doubt, that you mean everything to me.”

Tears spilled over now, and you couldn’t stop them, even if you wanted to. His words, his actions, the sheer intensity of his gaze- it was all too much, too overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I-”

“Marry me,” he said suddenly, the words escaping him in a rush before he could stop them. He froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as if realizing what he’d just said. But then he doubled down, his grip on your face firm but gentle as he continued, his voice steady despite the emotion threatening to break through. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I don’t want to waste another second pretending I can be without you.”

Your breath hitched, your heart racing as you searched his eyes, desperate to find some hint of hesitation, some sign that this wasn’t real. But there was nothing- only pure, unyielding devotion staring back at you.

“Marry me,” he repeated, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Be mine. Always.”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. The air between you crackled with unspoken emotion, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the space you shared. And then, finally, you nodded, a watery laugh escaping you as you threw your arms around him.

“Yes,” you breathed, your voice breaking as tears streamed down your face. “Yes, Barty. Always.”

His arms wrapped around you instantly, pulling you close as he buried his face in your hair. You could feel the tension leaving his body, replaced by a warmth that seemed to envelop you both, grounding you in a moment you knew you’d remember forever.

Barty's arms tightened around you, pulling you so close you could feel every beat of his racing heart. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply as though committing every part of you to memory. For a moment, the world around you seemed to disappear, leaving only the two of you standing in the center of a life he'd carefully crafted for this exact moment.

When he pulled back, his hands didn’t leave you. They slid down, trailing over your arms and settling firmly on your waist. His touch lingered, warm and deliberate, and his thumbs brushed over the fabric of your dress in slow, deliberate circles. His gaze locked onto yours, intense and unwavering, and it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Say it again,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, like he was trying to ground himself in your words.

You blinked, still caught in the whirlwind of his confession, your lips trembling as you whispered, “Yes, Barty. Always.”

A quiet, almost desperate sound escaped him- a mixture of relief and something deeper, something darker. His hands moved again, sliding up your sides and coming to rest just below your ribs. His touch was firm but not forceful, grounding you as his head dipped closer to yours.

The first kiss was tentative, almost shy, his lips brushing against yours with a softness that belied the intensity simmering beneath the surface. It was slow, unhurried, as though he was savoring every second. But then he sighed against your mouth, a deep, shaky sound that seemed to break the fragile barrier between you.

Barty’s hands tightened on your waist as the kiss deepened, becoming more consuming, more insistent. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that made your knees weak, and his fingers gripped you like he was afraid to let go. He muttered something against your lips- soft, almost inaudible- but you caught the words anyway.

“Mine.”

The word sent a spark through you, igniting something you hadn’t realized was waiting just below the surface. His hands slid lower, gripping your hips firmly as he pulled you closer, eliminating any remaining space between you. His lips left yours, trailing a heated path along your jaw and down your neck, and he whispered again, his voice rough and breathless.

“My girl.”

You gasped, your hands finding their way to his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt as he continued his assault on your senses. His lips found the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. His hands roamed over your sides, one sliding up to cup the back of your neck while the other pressed firmly against the small of your back, keeping you anchored to him. “Say you’re mine.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his lips returned to yours, claiming them with a renewed intensity. The hand on your neck tilted your head back slightly, giving him better access as he kissed you with a fervor that bordered on desperate. Every touch, every kiss, was a silent declaration, a promise etched into your skin.

“Barty,” you breathed against his lips, your voice trembling but certain. “I’m yours.”

A growl rumbled in his chest, and his hands tightened their hold on you, pulling you even closer. “My fiancée,” he muttered, the words almost a growl as they left his lips. “You’re my fiancée now.”

You could barely think, barely breathe as his words washed over you, each one sinking into your skin and branding itself into your very being. His kisses turned more fervent, more insistent, and his hands roamed your body with a possessiveness that left no doubt in your mind: you were his, completely and utterly.

The atmosphere in the bedroom shifted, the air thick with tension as Barty backed you toward the bed. You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by the suddenness of his movements, but his hands were there to steady you- firm, commanding, and undeniably possessive. Before you could say a word, he pressed his body to yours, his touch leaving a trail of heat wherever his hands grazed. 

“Barty-” but the words barely left your lips before he lowered his head, capturing your mouth with a kiss that stole the air from your lungs. It was rougher this time, more insistent, as if he was claiming you with every movement. His hands slid down your sides, warm and steady, guiding you as he nudged you back onto the bed.

You let out a soft gasp as your back hit the mattress, but there was no time to process it before Barty climbed on top of you, settling himself firmly between your thighs. The weight of him against you was grounding, his presence overwhelming in the best way. His hand splayed across your side, his thumb brushing the curve of your hip in slow, deliberate circles that sent shivers coursing through your body.

He kissed you again, harder this time, his lips moving against yours with a fervor that left you breathless. His free hand slid up your body, his fingers trailing along the line of your ribs before settling just beneath your jaw. He tilted your head slightly, deepening the kiss as his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Your heart was racing now, thundering in your chest as his hand pressed more firmly against your throat. It wasn’t enough to hurt- never that- but just enough to make you hyper-aware of every beat of your pulse, every shallow breath that passed your lips. The sensation sent a dizzying rush through your veins, leaving you lightheaded and craving more.

“Look at me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and rough. When you hesitated, your gaze flickering away, he pressed his nose to your cheek, letting out a sound that was nothing short of devastated. It was a quiet, broken noise, like it physically hurt him that you weren’t looking at him.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice softer now, tinged with something vulnerable. “Don’t look away.”

Your breath hitched as his thumb brushed over your pulse point, his touch firm but careful. The weight of his gaze was almost too much, too intense, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, the dark orbs filled with an unspoken need that made your chest ache.

“There you are,” he said softly, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss. His hand tightened slightly on your neck, just enough to make your head swim, and you felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a smirk. “That’s my girl.”

Your cheeks flushed, the words sinking into your skin like a brand. His hand on your side slid lower, his fingers grazing the edge of your skirt as he pressed his body more firmly against yours. The heat of him was intoxicating, his presence all-consuming, and you couldn’t stop the soft whimper that escaped you as his lips found your neck.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice trembling as he nipped at the sensitive skin just below your ear. His teeth grazed your pulse point, and you felt his smirk against your skin as his tongue soothed the sting.

“I can feel your heart racing,” he murmured, his voice low and full of satisfaction. His hand on your neck flexed slightly, the pressure just enough to send a wave of dizziness through you. “It’s like it’s beating just for me.”

Your hands clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to ground yourself as his kisses trailed down your throat. Every touch, every movement, was deliberate, calculated to drive you to the brink. And yet, despite the overwhelming intensity of it all, there was a tenderness to him- a care that shone through even in his most possessive moments.

He pulled back just enough to look at you again, his gaze heavy with unspoken emotion. His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he searched your face. “Tell me who you belong to,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Say it clearly.”

You swallowed hard, your lips parting as you tried to steady your breath. “B-Barty,” you whispered, your voice trembling but sure. “You.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his grip on you tightened, his lips crashing against yours once more. This kiss was different- hungrier, more desperate, like he was trying to pour every ounce of his devotion into it. Merlin, it almost hurt. His hands roamed your body, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he pressed himself closer.

Barty’s voice dropped to a hushed whisper as his fingers pressed into your thigh, his grip firm and unyielding. “No one else,” he murmured, his tone low and reverent, like a vow. “No one else will ever leave a mark on you. Only me. Only my hands.”

Your breath hitched as his words settled over you, each syllable searing into your skin. His eyes burned with something primal, his usual mischievous smirk replaced by a solemn intensity that made your pulse race. He wasn’t teasing anymore- this was raw, unfiltered, and entirely Barty.

His hand slid higher, pushing the hem of your skirt up with deliberate slowness. The cool air brushed against your skin, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his touch. His thumb pressed lightly into your thigh, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips. The sound made his smirk return, sharp and predatory.

“You feel that?” He murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as his hand traced a path upward. “That’s me. Just me. No one else gets to touch you like this.”

Your grip on his shoulders tightened,  your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as he shifted closer, his body pressing against yours. His other hand cradled your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone as his gaze locked onto yours. There was no escaping it, no looking away from the sheer possessiveness in his expression.

“You're so cute.” He chuckled, but his voice was firmer now, the words carrying a weight that left no room for argument. “So bloody trusting.”

“Not scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute. The admission felt like both a surrender and a victory, and the way his eyes darkened made your chest tighten. “It's you.”

Barty let out a soft, almost triumphant laugh, his hand tightening on your thigh just enough to make you gasp. “Good girl,” he murmured, this time, it was his teeth that trailed down your neck. Before giving you a rather punishing bite. Your skin burned, tinted, but he still didn't let up. 

You gasped when he only bit down harder. Your legs flinching against him, only one able to raise as the other was kept down by his harsh grip. You were sure the spot was bruised.

It drove him mad.

You never voice protest against his abuse.

He cooed at you, like a dog for good behavior, before he finally let up. He kissed your soft skin as a feeble apology. His kisses turned rougher, his teeth grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. You felt the faint sting of his touch, a possessive claim that made your heart race. “No one else,” he muttered against your skin, his voice almost a growl. “No one else will ever get this close to you. Not while I’m breathing.”

The intensity of his words, his touch, his presence- it was overwhelming, consuming, and yet you didn’t want it to stop. Barty had always been a force of nature, wild and untamed, but in this moment, he was entirely focused on you.

“Barty,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper as his hand slipped higher, his touch igniting every nerve in your body. “Please…”

He paused for a moment, his lips hovering over yours as he searched your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch softer now, almost hesitant. “Please what?” he asked, his voice low and filled with unspoken promise. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You swallowed hard, your cheeks flushed as you met his gaze. The weight of his attention, the sheer intensity in his eyes, made it impossible to think straight. “I want…” Your words faltered, and he tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he waited.

“Say it,” he urged, his voice like a caress. His hand slid up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he leaned closer. “I need to hear you say it.”

You took a shaky breath, your fingers curling into his shirt as you whispered, “I want you.”

Barty’s smirk softened, his expression melting into something almost tender. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he murmured, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that left you breathless.

You could hardly register what happened next. How his hand slid down your throat, slow and careful. The soft sound of his buckle latch clicking against the floor. 

When he broke the kiss you were too far gone to say another word to him. A small trail of saliva connecting you two- leaving Barty awestruck at the proof of your mindless obedience. 

His girl.

