#they managed to get me to write him off too

[un-fwuit-un-fwog]

Midnight Visits

Part ten of The Rain series

Synopsis: Rook and Che'nya sneak into the infirmary on two separate nights to visit the recovering Prefect.

TW: Broken bone, entering without breaking, Rook Hunt

A/N: Writing block sucks. Sorry it took so long but I was finally able to form words how I wanted to again!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10 (here), Part 11 (coming soon), . . .

Waking up the next morning you were undoubtedly better rested than you had been in a long time, but you were also a little peeved at a certain fae for spelling you to sleep in order to avoid your topic of discussion.

And boy were you happy you slept so good because the rest of the morning was a blur of tests and Styx staff. A good portion of your bandages had been removed by now. Your stomach, head, and select spots on your arms and legs were now freed from bandages. The staff decided you were far enough along in the treatment and that your body was reacting well enough to magical treatments, despite them being foreign to you, that they could do some more intensive procedures and repair your broken bones. The casts were removed, and while the bones were definitely healed now, the places where the cracks and splinters used to be were unbelievably sore. According to the doctors, this soreness would last about a week. And, over this week, you wouldn't be allowed any visitors.

The first couple days passed unbearably slowly. Nothing to do, nobody to talk to, you couldn't even play the games Idia left you because you were too sore. The TV (a gift from Idia as well) had timed out and so you were left to stare at the ceiling and hallucinate patterns in the grain of the stone.

"That spot looks like Roi du Lions."

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your body ached in protest and a pained yelp ripped from your throat. You could barely see a mop of blonde hair out of your peripherals. "Rook?" you winced.

"Oui" came his unbothered response. Likely understanding how sore you were at the moment, Rook moved to sit on the edge of your bed so you could properly see him. He looked the same as usual except for some very distinctive leaves in twigs that were tangled in his hair. They were from a tree of which there was only one on campus. That tree was outside the window to the room you were now sickeningly familiar with.

You didn't bother asking how he managed to get inside the room, the slight breeze you felt tickling your cheeks answered that question rather clearly. Instead, you asked: "How long were you in the tree?"

Rook gave you his signature cryptic smile. "Only three days this time. Worry not. I packed myself rations for my stay in the canopy."

You ignored the absurdity of his statement mostly and asked: "This time?"

"Oui!"

You stared at him.

His face remained in a close eyed smile. He looked like a fox.

"Rook-"

"Oh! Do not look at me with such an expression! I simply could not simply allow my beloved Trickster to lay all alone whilst they battled so valiantly!"

You managed to decipher his flowery words ad essentially being him saying he had been in the tree for some duration between the time you first got admitted and now in order to keep an eye on you. You didn't bother asking if it was an occasional thing of if he was up there the whole time. You weren't sure you wanted to hear the answer.

Despite everything, Rook seemed to be at his usual level of weirdness. You were just about to wright him off as being the one who took all of this the best when a phone screen flickered before your face.

"My first stint was for 4 weeks! I was in such a rush to be by your side that I hadn't even brought rations and supplies with me! I had to rely on Monsieur Crabapple and Roi du Poison to bring me food and water in exchange for information on your condition." On his phone screen flickered an image of an unruly and wild looking Rook. His hair was far from its usual neatness, dirt and mud dirtied his clothes and complexion, his usual cleanshaven face was prickly with stubble, and he overall looked like he had just survived a month living like a beast in the forest. "Roi du Poison was quite cross with me when I finally returned, but his heart was not in his scolding."

"Wait. . .were you out there throughout the entire storm?" you croaked, memories of the storm conjured from Malleus' emotion flashed through your mind. How had he survived that?

Rook simply smiled and reached a hand up to brush the hair from your face.

He didn't stay much longer after that. He left declaring you needed rest. As he left you realized. . .his hair was much longer.

The next few nights after Rook's visit were peaceful. Your soreness was now just a dull ache of a memory of its prior intensity. You were absentmindedly staring up at the TV across the room, watching some old cartoon professor Trein had brought over CDs of saying his daughters loved it when they were younger and perhaps you would too. It was the last night of your recovery period. Tomorrow you would get to see another of your friends.

You finally decided to turn off the cartoons and go to bed for the night when you began to see flashes of pink and cartoony looking smiles out of the corners of your eyes.

You flicked off the television and were about to lay down when- "Aww. I liked that one."

You surprised even yourself by not being startled by the voice. Perhaps you'd had a suspicion in the back of your mind that you hadn't been simply hallucinating.

"Well it's no fun if you don't jump" a floating head materialized above the mattress beside you and huffed.