[saltinyourwound]

let me (nam-gyu)

nam-gyu x gn!reader, 1.9k words, angst, fluff, smut

synopsis: you know your roommate, nam-gyu, has been struggling, and you offer him help him out in a… different way

warnings: smut!, illusions to drug abuse(nothing in detail), sub!nam-gyu, softdom!reader, handjob, really nothing too crazy, might be a little ooc nam-gyu

note: hi! this is weird for me because i haven’t posted my writing in years, but i wanted to share this because of the lack of squid game writing on here <3 i’m unsure whether i’ll post anything else, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless :)

—

sighing under the steaming hot water, you allowed your shoulders to relax for what seemed to be the first time all week. finally, it was friday, and your work week was over. finally, you had your break from your crappy 9-5 where you could feel your body rotting by the minute.

you wanted to quit, of course, but this job was the only thing keeping a roof over your head when you had to pay your share of the rent, and you knew surely your roommate wouldn’t be able to pay it by himself.

your roommate— nam-gyu— was not necessarily the ideal man to live with. you had your fair share of him stumbling into the apartment intoxicated, or him and his friends yelling obscenely at late hours. however, your past roommate had left without warning to move in with her boyfriend, and you were left scrambling.

thankfully, your friend se-mi, introduced you to nam-gyu, a man working at a club who had just been evicted from his last place for reasons he would never care to share. you had assumed it was something to do with the suspicious look in his eyes when he would come home in the middle of the night, sporting a chatty, boyish demeanor that clashed greatly with his typical standoffish and sarcastic personality. however, he never let you see what he actually took, murmuring something about it being “not anything someone like you should worry about”.

nam-gyu left you perplexed most of the time. of course, you were frustrated with him as a roommate, but there was times when you wished he would let you in as a friend. you knew nam-gyu wasn’t a bad guy. he kept his space clean and feed the stray cats outside of your apartment complex. he showed up at a moment’s notice when his friend called him after he was badly injured in a fight. however, he didn’t allow you to see when you knew he was struggling, even when you could hear his pained sobs he tried to muffle through the thin walls. you really had no basis to act on, but you knew that you wanted to support him.

with a groan, you turned off the running water and stepped out of the shower. tonight, there was nothing you could do about the pesky situation with your roommate, as you knew he had probably already left for his evening shift at the club. you wrapped a towel around your body and began your walk to your bedroom to get changed, but you gasped when you nearly bumped into another person.

“you scared the hell out of me!” you exclaimed, hand on your chest as you stared wide-eyed at the man in front of you.

“woah, shit, sorry. didn’t mean to scare you.” nam-gyu laughed, holding both of his hands up in surrender.

“what are you doing here, not at work?” you asked, shaking your head slightly to rid yourself of the shock in your lungs.

“ah, i got that one new guy to take my shift. i wasn’t in the mood to deal with shitty customers today.” he explained, stress evident in his tone. he rubbed his hands on his face before actually taking a second to look at you. when he realized your still damp body was only covered by a towel, his breath hitched in his throat, and he quickly adverted his gaze with pink ears.

“okay,” you paused with suspicion, eyeing nam-gyu in front of you. “just— are you going to have people over tonight? ‘cause i really don’t want to deal with so much noise.”

“nah, i won’t.” nam-gyu still wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“alright, cool. i’ll be in my room if you need me,” you replied, relieved, and made your way past him towards your room to get changed. nam-gyu froze in place as you walked past, squeezing his hands into fists at the smell of your body wash. he rubbed he face once again, before making a beeline towards his room, abandoning the soda he was about to grab in the fridge.

—

once changed into a comfortable loose tee and pair of sleep shorts, you collapsed into your bed, letting out a sigh. it didn’t take long, however, for you to reluctantly roll your body up due to the empty feeling in your stomach. you hadn’t eaten since your lunch break, but the idea of cooking made your shoulders sag down.

you figured your week was hard enough that you deserved take-out. you also figured that nam-gyu likely hadn’t eaten anything since you left your leftover lunch in the fridge yesterday— you had known he wouldn’t cook something himself and managed to cook too much once again anyways.

after allowing your feet to guide you down the unfamiliar track to nam-gyu’s bedroom, your hand froze in place hearing what sounded like.. your name? you held your breath at the sound, leaning closer to the door. it was, most definitely, your name being called— or really, more so whined, accompanied by soft gasps and erratic breathing.

was nam-gyu…crying? you remembered your thoughts earlier, and your heart felt pained at the idea. you considered your options. you could let nam-gyu struggle, possibly risking him doing something he would regret, or you could try and offer him help. or he could scream at you for intruding and never speak to you again.

you can’t keep allowing him to suffer alone, you reasoned with yourself and slowly turned the doorknob, but what you were meeting with was not a sobbing nam-gyu.

instead, the man lay on his bed with his eyes screwed shut and mouth slacked open, with one hand clutching his bedsheets and the other.. fisted around his cock at a nonforgiving pace. the very sight made you gasp, causing nam-gyu’s eyes to shoot open in your direction.

“holy shit!” he exclaimed, quickly pulling his blanket to cover himself.

you clapped your hands over your eyes, “fuck, i’m sorry!”

you heard nam-gyu swearing to himself quietly, and everything in you wanted to run back to your room in embarrassment, but something kept your feet planted to the ground. slowly, you peeled your hand from your eyes, looking at nam-gyu once more.

his entire body was flushed, and the shocked yet dazed in his eyes made your breath quicken. “i— why are you just standing there?!” he implored, eyes flicking over your face.

“you… were saying my name, right?” you ask breathlessly, and nam-gyu went rigid.

“what? no! no, no, no, of course not i was just—”

“you don’t have to lie.” you took a step closer.

“no, i— i wasn’t i swear. you’re my fucking roommate i wouldn’t—”o“really?” you cut him off again, analyzing his stressed expression. the furrowed eyebrows, sweaty skin, glossy eyes. “huh. i wish you were, though.”

“huh!? what do you— are you fucking with me?”

“no. i wish you were whimpering my name while you jack off.” your voice was uncharacteristically level, yet your heart was beating out of your chest. you couldn’t, however, let this opportunity pass. the idea of him wanting you excited you to no end, and it certainly helped that he looked so pretty like this.

“are you serious?” nam-gyu whispered, trying to detect if you were lying.

“of course. you don’t have to say yes but, i could.. help you out, if you wanted me to...”

all it took was a breathy “please..” for you to join nam-gyu on his bed. slowly, you eased his covers off of him, taking in the sight that transfixed you. his cock was pretty, with a flushed tip and a dribble of pre leaking out of it. what arosed you more, though, was his tear filled eyes and quivering lips.

“you’re entirely sure you want this?” you confirmed.

“yes, god, please. ‘want you more than anything.”

your thighs clenched together at his words. not taking your eyes off of his own, you wrapped your hand around the base of his length, and started to slowly move it up and down. nam-gyu let out a whine at the touch, his eyes casting to the ceiling.

your thumb swiped across his tip before continuing your movements. “doin’ so well, ‘gyu. keep looking at me, yeah?” you could sense how heavily your words effected nam-gyu with how much louder he became.

“‘s so good. fuck, you’re so good. ‘been thinking about this f’so long”

your eyes shot open in surprise. “really? how long, baby?”

“since i fucking meet you. fucking hell when i saw you, ah, in that towel i almost came right there”

your eyes rolled back at his words. he had always wanted you? while you were worried out of your mind about his well-being, he was undressing you in his mind? “fuck..” you murmured, feeling your own breath start to become rushed.

nam-gyu’s whines and groans turned into moans as you kept at your pace. you felt transfixed as your other hand traced his collarbone, feeling his erratic heartbeat in the center of his flushed chest. you knew that your heartbeat matched.

you could tell in the way his cock twitched and his body shook that nam-gyu was close. what made your breath hitch, though, was his own hand snaking up his chest to lace with your own, desperately. as if the touch was what he needed.

“shit, i’m—” nam-gyu came with a gasp, his chest heaving under your hands entwined, where he squeezed your hand with intensity.

“fuck, so good f’me..” you murmured, transfixed on the sight, your thumb rubbing circles on his hand with care.

nam-gyu opened his eyes with caution. “holy shit..” he breathed out, a pretty serene trace in his features that fought with the confusion he still had. “why did you—?”

you felt oddly struck with emotion. your hand tightened around his. “…i wanted to. i want to.. be here. with you. i’m— i’m sorry this is sappy at the wrong time but— i’ve been thinking about you for so long. please— let me be here..? you can use me however you want. even if it’s just a shitty handjob, i want to—”

“stop.” fear and embarrassment clogged up your chest. just as you we going to start apologizing, nam-gyu slowly brought your hand to his mouth, leaving a shaky kiss that left your skin sparkling in its wake. “i want you too. i’ve always wanted you. more than fucking sex. i—i’ve been scared as hell lately about everything but you.. you make me want to try.”

you felt speechless.

“i’m an asshole and you— you don’t deserve that. but,” nam-gyu had a pleading look in his eyes as he sat up, other hand cupping your warm cheek, “i want you. let me prove it.”

you couldn’t hold back yourself from letting the space between you close, groaning quietly as you felt his lips soft on yours. you felt his sincerity. you hadn’t before realized the care you held for nam-gyu had manifested into something so strong, but you felt a wash of relief as you let yourself bathe in the honesty that had bubbled out from between the two of you.

nam-gyu was first to pull away, and he looked at you with care and urgency in his eyes, “tomorrow i’ll take you out on a date. we— fuck— can figure everything out then, but right now i need more of you.”

“then take me.”

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at the twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

[meadowfics]

boredom got a new bestfriend

kang dae-ho x pregnant!reader

pregnancy has been exhausting, but luckily your partner is here for you.

warnings: post-squid game au. ptsd themes included but this is mainly comfort I swear

it felt like you were feeling postpartum depression before you even gave birth to the baby.

your daughter is the best thing to be happening for you right now, a human-being sharing the dna of you and your sunshine of a husband.. but you hate the discomfort.

your belly is a little bit bigger for someone who is 34 weeks along.

the doctor predicts that your girl will come out a little bit more developed than the average infant.. great.

growing up for all of your life, you slept on your stomach.

sleeping on your side and/or back during this pregnancy makes you wake up each hour, ready to throw up or cramped due to the uncomfortable position.

the lack of sleep has been killing you, and you know it will not get any better once the girl arrives.

don't worry, dae-ho has been the best partner ever, doing as much as he can to help you!

he doesn't know how it feels to carry a baby for nine months, especially a baby thats in a bigger percentile (thanks to his genetics), but he can see how much its affecting you mentally.

the man will cuddle you to sleep, give you foot massages, head massages too.. but it seems like his daughter wants to give you hell.

you're bored throughout the day as well.

its all of the time.

before your pregnancy, you used to go on walks and do chores and run errands for other people for money.

well, you had to before you joined the games.

the games are apart of the reason as to why you barely get any sleep, scared that you will wake up to someone killing you with a fork to add money to the pile.

however, you remind yourself that you are safe.

the baby is safe, you are with dae-ho, and you're all alive and safe.

even if you aren't comfortable due to your belly..

now, you cannot do a simple task like going to the grocery store without getting tired.

you've had enough, you cannot wait for the six weeks until your daughter is born.

one night, it reached its point when you went to sleep beside dae-ho.

the man's arm was wrapped around your fully developed belly, he loved to hold his daughter that you carried.

you laid on your back, your head laid down on the pillow looking up at the ceiling.

it was 12:02am when you fell asleep.

a big kick caused by your daughter made you jump awake.

dae-ho didn't wake up after you moved his arm from your stomach.

thankfully since you want him to get his sleep at least.

when you checked the time, tears immediately poured out of your eyes.

its 12:12am..

you couldn't even get ten minutes of good sleep without your body, or your daughter, stopping that.

walking out of the bedroom into the living room, you decided to turn on an old sitcom rerun that played on the overnight channels.

that did not entertain you.. nothing seemed to.

you tried to romanticize the moment, going to quickly grab some water and a fruit bowl so you could eat and relax.. but nothing worked.

sleeping was the best option, but waking up every ten minutes is driving you insane.. so why sleep at all?

"baby?"

you saw dae-ho enter the living room, wiping his tried eyes with his hands.

he is just wearing his plaid pajamas and no shirt. sexy.

sex could help the boredom, since intimacy with dae-ho is never boring, but you were too exhausted to even move at all.

"why are you awake?"

you softly ask, unaware that he could ask you the same thing.

which he is..

"I was going to ask you the same thing, since you're watching a sitcom marathon at one in the morning.."

dae ho mumbles, his big hand resting on your thigh as he looks ahead at the show on the television.

"your daughter is not letting me sleep, so I figured that watching television could pass time.. but that is not helping."

you frown.

dae-ho frowns too, moving his hand from your thigh and gently rubbing your belly.

he moves his head down towards your belly as well, going to talk to your daughter through your nightgown.

"awh, sweetheart, why are you being so mean to your mommy?"

you smile at this gesture, knowing your daughter will go right back to kicking your organs all over the place.

"I can't sleep and I am very bored.. I don't know how I am going to last these six weeks, dae."

you plead.

the man looks up at you, guilt in his eyes, as he tried to think of a solution.

"well, I can offer besides cuddles and physical affection to help you sleep comfortably.. but maybe I could stay up with you so you are not so bored as well?"

the tired man speaks through his raspy voice.

"no, dae-ho, you need your sleep."

"you need it a lot more than I do.."

dae-ho smiles,

"you will need to gain enough energy when its time to push next month!"

he's right.

how were you supposed to birth your daughter if you were too tired to push?

the man sees worry flash before your eyes and retracts his words,

"wait I was kidding, I--"

"dae-ho, I know, don't worry!"

you giggle.

you relax into your man's arms while watching the boring show on the television.

it feels like your daughter stopped her soccer/football game happening inside of your uterus.

so you close your eyes to see if your mind will take you to sleep.

you focus on dae-ho's scent since your nose is against his chest.

the first thing you notice is that dae-ho used your body wash while he showered at some point.. your vanilla body wash.. wow!

suddenly, you couldn't process anything else as you fell asleep with dae-ho.. since he already fell asleep before you.

when you wake up, the sun is shining through the curtains and you were back in your bed.

you were... comfortable.. woah.

something you haven't felt since before your belly starting growing with your baby.

the soft ivory blanket was warm against your cool skin, the pillow soft underneath your ears.

dae-ho is still asleep, his back facing towards you.

you move yourself to get behind him, big spooning him as your belly pokes his lower back.

"goodmornin', my baby."

dae-ho's raspy voice speaks, taking your small hand and kissing your knuckle lightly.

"good morning, handsome."

you smile, feeling refreshed.

looking over at the alarm clock, the time reads 10:38am

taking a huge sigh of relief, you cuddled into dae-ho more, happy to finally get some good rest after months of failure.

"how did you sleep?"

dae-ho mumbles against your soft hands.

"I slept good, for once."

you giggle.

"see, I knew my little talk to (daughter's name) would work!"

dae-ho smiles and you giggle.

"thank you, love."

masterlist

[guppybibi]

part 2 to the johnny fic!

notes: this was pretty rushed,,,so it is fast paced..if u guys dont like this one i could always rewrite it! :3

taglist: @ennovi-9 @vvenus-child @msilwrites @tessakate @beatriceshadowmarvel2 @montenegroisr (for some reason i cant tag the others??) i'll try to do so in the comments

Grief was never an easy thing to heal from to begin with, so Simon has kept a close eye on you ever since. You refused to believe him at first, trying to pull out some sort of proof that you were with Johnny this past year but to your own shock, there was none. Not a singular one.

Luckily, Simon had a xerox copy of Johnny’s death certificate. The original copy was with you but it seems that it was burned to ashes based on the reaction you gave when Simon dangled it over your face.

But you really weren’t believing him, shielded in the denial you were holding tightly close to you. “Where’s the urn with half of his ashes then, eh?” Simon throws the question at you, his words unintentionally harsher than expected.

But he really doesn't get what you've been trying to convince him to believe, don't you remember spreading Soap’s ashes? He expected you to at least remember that part.

“The…what?” That was all you could manage to say right now, your voice failing you now of all times. “The urn with his ashes.” He repeats, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he intently watches your expression.

Simon starts to wonder how hard of a psychosis you went through, or if you ever took drugs after Johnny’s death. That would explain the hallucinations as well, there's no shame in it either. It's not unusual for someone to turn to substances during mourning, it's a common coping mechanism.

All Simon wants to focus on is you, for you to get better. Fuck Johnny for leaving you alone like this, the pitiful sight almost made Simon's face be a constant scowl.

Okay..maybe he was exaggerating but he’ll definitely throw a middle finger up to the sky later. Simon knows it'll probably make Johnny laugh his ass off…or worry. It really depends if he knew your current situation.

Either way, none of that stuff matters much. You have no choice but to be in Simon’s care.

He’s not quite sure what to do when you start crying into his chest the moment you two stepped into your house, no longer a home. He remains still, lightly patting you on the back as he guides you to the couch.