"Hello, Che'nya"

The mattress beside you dipped as a body materialized to go along with the head. "Hello, Little Prefect." Che'nya grinned back. "You really have set the whole island into a uproar, you know."

"I'm sure that's an exaggeration." you sigh. NRC was understandable since it's the school you go to and therefore you knew a lot to the people there and they knew you. RSA was too to an extent since you had a couple friends there. But the whole island? Maybe the press was annoying the townsfolk?

"Oh, but it's not" Che'nya coos. "I don't think you realize it, Little Prefect, but you've wiggled yourself into lives and hearts of many people here." As he spoke, his tail flicked lazily around. "Neige was nearly inconsolable."

Your eyes flick over to the bouquet on your windowsill. You received it pretty soon after the incident and a spell had been cast on it to keep the flowers from wilting.

"And I was hardly in any shape to do any consoling myself." Suddenly his soft tail coils around your leg while his fingers intertwine with yours.

"Che'nya" you sigh. "Stop joking."

The beastman laughs at your blank expression but tucks his head under your chin. "I'm not." he pouts.

You open your mouth to reprimand him once more but stop and close it again when you feel his grip on your hand tighten ever so slightly.

The room falls silent and you soon fall asleep. When you wake up in the morning Che'nya is gone but the side of the bed on which he laid the night before is still warm.

You can't help but remember how the way he clung to you last night felt more. . .desperate than usual.

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[musingsofheaven]

ALL MAKES SENSE

summary: The obsession of other interns had with him never made sense. Not until one night… drinks turned into something more. It’s so good that it makes all those promises to never be one of the girls giggling over Clark Kent feel ridiculous. But now it makes sense. God, now it does.

pairings: intern!clark kent x afab intern!reader

warnings: 3.5k words. mature themes. unprotected p in v. intoxicated sex. (light) praise kink. size difference kink (light). internal ejaculation. clothed sex. cockwarming (implied). biting / marking. read responsibly.

note: i said i wasn’t gonna write bc i have too many wips and drafts piling up… haha god help me. but i literally couldn’t resist him. this was just a quick write. hope u guys enjoy it <3

You don’t get it, at first. The way the other interns practically light up when he walks in. They act like he’s the most handsome inside the building. Sure, maybe he is. But you hate the way they clutch their iced coffees, and giggle when he holds the door open with that shy, lopsided smile. It looks like they’re desperate for it. Or maybe you are just bitter. Or maybe you are trying to find red flags in him. Don’t also forget that when someone calls him “cute” and they think he can’t hear. But you think he does and just acts innocent and oblivious which made you shrug and roll your eyes every time that happens. Ignore, ignore, and ignore before going back to your drink and to scrolling on your phone. Because, yeah, he’s handsome, tall, shoulders a little too broad for the cheap shirts he wears, but he’s also corny as hell. Makes those terrible little jokes that hang in the air like a bad pun smell. And you notice how he glances around like he’s waiting for someone to laugh, and scratches the back of his neck when no one does. But that rarely happens because the girls always laugh at his jokes like they can let it pass since he’s handsome, cute, kind, tall, smart, and- whatever.

You don’t get it, because you’ve seen him spill coffee down the front of his shirt. The cheap button-down soaked with a stain he tries to clean it with crumpled napkins while his cheeks flushed pink like he’s waiting for the floor to swallow him up. You feel a little bad for him though especially when his glasses keep slipping down his nose as he leans over the counter before muttering under his breath, “It’s fine, happens all the time,” and just laughs it off but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You’ve watched him tug the fabric away from his chest before shaking it out a little and his hair falling across his forehead in that messy, boyish way, like he’s fighting a losing battle against the universe before it’s even eight in the morning. Okay, maybe that’s cute.

You don’t get it, until one Friday when everyone goes out for drinks. You don’t want to come but your office friend won’t take no for an answer so you just agreed to go to the cheap dive a block away with sticky floors and neon lights buzzing in the corner. You end up sitting next to him, not on purpose. It’s just the last open seat, and he offers to buy you a drink because he’s nice like that. Of course, it’s hard to deny free drinks especially after when you heard him blurt out something stupid about the weather. You find yourself laughing, actually laughing, and he looks at you like you’ve given him something he’s been waiting for all week.

You don’t get it, until you’re tipsy, and cheeks warm. Until you’re leaning into the space between you and closing the distance. Until he’s looking at you with those soft eyes, lashes so stupidly long, and asking if you want to keep talking somewhere quieter. You say yes, before you can think too hard about it because he managed to work his charms on you. Let's bring you to his place and let him hold the door open for you one more time, let him smile at you like you’re the only person in the world.