He’ll be here for a while, won't he?

~~~

It's been weeks since you've known about Johnny’s death, but the only thing Simon could notice was the lack of improvement.

You were rotting in bed, relying on Simon completely for you to do basic tasks. You spent most of the time crying and sleeping, an endless cycle that even made Simon feel like he was going crazy.

“C’mon, eat up, luv. I made you some soup. We're runnin’ out of groceries as well, wanna tag along later?” He offers, holding up the spoon full of soup to your mouth. Expectedly, with a disinterested look, you turn your back on him.

He sighs, putting the bowl aside. “Alright, I won't make you go but the offer is still up.” He says, pausing when he hears footsteps get closer and closer to the door.

It's…weirdly familiar. Simon could recognize people based off of their footsteps alone, but he simply couldn't place his finger on this one. As it got nearer, you seemed to notice it as well..

The two of you make questioning looks at each other. “Stay there, I’ll go check it out.” Simon stood up, making his way to the door until a certain someone pops out.

“Bonnie? Ye there? Git us some groceries.”

…Another shared look between you and Simon.

“Oh good, there yer are, lass. Simon? You're here too? Glad there's another set of hands then.”

Simon’s gaze moved to you, seeing your eyes water up with tears. But that wasn't what caught his attention, it was the hole through this…Johnny’s head.

[jscrawls]

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of death, hospitals, poor writing, possible ooc,

Chapter 3: An apple a day..

You're frustrated, your limbs shake and you struggle to even hold a plastic spoon without dropping it, you've been injured and bed bound countless times sure, but this feels like the most helpless you've ever been. You feel like a toddler, limbs weak and twitching and the medicine they've got you on doesn't help at all, nausea and brain fog feel like close friends at this point. Every time the door to your room opens you wonder if it's gonna be your teammates, telling you this was all a misunderstanding, you'd almost accept a sick prank if it meant you weren't going insane in this tiny linoleum floored room by your lonesome.

The staff's not very careful with their medical equipment, you note. Even with your shaky hands you've managed to snag a syringe and a bit of tubing and hidden it under your mattress, it's hardly anything, but a weapons a weapon. it gives you a tiny piece of confidence in this situation, maybe you'll be able to take someone out if worse comes to worse.

🔹🔹🔹

The doctor's back, Doing his final sweep before his shifts over according to him, you don't trust has word though since you've heard the nurses complaining about doing too much per shift. Why is he focused on you? At the moment he's prepping another dose of Thiamine across the room, the though of him injecting anything into your IV sets you on edge in the worst of ways, but you force yourself to smile at him and look relaxed, your fists clench underneath the blanket to stop yourself from going for the syringe when he approaches. He's too cheery, too comfortable in your presence, even your co-workers aren't so calm with you, stark doesn't turn his back to you, rogers watches you too often, that's your normal, compared to the situation you're in now you’d take it over this borderline creepy behavior.

“Your scans are already looking better, mx Wayne. When you were first brought in I wasn't sure what to expect but your recovery is looking perfect at this stage.” the doctor remarks casually, disposing of the syringe after dosing you.

You sharply glance over, what did you look like when you first came in? Something related to the fall? “What caused my injuries?”

He opens his mouth to answer, looking at you with a serious expression on his face when something loud bangs outside the door -

“Wait you have to sign in!” You hear out in the rest of the facility, one of the nurses sounding frantic. Your heart rate jumps and your hand curls around the syringe just as the door to your room slams open. It's the mystery husband Mr Wayne.

His suit is slightly rumpled, dark circles under his eyes and hair unkempt like he'd ran his hand through it, a far cry from the polished man in the photo you were shown. The way he looks at you makes your skin crawl. there's too much raw emotion there, too much familiarity that you don't share. You keep your face carefully neutral as he approaches, your fingers twitching around the syringe beneath the thin hospital blanket.

“God, look at you…”

He doesn't hesitate to cup your face as soon as he reaches you, he breathes your name with such aching reverence and familiarity you'd think it was a prayer. eyes searching yours as his thumbs tenderly rub against your cool cheeks, it takes a surprising amount of restraint to hold still, let the man examine you like a chipped teacup. He let's out a shaky breath and his whole body just…sags, you don't like the way he subconsciously leans in, it's too real, the body language too genuine. You're tense enough to hurt.

“Mr Wayne, if I could have a moment.” The doctor speaks hesitantly from nearby, pulling attention to him and the hands pull from your face. You resist a sigh of relief as the stranger pulls back, your hand slowly releasing the syringe and tucking it back under the thin mattress.

Wayne straightens up, a just too thin smile stretches his face and he puts his right hand in his pocket, interesting, hiding irritation? You analyze every inch of him as soon as he looks away, you need more information then you have, Your hands clench under the blankets in veiled frustration.

Their conversation is hushed, no doubt you're the main topic of discussion, their body language is mixed, “Mr Wayne” shows agitation, shifting weight, tense hands in his pockets, head keeps turning to glance at you. The doctor is deferring to him, head slightly lowered and palms up as he speaks, Who is this Wayne man?

After hearing words like “amnesia” and “head trauma” a few times you realize he wasn't informed by the doctors, unless this is all an act for you. Trying to convince you of what though? You don't know what they're playing at yet but you're going to find out, it's what you're best at after all.

The man returns to your bedside and carefully sits, thankfully keeping his hands to himself this time as he examines you, you've got things to figure out so you put on an expression of lost, body language conveying uncertainty and tiredness you don't have to fake that part though.

“nice to meet my partner,” you give an uncertain smile, voice drained and small, you're carefully watching him and he seems to be eating it up

“It's…nice to see you, meet you…. I'm - how are you feeling?”

You smile cluelessly at him, though internally you're cringing at the syrupy awkwardness dripping from his lips. He's attached to you and you don't know anything about him.

“tired, nauseous.” You pull the appropriate expression at that. “I'm…. Confused, I don't even know…anything. How old i am, what city I live in. We're married?” You look at him dazedly, fishing for information as you twist in your hospital bed to face him better.

“Yeah, yeah we're married…we have a family, pets, vacation home in Barcelona. Do you remember any of the kids?” He sounds like he's choking on the words, his voice catching a he studies you. His eyes darting to the side of your head from time to time.

“no, kids plural?” Your brows raise, Rugrats, you? No fucking way.

“Yeah, a lot of kids…” he shakily pulls his phone out, his lock screen is a picture of the two of you, what the hell? He starts showing you pictures of the kids and telling you their names. None of them look like you, you question him about that and he chuckles quietly to himself.

“Well, they're not mine either for your information. Except for Damian that is, he's mine…. Happened before we were married.” He elaborates quickly, clearly thinking you'd get upset. “We're adoptees.”

You're silent as you take in all that information, white picket fence marriage with a gaggle of adopted children? What is this a Hallmark movie? Sickening. You lay your head against the pillow and gesture towards him when you notice his eyes on you, asking to look through the phone like you're interested in seeing the kids. You're good at acting at the very least.

🔹🔹🔹

After Bruce was kicked out of the hospital he makes a call and slowly trudged through the halls and doors until he found himself in the parking garage climbing into his car. He plugs his phone in and calls Alfred while he starts to pull out of the hospital parking.

“Master Bruce, how was it? Were they coherent? I heard they were…”

The older man's voice echoes from the dash after the Bluetooth connects, he sounds professional as always but Bruce can tell he's hesitant.

“They're amnesiac, yeah. They don't know who they are, who I am.” Bruce's hands clench around the steering wheel.

“I…I am sorry to hear that, my boy. I had hoped that the information was a fluke…” even without seeing him Bruce can tell the older man's disappointed, he can almost picture him slumping against a counter or wall.

“Alfred they're…” his voice trails, sounding offput.

“Yes?” Alfred's voice perks up again, no doubt hoping for something better to discuss.

“…they were studying me, not like they were confused. Alfred, no they were reading me.” Bruce's eyes remain in the road even though he's alone in the car.

🔹🔹🔹

A/n: hope the dialogue isn't too cringe, I'm new at this! Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter regardless ☺️

Taglist: @cxcilla @redsakura101 @mercuryathens @dind1n

[katakaluptastrophy]

This is your semi-regular reminder that for all that he very much leans into being 'just a guy', John Gaius is a horribly unsettling and disturbing eldritch entity who has not been entirely human for 10,000 years:

As the world went up I remade us both. I hid me in you... I hid you in me. And when we were together... I became God..

We're repeatedly told how uncanny Alecto was. And how terribly ordinary-looking John is...but how deeply, deeply upsetting his eyes are to behold. They're repeatedly described as "monstrous" (on one occasion, directly before John jokes "I'm not a monster"), as well as "terrible", "like dead planets", "primordial", "chthonic", "inconceivable", and "deeply fucked up".

There are multiple descriptions of how his down to earth persona suddenly falls away and he can be seen as something infinitely more awful:

"terrible divinity clung to his skin"

"It was the first time that he had seemed at all mortal. Humanity touched him briefly, like a passing shadow"

"He was no longer human. He was immortal again"

"He was always somehow more alive than everyone else around him, and yet dislocated from what you considered living. A man-shaped eclipse."

"The Emperor of the Nine Houses - the Resurrection - the First Reborn - sat at the end of the table, his plain face splattered with gore, and his eyes were the death of light."

There's one moment in particular where Harrow perceives him as something vastly beyond human:

his great immortal age - of an enormous distance between you, of an ignition too bright for you to conceive. You were an insect standing before a forest fire. You were a cell holding a heart.

(Though of course Harrow herself is far from metaphysically straightforward - in the River, Gideon says "You were a sigil: you were an intermingled fire...you were a hunger without a stomach...")

When John describes Resurrection Beasts to Harrow - although we do not yet know that this is a confession of murder and of a sort of cannibalism by a part man, part planet - he is "lit from beneath by electric lighting, the gleam in his eyes black and wet. You caught him moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue."

Even when he's not obviously being an eldritch thing, his very normal crown of foetal bones moves on its own, and the white rings in his eyes are described as flickering. Even blithely sitting in a Cohort Admiralty meeting munching peanuts, John is in constant, unsettling motion.

As if that doesn't already sound unpleasant enough, it seems rather like there is something physically discomforting about making eye contact with John. Looking on those white rings is likened to "dying" and "a migraine", and described as "scalding".

It still hurt you a little, to look into his terrible eyes... You had never become used to it.

Making eye contact with John doesn't just cause physical pain. It also seems to open you up to some degree of suggestion or compulsion. Here's Gideon's description of making eye contact with John:

God looked at me...and held my gaze. It was this that pinned us in place. When those white rings hovered on someone else, the blood rushed back to your brain; when they flickered back to me, I went white and blank again, mute and stupid, a floating outline... Those white-ringed eyes closed, and your heart almost relaxed in your chest.

Which seems to place two incidents that otherwise might be explained as Harrow's difficulty refusing the man she has been raised to worship as god in a different light:

It still hurt you in an undefinable way, to see him lowered so: as though he offered a compliance test where you ought to flatten yourself in front of him as low as you could go. The white ring around his pupil was so white.

He looked at you as though he were glad to see you... some nameless softening in his face and those white-tinged, primordial eyes. He reached out for your hands. You could not refuse him, and in any case had no choice of doing so; your body reacted long before your mind did, and the meat of your meat and the flesh of your flesh belonged to God

I don't think we're nearly frightened enough of John... Or of the prospect of John and Alecto - the man who became god and the god who became man - reunited (even if at odds) in ATN...

[grudgecollector]

Afterglow | Nam-gyu / American!Reader

You're reading part three

Story Summary: Nam-gyu gets a new job and finds himself falling for the girl behind the deli counter.

Words: 1.6k

Tags/Warnings: Canon divergence, Thanos lives, fluff, suggestive themes (no smut), implied smoking weed

A/N: This man has taken a over my whole BRAIN HELP ME

Also thank you guys for all the support on these past two parts because holy shit... YOU GUYS ARE CRAZY, so glad to know there's so many other Nam-gyu truthers amongst us.

This man is really getting me through whatever sickness shit I'm going through right now

PART TWO | MASTERLIST

There was a slight chance of snowfall today, it made you happy to know you wouldn’t have to return back to work for another day. Able to enjoy the chilly weather inside, cuddled up against Nam-gyu on his couch. 

Your fingers mindlessly playing with one of his blankets thrown over the both of you. Listening to him and Su-bong playfully argue over what couple was going to last throughout the entire show. 

“But they’re so annoying…” Your boyfriend commented, pointing at the screen a little as the two coupled contestants talked to each other on screen. 

Nam-gyu groaned, running a hand over his face as Su-bong paused the show for what seemed like the fifth time. He stood up from his chair, putting his finger right over the female contestants face, a small smirk on his lips. 

“You see that?” Su-bong said, pointing back and forth between the two people on screen.

“What are we looking at, dumbass?” Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, throwing his arm back over your shoulder as you leaned into him a little more. His fingers squeezed your bicep softly. 

“Passion.” Su-bong whispered, “Look at the way she’s looking at him, she wants him sooo bad, bro.” 

“They barely know each other!” 

Days like these quickly became your favorite over the last eight months. Peaceful nights spent in the comfort of Nam-gyu and Su-bong’s apartment.

At first you worried that you were invading their personal space. 

In the beginning it was clear that you were still not used to being with someone like this after your last, less than savory, relationship. 

But Nam-gyu has been so sweet to you throughout your relationship, passionate words whispered in the darkness of his bedroom, leaving gentle kisses pressed on your knuckles before pulling you closer. 

“What do you think?” Su-bong asked, directing his eyes to you, “Don’t they just seem so passionately in love to you?” He threads his fingers together in front of his chest, patiently awaiting your answer. 

You laughed, “Honestly? No-” 

“Wrong!” Su-bong interrupted, raising his hand, “You guys are so blind, come on!” 

Nam-gyu and you laughed at Su-bong’s dramatics. 

“You guys are useless. And that’s the truth.” The man standing in front of the tv ran a hand through his blue hair, letting out an exaggerated sigh before shaking his head. 

Nam-gyu’s hand slipped from your bicep to your back, blunt nails scratching softly against your shirt. His head leaned against the back of the couch, listening to his friend continue to ramble on some more, occasionally unpausing the show to further attempt to prove his point. 

“Dude… Just sit your ass down and watch the show already.” Nam-gyu sighed finally. 

You softly push against his chest, “Hey he’s just really passionate about his reality tv couples.” 

“Yeah, fuck you Nam-gyu.” Su-bong flipped him the bird playfully, earning one back from your boyfriend. 

“Fuck you too Thanos.” Nam-gyu teased. 

~~~

Nam-gyu bites his lip softly, smoothing over the weighted blanket before glancing over at his door. He felt so cold, his hands shaking a little from the bite of chilly air.

Maybe I smoked a little bit too much... He thought to himself

He brought his shaky hands up to tuck his hair behind his ears, moving to take his socks off. 

Arms wound themselves around Nam-gyu’s waist, making him let out a little sigh. One hand securing itself on your forearm. A warmth spread through Nam-gyu’s chest, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. This truly had to be a dream. 

He turned around slowly, hands finding their way to your cheeks, thumbs softly brushing against your skin, watching you blink up at him. He was sure that if it was possible he would have hearts in his eyes. 

He was so hopelessly, and pathetically in love. This is real passion… Nam-gyu thought to himself. 

Never in his life did Nam-gyu think he would feel such a way about someone. In the past his feelings were always so fleeting, leaving him within weeks, the stress of relationships straining his patience.

He was honestly scared to make things official at first, scared that things would end up being the same. 

But after getting to know you as deeply as he has, he couldn’t see himself wanting to be with anyone else. 

“I love you so much.” He whispered so softly, his eyes taking in every part of your face as he held you close. 

Your fingers tightened around the waist of his hoodie, a small tearful smile coming to your lips. 

“God, you’re gonna make me cry.” You laugh, bringing a hand to rub away a stray tear. 

Nam-gyu knew all about your past relationship, the hardships you went through. It was a difficult time in your life, and you found it so hard to put yourself back out there afterwards. Sinking back into the shadows, hoping nobody looked twice in your direction. 

You had been utterly terrified to get into another relationship when Nam-gyu proposed the idea. Simply asking for a date, a night together at some semi-fancy restaurant. He could feel how hard your hands shook when you grasped onto his that night, a nervous sweat forming on your palms which you quickly apologized for. 

Selfishly, Nam-gyu was happy that you were just as scared as him. 

Maybe it wasn’t for the same reason, but diving into something like this shook the man to his core. Terrified that at any second his happiness could be ripped from under him. Terrified that you would somehow find out about the horrible things he’s done. 

But every time he looked into your beautiful eyes, those thoughts melted away. You made him forget how suffocating his life was.

His fingers smoothed away the teary trails, a smile spreading across his face. 

“You’re just so beautiful too.” He continued, laughing softly at the small sob that fell from your lips, “So perfect…” 

“Nam-gyu…” You whispered quietly, a small laugh coming from you as well, “Shut up.” 

He cupped his hands back around your jaw, bringing you in for a soft kiss. He wasn’t bothered by the occasional tear that would slide against his skin.

Instead he brought you closer, pouring all of his unsaid words into you. One hand fell to your waist, pressing you flush against his body. 

Both of your hands found their way to his hair, pulling him impossibly closer as your lips slotted together so perfectly. Soft sighs leaving the both of you. 

Nam-gyu felt like he could kiss you for the rest of his life, your lips were so soft, teeth biting against his bottom lip forcing a small moan from his mouth.

You were going to be the death of him, he knew it. 

His hand tightened itself on your waist, brows drawing together as he felt his whole body begin to heat up under your touch. He disconnected your lips, trailing kisses from your cheek to your jaw, nipping every now and then as he got closer to your neck. 

You tilted your head back a little, allowing him better access as he left open mouthed kisses against your warm skin. His thumb caressed your throat gently as he bit down a little harder near your the collar of your shirt, forcing a small whimper from your parted lips. 

“Nam-gyu…” You sighed out his name, making his heart flutter in his chest. 

He lifted his head, staring at you with lidded eyes and a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips, “So… you sure you still want to go to sleep?” He teased, thumb trailing along your bottom lip. 

“Get on the bed already, dick.” 

~~~

“Morning, lovebirds.” Su-bong winked as he made his way into the kitchen, going up to the fridge and grabbing the carton of orange juice. 

You looked up from your phone, readjusting your feet under Nam-gyu’s thigh. The both of you were sitting next to each other at the small dining table, enjoying the snowy morning together, quietly scrolling through your phones. 

“Morning.” Nam-gyu yawned, bringing another spoonful of cereal into his mouth absentmindedly. 

Su-bong turned around, looking up from his cup of orange juice, “So what’s going on to- Holy fuck!” He cut himself off. 

He rushed over to his friend, forcing Nam-gyu’s head to the side, and jabbing a finger into one of the prominent bruises you left just above his collarbone by accident. Oops… you thought to yourself, laughing a little. 

“Was she trying to suck the life out of you, bro?” Su-bong looked between the two of you with wide eyes. 

Nam-gyu slapped his hand away, a small chuckle coming from him. “That’s nothing, you should see the one I left on her-” You slapped his shoulder, making him laugh harder. 

“You guys are nasty as fuck.” Su-bong scolded, shaking his head in disappointment. 

You knew better than to take his jabs seriously. Su-bong brought home a new girl every other week, if not more.

Sometimes you were unfortunate enough to be in the apartment when those moments would occur. Making it so you and Nam-gyu have to turn the volume to his TV up a lot louder than you liked. Just so you could drown out the god awful sounds that float through the horribly thin walls of his apartment. 

“Oh please, like you can say anything.” Nam-gyu rolled his eyes, “You’re like a fucking horny dog sometimes.” 

“What can I say? I can’t keep the girls off of me, man.” Su-bong plopped himself down in the seat across from Nam-gyu. “Anyway, what I was going to say… What’s going on today?”

[fernpetals]

Precious

An extension of THIS ask

More of Yandere John Wick and his dollification-kink

Warning: Stalking, manipulation, hints of infantilization, implied restraining, NSFW, John is soft but dark, tracking,dollification(obviously), a hint of corruption kink

Credit to the GIF owner.

Unedited Piece.

I kind of lost myself with this one. Note that the reader does not understand Russian in this one. So if any of my readers do, I apologise.

Precious. That is what you are to John. He sees you as precious and fragile. Especially if you are a civilian working a regular job. That is the most unfortunate of circumstances for you. Canon John is protective as such. Imagine yandere John—he is paranoid that something or someone is going to hurt you. There is a tracker somewhere in your car, and you are never going to find out. And your phone? He has the right connections—people who have your phone bugged for him.

And most probably, all this happens even before he is ‘officially’ your boyfriend. In his eyes, the proposal is simply a formality, just so that you don’t freak out. 

Once in a relationship, it all turns worse. You don't want to move in with him so soon? It has been a month! His patience is now running thin. This might even be the cause of your first major disagreement or serious fight. If you choose to ignore him after that, even for a day, you are only making it worse for you. Suddenly, your home is broken in, thrashed or suddenly, you are locked out of your own home. The lock just wouldn’t open and it’s late at night. But either way, you don’t need to fear, John is just a call away. Or just happens to have been on his way to your place, to apologise, of course.

Sadly, this is just the beginning of manipulation and gaslighting.

Once he has you under his roof, there is no going back. Isn’t it strange? Some of your bathing and beauty products are already lined up in his bathroom cabinet.

 “I bought them just in case you decided to stay for weekends. I was thinking of inviting you over.”

It is reasonable but you can see through it. Anyone can—he is trying to ease you into living with him. It’s harmless in your eyes, only if you knew how far he has gone and is willing to go.

John loves it when you put on pretty dresses—your closet is slowly filled with more and more of them. Either it is a dress he has delivered to you, or left on your bed, or he simply appears with a random dress in a bag. 

“Thought it would look lovely on you.” 

It is incredible how he gets the measurement right, even before you both get intimate. It’s like his hands have a mind of their own, mapping your form even through simple touches.

The truth is, you are all in his mind, every touch, every trace is imprinted in John’s mind. It takes him incredible self-control to not have his hands all over you. His throat dries up when he gets to touch you, even if it seems innocent, a squeeze on your shoulder, holding your hand

Expect random trips to a boutique of his choice, he makes you try on as many dresses as you want, and he wants and every time you give him a twirl, he has to remind himself that you both are in public. If he likes a dress a little too much, he will invite you to his lap.

“Aren’t you a pretty doll?” His eyes have the darkness that unsettles you, just for a moment, before you shake it off

John is a gentleman, a true gentleman. A catch really—that is what you firmly believe. At least until you move in with him and the mask begins to fall. 

Suddenly, you realise that you barely have time for yourself, your closet is filled with the dresses he likes the most and you never go out with your friends as often. In fact, it has been a while since you have gone out. You are always rushing home after work because John prefers that you do not stay out till late. When was the last time you had a night out with your friends?

But by the time you come to realise all this, it is too late, you are so deep in his lair, entangled in his web. It is not easy to keep a sane mind with the amount of times his head is buried between your legs, or his fingers or both. And let’s not talk about what a silly mess his manhood thrusting in and out of your slick folds makes you. 

Like Donaka, John too has a corruption kink. You do not know how cruel the world is, you are a precious angel in this hell on earth. He wants to protect you, he will protect you and take care of you, regardless of what you want but he also gets off at your surprised expression when he bends you to a new position while your pleasure-drunk eyes look up at him. Only he will get to see that, of course. 

What would you do without him? You are going to work? He is dropping you, soon, you will see that you do not need to work at all. He is your protector and provider. You genuinely enjoy it? Well, you can continue what you do as a hobby, what is the need to take the pains of going to work every day?

John does not understand that. As I mentioned before, he sees you as something precious and fragile, a sweet doll that belongs to a safe, cosy, soft dollhouse. He makes sure that you have enough sleep, and enough nutrients and that you do not engage in any ‘dangerous’ activity. You do not need to cook, he will happily do that. If you insist on helping, he will let you mix things up, and even stir maybe, but you are staying away from hot oils and knives.

John is also the type who loves to kiss you on the cheeks for some reason, his lips softly touching your skin has a familiar warmth enveloping his heart. Even during intimate moments, he kisses you all over, like his lips tracing your body.

It is perhaps during the passionate, intimate moments that you get to see a glimpse of carefully concealed darkness. The sweet nothings make you blush. he says things in Russian that you have no idea of-

“You are meant to be fucked stupid and sleep soft and cosy in this bedroom, aren’t you? Why even bother stepping out? I have everything here for you.”

“Aren’t you pretty like this? My precious doll, all dressed up for me.”

“You were mine since the day I laid eyes on you.”

“Should keep you here all the time, huh? It’s too dangerous outside.”

“You need me, don’t you?”

“You are mine, aren’t you? All you need is me.”

“I could have just taken you, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything…”

If you do manage to put the dots and confront him someday, he will try to manipulate you and if that doesn’t work and you still want to leave…Good luck. Besides, he will have a good laugh watching you trying to fight him. Might even be condescending and mean about it.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 4- Forced Proximity

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: medical stuff, use of weapons, cannon typical violence, death.

AN: 2 parts in under 24 hours? I have to focus on my main projects I can't focus with this part sitting in my drafts.

Previous parts - masterlist - next

AO3

“You’re really going to make me go into Al Qatala territory with nothing?” You ask as Ghost prepares his weapon. 

“What do you mean you’re going in with the best of us.” Soap says winking at you. You frown at him looking back over at Ghost. 

“Just give me my pistol back. What? You think I'm going to shoot him?” You scoff. There’s silence in the room, you look around. Yes, yes they do think that. You sigh, zipping your jacket up and going over to the door. 

You wait in silence as Ghost comes to stand next to you. He’s dressed in full gear and you’re in basic clothes, not even anything camouflaged. 

“Here.” Gaz comes over to you handing you a radio and an earpiece. You frown at him. 

“I don’t know how to use this.” You say. 

“You’ll figure it out.” He says walking back over to the sofa with Price who’s been watching you the whole time. You clip the radio onto your belt and put the earpiece in fiddling with what you think is the volume tuner. 

“Ready?” Ghost asks. You look up at him and nod. “How far is this place again?” 

“A few kilometres east.” You respond. He reaches over, handing you a knife hilt first. You almost want to laugh at him. 

“Can’t do much with a knife.” You say, it’s spitfull, you want your gun back. You take the knife regardless.

“You can do alot with a knife.” He says and reaches down opening the door and walking out into the night. 

“Good luck.” Price calls. You look back at him and nod. 

You tuck the knife into your belt and follow Ghost into the darkness. 

…

“How did you know about this place?” Ghost asks as you make it to the entrance of the town.

“It was taken over by Al Qatala about a year ago. Been pretty much abandoned since then.” You say, the wind has picked up and you can see thick clouds in the sky blocking out the light from the moon.

“The ULF don’t come this far north, it’s a good way point for smugglers.” You say. You’ve passed through here many times. 

“You really seem to hate the ULF.” He says as a matter of fact.

“They’re both as bad as each other. If anything Konni have been the best, at least for work.” 

“Doesn’t bother you, they're helping terrorists.” He says, there's a bitterness in his voice. 

“The ULF killed my father in a hospital.” You say, anger rises in you. “I never got to say goodbye, I never got to see his body.” 

“You said your mum worked for them.” 

“She did, she was killed by Al Qatala, she was working for Farah.” You say, he doesn’t say anything. You make it to the top of the street. 

“Right.” You say pointing down the road. You walk down in silence, there are some streetlights working rigged up by whoever is using this town for now. 

“What about you? You’re British living a comfy life. What are you doing here?” You ask. 

“We’re after someone.” 

“In Al Qatala? It’s pretty clear you’re friendly with the queen bee.” He shakes his head.

“No.” He says stopping. You hum looking over at him. His eyes are darting around. You look into the darkness of the town, you can’t see or hear anything. 

“Ever killed anyone?” He asks suddenly and keeps walking. 

“Maybe.” You say trying to sound confident. “Why should it matter, you’re a soldier, you took an oath before you killed people. At least I’m doing it to keep innocent people alive.” 

“You smuggle people for Konni, Makarov.”

“I’ve smuggled people for the ULF too, like I said, I work for whoever pays.” He scoffs. You’re surprised, he usually seems so reserved. There’s a reason for the mask. 

“Proper opportunist aren't you?” You can hear the sarcasm in his voice. 

“Fuck you.” You snap, shaking your head. You go turn the corner ignoring his remarks. Suddenly he grabs your arm and pulls you between some buildings. 

“Get the fuck off-” he slams his hand over your mouth pulling you against his chest. You start to fight him then you hear voices. You stop struggling as they get closer.

“The place is empty, why are we back here?” You hear one of them say in arabic. 

“Khaled wants to take this place over. Use it to cut off the ULF movements.” Someone else replies. Does Ghost understand arabic? You assume he doesn’t. 

“I thought I would be home with my family before the end of the month.” 

“When was the last time you saw them?” The other asks as you watch them pass past you. 

“10 months ago.” 

“You’ll see them soon, mashallah.” They walk out your view, their lights fading, leaving you back in darkness. Ghost’s hand leaves your mouth, your heart is hammering in your chest. He lets you stand up, releasing his grip round you. You want to thank him, they would have killed you if they’d seen you. How did he even hear them coming?

“Let's move.” he whispers, pushing past you out towards the street. You follow him close as you walk out into the street, sticking close to the buildings and following the shadows. 

“Up there to the left.” You say pointing at a building ahead of you both. The place is surrounded by a chain link fence. The building looks more rundown than you remember.

“Round the back there's a smashed in door, I doubt it’s been repaired.” You say behind Ghost, still trying to keep your voice low. 

“Copy.” He says. You let him lead, following him close to the building. He pulls something off his vest cutting the links in the fence. He holds it open, nodding at you to sneak through. You go through first heading over to the door. It’s open, you can see from here. You just hope the place hasn’t been raided too hard. 

The place is dark, there are no lights, no electricity. Ghost comes in behind you clicking on a torch. He hands you another one, you take it out his hands turning it on and shining it over the signs. 

“Who taught you English?” He asks. 

“My parents said if I wanted to go anywhere in life I should learn English. I was brought up speaking both.” You keep the fact you can speak Russian silent. Don’t ask, don’t tell. The more advantages you have over them the better. 

“Here.” You say shining the torch over a room that says surgery. The room looks like it’s just been closed up for the night. Cupboards are still full of sterile supplies. That's good, you should be able to find everything you need.

“I’m going to check for other supplies. Are you good here?”  You look over at him nodding and pick up a bag off the counter, you watch him leave the doorway and head into another room down the hall.

You’re not going to be able to find drugs. Price could use local anaesthesia and antibiotics, you don’t even know where to start with human medicine, never mind dog medicine. You recognise tools though, sealed sterile gloves and tweezers, scalpels and plenty of different bandages and gauze. 

You turn in the room walking round the table and over to the other side looking for wraps, something you can use to make a somewhat sterile field. You try to remember what you’ve seen from interning at the hospital for the last few years. You smile as you fill the bag, your parents were right, in the end the education was useful. 

Suddenly you hear a crash, grunting. Someone's in the building. There's an audible grunt, the sound punches, scraping of furniture. There’s no gunfire, you rush over to the hallway following the noise. You can see lights flashing in a room, you burst through the door.

It’s hand to hand contact, they’re fighting on the floor, the stranger is on top of Ghost. You’re not thinking, if Ghost dies they’ll kill you. No matter what you say they’ll kill you. Your hand feels for the knife in your belt.

The man on top of Ghost looks bigger, he's not wearing any body armor, Ghost's weapon flung to the side. You don’t have time to think you take the knife off your waist and jump at the guy on Ghost, plunging it into the man's neck. Blood spurts out covering you all. There’s no noise, you hit the carotid. 

His body goes limp after a few seconds and you stand up. Ghost pushes the body off him. You reach out offering him your hand. He hesitates for a second before accepting it and you pull him up. 

“Hurry up, we need to go.” He says reaching down to pull the knife out his neck. He wipes it on his leg before handing it back to you.

“Fuck me, not even a thank you.” You scoff putting the knife back on your hip. You leave the room going back into the surgery. You pack the last of the gauze and whatever sterile supplies you can find. An opened scalpel falls on the floor making you jump. 

It still has the cover over the blade. You’ll have to give the knife back to Ghost but the scalpel, it’s small, no one would know you have it. 

“Let’s go.” Ghost calls sticking his head in the room before leaving back towards the back door. You look at the scalpel on the floor. 

If you take it and they find it they could kill you. If you leave it you have no way to defend yourself either way. You sigh looking over at the door. 

How easy it would be to betray them.

..

It’s raining when you make it back to the safe house. They’ve piled the bodies up in the shed. They probably won’t get any kind of funeral until Farah’s troops get here, even then if she learns who they are they’ll most likely be dumped somewhere. Or buried in a mass grave, not like the commander in Chief of the ULF has time for Russian Al Qatala operatives. 

“What happened!?” Soap asks, rushing up to Ghost. The rain washed most of the blood off you both, but not all. 

“Nothing. Just a slight complication.” You shake your head going over to the sofa and putting the bags down. Price looks up at you, you smile at him. 

“Can I get cleaned up?” You ask the room. 

“Yeah.” Price says. You walk over to Ghost being fussed over by Soap. You tap him on the shoulder and he turns to look at you. You hold the knife out for him. 

“Here.” You say. He takes it out of your hand but doesn’t say anything. You huff pressing your lips together, you didn’t expect anything. You turn to head up to the bathroom. 

“Thanks.” He calls. It stops you in your tracks. You turn back and nod at him. The scalpel you hid in your waistband suddenly feels like a lead weight. 

Banners by plum98

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: The Love Pendant

Mabel this time around hadn’t just taken the love potions from the Love God- he saw that although misguided, her love for other people and desire to make sure everyone was loved was genuine, so he gave her a gift in the form of a "Love Pendant".

It did look a little tacky, a clunky heart carved out of what could be crystal or glass, it was hard to tell, and on a thin gold chain long enough that it could be looped over anyone's head and onto the neck, no clasps needed.

If you placed the love pendant on someone, it would glow in a specific colour and intensity based on how the recipient felt about the bestower. As explained below;

Red: Romantic

Blue: Self (if placed on self)

Green: Friendship

Gold: Family

White: Apathy (Anti-Love)

Black: Hatred

The intensity of the glow shows how strong that love is: the light will be dim if there isn’t a lot or if its weak/flimsy, but the light will be brighter and more intense if there is a lot of that love, and/or if its a very strong love that won’t waver. 

Mabel tests it out by first placing it on Soos, who is her cousin and also frequent companion to her and Dipper- the pendant glows a strong green, with intense flickers of gold, reminding her of holiday trees.

She then tries it on Grunkle Stan - the opposite of Soos, it glows gold with flecks of green, reminding her of holiday lights.

And of course, her brother Dipper - she’s not surprised, but absolutely delighted nonetheless, to see that it swirls in equal parts gold and green, glowing so bright it almost hurts her eyes. And when he puts the pendant on her? Exactly the same.

Then "The Author of the Journals" her Grunkles brother, stumbles out of the interdimensional portal they had no idea was in the basement they also didn't know about. And he's an unrepentant jerk.

Grunkle Stan kept trying to tell both of them that he swore up and down that Great Uncle Ford loved them, he really did, but he's always had a hard time showing people love, even saying it was a Herculean task for him.

Dipper vehemently refused to believe it. Of course he did, once he decided how he felt about someone or something it wasn’t easy to make him change his mind. And Great Uncle Ford wrote those Journals that Dipper hated because of how contradictory and unhelpful they were, and he’d spent the majority of the summer trying to correct them with proper observations.

Mabel? She didn’t appreciate Fords abrasiveness any more than anyone else, but… was there really something else there? She knew her Grunkle Stan was a nice and loving guy and all, but would he really dedicate thirty whole years of his life trying to bring back someone who was only a jerk?

He’d decided to take his grudge into his own hands, and has been actively ambushing their Great Uncle Ford with sports equipment, home decor, and even his bare hands, ever since. Not that it seems bother said Great Uncle very much, because he’s made of surprisingly strong stuff, and he’s waved off all of Dippers attempts at violence. 

One afternoon Mabel catches him dead asleep on the couch again.

Grunkle Stan told her and Dipper that his brother didn’t get as much sleep as he should of during the thirty years he was gone- he was in dangerous places a lot and there were things that could hurt you if you weren’t vigilant enough, and that’s why Ford slept so much now that he was back. As long as you didn’t get too close to him, it was almost impossible to wake him up once he was down.

Mabel considers putting the Love Pendant on him - the recipient didn't need to be conscious, because it connected to feelings and not conscious thoughts.

Then she remembers last time he passed out on the couch Dipper tried hitting him with a wiffleball bat. Even unconscious, Ford caught the bat before it could hit him, and tossed it across the living room with enough force to go straight through a window. And it was a plastic bat.

Grunkle Stan's brother maybe should have told his family that he's fallen asleep in active war zones before, and had still managed to defend himself. Now there's a broken window.

Okay... so maybe putting the pendant on him could wait.

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

The siblings’ spat was amusing, it had Somnus smiling a bit – though he did not dare to fall into a grin now with the massive Prince Consert seated beside him. He acted all unfazed, but Somnus could feel the sideglance that was thrown his way. He was being measured and judged. So it was better to look straight ahead.

Until Aerith and Roran mentioned a name familiar to Somnus.

Xemos. Someone, who was a guest at Lucis from time to time. She and her husband – with their little twins. Somnus was unsure how much he could talk about this. It was… vital information. It was a relation between Lucis and the prideful tribelands. He did not want to bring focus on Xemos and her family, though….

But were the Cetra family really a threat? It was hard to imagine, if he just watched them interact like this…

“Oh, you will have to forgive Xemos.”, Somnus winked at Roran, “She has to keep her two little children fed. And I know for a fact that these two can eat more than grown warriors at times.”

That was vague. But it gave small hints – and it spun forward the fantastic tale of the Astralswindlers.

Roran seemed to imagine that, eyes wide and in their own world. He looked back to the treat in his hands, then to the plate that still had some, before asking into the room: “Should we lay some to the temple for the Planet and the gods to take?”

The boy was mindful. And grew up with various beliefs. Somnus had no doubt Ifalna would see to her children having a wide knowledge. Especially if she kept them behind high walls for most their lives. At least their minds would grow far beyond these.

And they felt for others. So it was only a mild surprise when Roran’s face changed a little, still mustering the baked treat. His fingers picking at its edge.

“We should bring some to the soldier’s family. The one who protected me.”

The one who had been horribly slaughtered at the caves. Roran’s comment was so quiet and yet it filled the room with a sadness as if fog had flooded in from the windows.

Somnus splayed his fingers against each other, considering his words for a moment. Was he allowed to mention such in front of Roran? He had intended to invite the Queen and Prince Consort, of course… Aerith, too.

“There will be a burial rite held for him this evening. Later. He is a hero. He did what he has trained to do all his life and I am sure he did so with pride. If you want, you can attend it, too.”

While Somnus gave her a questioning look, Aerith was already testing her dad who had his hands opened and at the ready to catch the baked treat. She pretended that she was going to throw it to his left, his hands moved accordingly.

It was a silly little moment that perked Roran up on his bedside. Watching bright-eyed and amused by this game that resulted in their dad catching the trick-throw easily, lips splitting into that familiar grin of his while Aerith reacted with a disappointed 'aaw'.

Even Leif wore a half-smirk at the quiet antics, his gaze casting over to Roran. Their sweet and protective approach only worked so much. Favourite tales retold by his mother was a comfort, but the sudden liveliness did him a world of good. Aerith and her Prince friend had been a breath of fresh air.

Aerith's attention trickled back to Roran at his question, and naturally shifted to Somnus again. His answer was short and serious. Her eyebrows raised a little and she made a subtle 'go on' gesture — say more, even to just name the berries for her brother to obsess over!

He seemed to understand his assignment well. She joined him on the far end of the long chair where he sat, though had to stop herself from smiling too much when her dad promptly took the seat between them. He was not subtle.

"Ouuuuh!" Aerith reacted to the hushed tale. "Look Ror, we get to take home a Lucian secret~ Astralwi—"

"SHH!" Roran shushed her, taking the secret part very seriously. "We can't say it out loud."

"I can't say Astralw—?"

"NO!" He waved his arms, the spitting image of their father getting worked up.

"Hmmmm." Aerith hummed a long tone of consideration. Though her mother gave her a subtle look, the kind that suggested she had to play nice, even though she thought her brother being dramatic was a good sign. In the end she gave a shrug. "Thank Xemos for the cunning priests and priestesses of the world." she concluded rather simply, aware of the shadowy goddess.

"Don't thank Xemos, she would trick you and take the rest of the treats." Roran protested.

It was just a simple exchange. But it spoke of how the Cetra were more open to learning other belief systems.

[xenosagaepisodeone]

"ask people more about themselves" is solid entry level advice you tend to hear about how to make conversation with others (and it is true that people love talking about themselves), but it presumes far too much normalcy in the speaker than what you would expect from someone who looks for advice on maintaining basic human conversation. there's only so many times you can ask someone about X or Y experience in a conversation before it starts getting tedious for them. the secondary purpose of asking people questions is that it gives you a variety of opportunities to interject with opinions, observations, or similar experiences, but if you're someone who has little life experience (or a lot of life experience that just makes for very awkward or depressing conversation), continuing to throw questions out there (with the periodic "neat" or "that's really cool") is your only lifeline. you're relegated to a hanger on in the conversation. you haven't opened yourself up to them at all, and they are starting to feel interrogated and a bit vulnerable as a result. it's awkward and uncomfortable. the gulf between yourself and others is practically tangible.

the Actual advice that nobody ever seems to want to give is how much you can fill the vacancies in your personality with affect. if you aren't sure what to do, you can just start larping as someone else. garnish your personality with sounds and gestures. it's literally fine, and playing pretend in this way is a good method to start feeling more comfortable in your skin. I like to smile and clasp my hands together or lace my fingers between one another when I respond to people, and whatever visual information that conveys to the other person seems to help keep the conversation moving. I've done this for like 10 years. my worksona is a like a stealth yamato nadeshiko anime girl and it has been described as cute and wholesome by people unaware of my evil & villainous nature. what im saying is that kinnies are actually in the middle phase of developing advanced social skills.

[captain039]

Part 4 The Meaning of Flowers

Viktor x reader

Bridgerton AU

Warnings: olden times, sexism, light swearing, plus size reader, older Viktor, age gap, fat shaming, sexual, smut, oral F and M receiving, innocent reader, light corruption kink, reader in her 20s, long-haired Viktor, possessive Viktor, obsessive Viktor, angst

Previous part <-

Dearest reader it indeed seems that our duke, our man of progress is still not taking to any of the ladies this social season, a shame, but our next ball of the season is to be a grand one indeed hosted by the councilman and woman Talis at their large estate, it will indeed be a flurry of sunshine and gold amongst their grand home, they are known for their grand hosting once a year in the social season, a time for glittering lady’s and dark gentlemen, a true solar eclipse.

You were never one for the golden colours, But the Talis’s colour theme held tradition in the solar eclipse ball, a strange name you always thought but now you understand it with the ladies as golden suns and the men as dark as the moon, though in theory the moon is in fact bright and white, but who are you to question the council couple. Your mama had clawed her way to receive an invitation, while your papa remained blissfully unaware of her planning and scheming, she has indeed had a list of suitors to dance with you, no doubt having paid them a pretty penny so she can save the embarrassment of her daughter not dancing at all this social season. The gentlemen picked though are the worst amongst the city, A one Elias Hoskal, a horrid man and son of the councilman Toman Hoskal who indeed was also a horrid man. You suppose you should thank her for setting you up with someone so high up in society if only it weren’t for his massive debt and lack of… anything really. Another was Lord James Levi, a much older gentleman in need of a wife who you’d like to avoid touching at all given his appearance and constant stench. The only seemingly suitable one was Lord Clayton Chives, a man from a simpler upbringing and house but also simple in his mind. You didn’t tell your mama about your dance with the duke and man of progress, not sure how she’d react you’re not sure how anyone would react, and you’re not exactly sure how to react as well. Unsure if it was a jest you’re starting to see amongst the men when seeing you. If so you’re wondering how far your image would fall if you were indeed to steal a man’s cane and hit him with it.

The Talis’s estate is massive, surrounded by lush green land and gardens, the insides even more lavish than the outside accented with their colours of golds, purples, whites and reds, an odd choice of colours but they go well together. The ballroom though, was indeed another story, going on the eclipse, with golden walls and a black ceiling, the floor a design of gold swirls on black, it was gorgeous for sure, a little overwhelming most definitely. The left side of the ball had an array of drinks and foods, half you barely recognised and a grand accent in the middle of the room of assorted gold and black flowers. You’re too in awe to notice anybody else or the insistent push/pull of your mama’s hand around your arm. You spot the council couple staring at councilwoman Mel Medarda’s dress, a gorgeous gold that hugs her body at the top and flows down into a waterfall almost flaring out on the floor, she looks like a goddess. Her husband Councilman Jayce Talis next to her in a tight black suit and golden tie and a flower in his pocket. Then you see a third the duke, your breath intakes at the sudden difference between his usual, cream and red suits, a dark black suit much like the councilman only with a golden vest instead of a tie and flower. You think your brain struggles to process the look, his eyes practically matching his vest, his lack of cane and the way he stands almost confidently on his own, his hair long and tied back even more neatly though a long stray hair dangles down over his forehead and eyes. You’re not focusing on whatever your mama is saying to the lord in front of you, too focused on the ethereal three.

Your mama snaps your name in your ear and you look to her finally focusing on the gentlemen in front of you, internally grimacing at the look of the smirk on the councilman Hoskal’s son.

“My lord” you greet and he scoffs softly.

“Shall we?” He says holding his arm out like it’s a chore, then again it is, he’s getting paid to dance with you.

“The dancing hasn’t begun my lord” you say frowning and his famous scowl appears on his face.

“Keep your damn money I’m not dancing with some loud pig” he snaps and walks away. You feel something knocked in you from the insult and your mama begins to scold you. You barely make out the words your hands shaking lightly as you look at the floor.

“Ladies” it’s like a soothing balm of accented voice. You look up to the duke almost sighing in relief at the interruption.

“My duke” Your mama quickly regains composure and smiles bowing politely to the duke.

“May I have a word with your daughter?” He asks and your mama chuckles softly and nods walking off with a glare sent your way.

“I hope you will still honour me with a dance tonight?” He tilts his head ever so slightly as your eyes stare at his golden honeyed ones.

“My mother pay you?” You blurt without thought and he frowns faltering.

“No your mother did not pay me” he says.

“Then what? A dare from your friend?” You know you’re directing your anger at him, but everything seems too overwhelming at the moment, the colours the grandness the stuffy people.

“My lady I can assure you I’m offering you a dance because I want to” he steps closer his head bent to look at you directly, his fingers brushing against your chin to make you look at him.

“I’m sorry” you whisper nodding.

“Of course my duke I will honour your dance” you nod.

“The dancing has not begun, shall I bring you some lemonade?” He asks.

“That’s ok, you probably have people to talk with” you offer a small smile despite the shakiness in your hand.

“I’ve talked to everyone, except you my lady” he says.

“And you are indeed the most interesting” his voice lowers ever so slightly his accent thickening and it makes you gulp.

“I’ll be back with some lemonade” he nods and walks off. You notice his limp as he walks away and sighs a bit. He returns as he said, you thank him quietly forcing your hands to stop shaking as you take a sip of the cold refreshment.

“Ah, Viktor there you are” You look up noticing Councilman Jayce Talis walking over. He sees you, glances back to Viktor then smiles brightly making you frown ever so slightly.

“So I take it this is the young lady who finally swayed you to dance?” The councilman grins and you notice the red dancing across the duke's cheeks.

“Mind what you say Talis” Viktor clenches his jaw and Councilman Talis laughs.

“Councilman Jayce Talis and you are my lady?” He asks hand out. You take his hand give a small bow and introduce yourself he smiles and nods his head giving your hand a gentle squeeze before letting go.

“How do you like the party?” He asks and you glance around grimacing slightly.

“Given that face, I’ll say not very much” he chuckles.

“It’s a beautiful party, Councilman,” you say.

“But?” He doesn’t look offended in the slightest and your eyes flick to Viktor who gives a small nod.

“It’s a bit much for me councilman” you end up with.

“I see” he nods in thought.

“Well you’re not alone, it’s all rather, ridiculous if you ask me,” he says looking around and smiling when he sees his wife.

“Tradition seems to be a little too strong with my wife” he chuckles softly his eyes warm as he watches her before looking back to you.

“Well, next time I see you I will make sure to approach in less hectic circumstances” he bows his head and you do as well before he smiles at Viktor and leaves. You let a bit of tension leave your body as you sigh and finish your lemonade.

Music starts to play a gentle classical orchestra, you watch couples file to the dance floor black and gold, the solar eclipse. It’s truly beautiful to watch, the way the lady's dresses swish around almost like the way the sun has burning rays of lick, and the moons graceful yet strong in guiding the sun rays around. You notice a certain lord who your mother paid coming over and you panic.

“Dance with me,” you say to Viktor.

“Now?” he asks.

“Yes now” you glare taking his hand and practically dragging the poor man to the dance floor. He stumbles a bit as you put your arm on his shoulder and hold out your hand for him to take. He frowns a bit his gaze following yours, you watch him narrow his eyes and something darkens in his gaze as he puts his hand on your waist and grasps your hand. You go into the dance, the lord glaring at you both but stalking off making you sigh in relief. You look up to Viktor finally his honeyed colour eyes locking onto yours.

“I’m sorry my duke,” you say realising you dragged this poor man to the dance floor.

“You did honour me with a dance my lady” he chuckles lightly.

“I did, I just- did I hurt you?” You whisper and something in his gaze softens. He steps closer bringing your bodies almost chest to chest as you take in a breath.

“No” he whispers as he guides you around the dance floor. You’re very surprised the duke can dance at all given his condition. You notice a slight limp but it doesn’t stop him. Your gazes are locked together and suddenly you’re the only ones in the room, nobody else matters not even the orchestra. Your hands relax their tight hold and you allow yourself to feel his shoulder under your hand, you feel his strength in it, in his slender but calloused fingers. He twirls you around and brings you right back into his hold his warm hand splaying out against your waist. Nothing else matters at this moment, just you and him dancing. You barely hear the music dying down, the reality of couples slowing and the room coming back into focus. You blink a few times taking a shaky breath as he whispers your name.

“I’m sorry,” you say and leave quickly off the dance floor. You rush out to the gardens and feel your heart racing in your chest, sweat on your brow. You breathe heavily and your eyes gloss over. You hear your name being called but don’t register it till you feel those slender fingers in your arm. The duke saying your name but you can't hear it, you feel his fingers on your face forcing you to look at him.

“Breathe” it’s the first word you hear and you remember to breathe sucking in a deep but shaky breath.

“That’s it, deep breaths” he nods his honeyed eyes staring into yours. You feel so stupid, running out in a panic, tears well in your eyes and he does something unexpected. He wraps his arms around you, you breathe in the cologne he wears and a shudder goes through your body.

“Just breathe, follow my breathing” he says and you focus on the rise and fall of his chest trying to match it.

“That’s it” he whispers as you match his breathing and slowly feel yourself return to normal.

“Good girl” he murmurs atop your head and you can’t help the small intake of breath you do. You relax as much as you can, and coming back to normal, you realise you’re out in the garden alone with the duke who’s holding you.

“Viktor?” You hear a feminine voice and tense you go to move away but it’s too late.

“Mel” Viktor says as she stops frozen.

“Councilwoman Medarda” he slowly lets go of you bowing his head.

“May I ask what exactly is going on admits my garden?” She asks.

“She was having a panic attack,” the duke says.

“I see,” she says and nods.

“Mel-“ Viktor sighs and she holds her hand up before walking closer.

“Was I anyone else I would yell scandal, however” she smiles a bit.

“Councilwoman Mel Medarda” she holds her hand out to you and you freeze momentarily before holding her hand and introducing yourself.

“You two were quite the sight on the dance floor” She gives you a wink and you feel your cheeks warm.

“Mel” Viktor says in warning but she chuckles.

“Off with you Duke Viktor us ladies have things to talk about” You watch as she easily shoos the man away, his jaw sets but he gives you a soft look and leaves.

“Now that we’re alone, you needn’t worry my dear I won’t tell a soul” she says and you feel relief.

“You danced beautifully on the floor” she says and you feel your heart warm up at the compliment.

“Thank you Councilwoman” you nod your head.

“Please call me Mel when we’re alone, Councilwoman makes me feel so, official” she says and you smile a bit.

“A lovely smile as well,” she says and you feel embarrassment rise.

“Are you alright?” She asks her tone turning to concern.

“Yes, I think so- I don’t know what came over me” you sigh a bit.

“I know that look you two shared like nobody else was there on the dance floor. Not even the music?” She asks and you stare at her.

“Yes, it was-“ you chuckle a bit as she smiles nodding.

“There are few who can master the solar eclipse dance and you and Viktor did so beautifully” she says.

“I don’t think-“ she raises a hand silencing you.

“Did you know the duke spent a whole week, day in and day out learning that dance?” You frown lightly at her words.

“Of course, he didn’t tell you, men never tell women the length they go sometimes” she huffs.

“My husband Jayce made him a brace so he could dance, however, he was indeed lacking in the skills to dance, he was determined though to dance with you, so I taught him to dance,” she says.

“You taught him-?” You ask.

“First Jayce offered too but watching two men such as them dance is like watching two stones move together” You can’t help but laugh at her description imagining the duke and the councilman stiff as rocks.

“He was determined to dance with you though no matter how much he stumbled” she smiled warmly. Something in your heart flutters at her words knowing the duke went through a lot of effort just to dance.

“How would you like to join me for lunch tomorrow?” She asks and you look at her with wide eyes.

“Really?” You say shocked and she smiles nodding.

“I’ll have a carriage come get you, save you some hassle from your mama” she winks and walks back to the ball. You smile a bit a different kind of nervous flutter in your stomach. You return to the party instantly swarmed by a lord Levi.

“Ah there you are my dear, you owe me a dance” he grins and you instantly grimace at his yellowed almost brown teeth.

“She owes you nothing” Your eyes flick to the Duke.

“Excuse you? If I don’t dance with her I won’t get-“ Viktor glares at the man it’s unlike anything you’ve seen, it’s dark and narrowed and makes a lord instantly shut up apparently.

“Go” The lord runs off thankfully and you finally take a breath.

“Are you alright?” Viktor’s eyes soften as he looks at you and you nod thanking him quietly.

“I hope the councilwoman wasn’t forthcoming on you” he says in hushed tones and you chuckle a bit.

“She asked me to lunch tomorrow,” you say and his eyebrows go up slightly.

“Really?” He asks and you nod.

“How are you feeling about it?” He asks tilting his head ever so slightly.

“Nervous, but excited I’ve never-“ you hesitate a bit clearing your throat and realising your being a little too comfortable with the duke.

“Apologies my duke” You bow your head slightly and he frowns.

“What for?” He asks softly leaning in slightly, the conversation is only meant for you both.

“For being familiar with my duke” you nod avoiding his eyes.

“I see” he mutters standing up straight as one of the lords call his name.

“You should probably go to that” you say and cut him off before he can speak.

“Excuse me my duke” You bow your head and walk off sighing to yourself.