You don’t get it, until you do because because now you’re here. You’re on his couch with your knees pulled up and shoes off. You don’t even know where you left them because you’re tipsy enough that your limbs feel warm and slow but not enough to forget the way he looked at you while he keeps talking and listens when you respond to him. His apartment is enough, it looks domestic and it’s very Clark.

He’s sitting across from you, elbow hooked over the back of the couch. His shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms that showing the muscles that had been hiding underneath fabric, glasses still on, and hair messy from running a hand through it too many times tonight. He’s talking about something he couldn’t forget. It’s a story about how he once missed a bus because he stopped to help an elderly woman to find her lost pet. You just stare at him when he’s talking and how he shakes his head before laughing at himself like it’s something to be embarrassed about. Like he overthinks you might think he’s stupid for it. You don’t. It’s kind. It’s heartwarming to hear. You don’t think what he did is stupid.

Eyes remain looking at you while he talks. Not just… performative. He’s really looking, eyes bright, leaning forward when he says your name. Like he can’t help it. Like he needs to see how you’ll react. Like it, he enjoys how it rolls off his tongue. You think about all the times you rolled your eyes when the other interns giggled over him. The times you swore you’d never be that person. Now? You feel it, something small and warm in your chest, and something you don’t want to name yet.

But it blooms in your system as your head falls back against the couch. You laugh and tell him he’s such a dork and stupid. You don’t mean it in an insulting way, but more on like just teasing him and you are glad he just smiles. It’s wide and a little crooked. It’s obvious he’s hiding how your words made him smile like that. Everything feels so good right now, there’s even a music playing from his phone speaker. You wonder what his playlists look like because what’s playing right now is soothing and calm. It makes the room feel better and softer. Your legs and his are almost touching. You don’t even notice how the space feels smaller from the moment you sit there earlier.

And he goes quiet for a moment after talking continuously ever since you entered his place. His eyes try not to stare at you when he also tries to memorize this moment. The way your mouth smirks when you tease him about his jokes. The way you look at him when you feel yourself getting more into the conversation. His mouth opened like he was going to ask you something but he just shut it because nothing came out. So he just swallows and your eyes watch how his Adam’s apple bobs. He doesn’t know it but you also notice how his hands twitch on his knee like he’s thinking about something.

You know what he wants to ask. It’s not hard to guess what it is. You are also not dumb not to see it. It’s already written across his face. He thinks he’s slick when he keeps flickering to look at your lips. Going back to look up at your eyes and back down to your lips. You know he’s the kind of guy who won’t just do something unless you tell him to do it or you will just have to initiate it.

So you initiate it. You lean in and close the distance between the two of you. Your hand latches to his cheek with your thumb caressing the shape and sharpness of his jaw before you kiss him. It’s soft and you can taste the cheap beer you both drank earlier. You could feel the warmth of his mouth and it’s something you’ve been trying to hate and deny since the first moment you saw him smiling and waving his hand at you.

Now you get it. You get it because he’s been gentle from the kiss to this moment. He’s soft and touching you like glass, letting you take what you want while still holding you steady. He keeps you close with those big, and warm hands like he’s scared you’ll slip away if he lets go. His hands are warm and firm, but not hurting you. It’s just enough to feel he’s here.

Your blouse is open and hanging off your shoulders. Bra pushed down so your tits are out as your nipples brush against the fabric as you move. He was so gentle when he opened you up, even though it’s not really completely naked, but that’s all what he could manage with the impatience he had to be inside you. His shirt is open too, same as you with how his buttons are undone, sleeves rolled, and exposing the slope of his chest. You can also see the way his stomach flexes every time you roll your hips down on him. You’re still wearing your skirt. It’s just bunched up around your waist, and his pants are still on, pulled down just enough so he can free his cock, thick and flushed where it’s buried inside your cunt. His size really stretched you open with every slow, needy rock of your hips.

Hands rest on his shoulders while nails dig in the fabric while you find the right pace and angle for the both of you. Each drag of your hips earns a slicked sound from your pussy and you swear he groans every time it gets so loud and it makes him drag you down deeper to take the whole of him. There’s the friction sending electricity through your every time the tip of his cock presses and kissing against the spot inside you that makes your lips taste like metal from biting it just to keep yourself from being so loud.

“Fuck- baby-” he breathes out. His voice is low and desperate. It sounds so fucking pretty falling from his lips. You love the way he sounds. The way it stutters and the way he’s vocal about it. His hands grip your hips, not forcing you, but guiding you. Soft thumbs pressing bruises into your skin as he helps you lift up and sink back down. Helps you ride him like you’ve both been craving this since the first moment you kissed. He helps you because that’s what he always does. Be there for people and be soft to them. The difference is that what he’s doing right now is not because of some service or act of kindness, he’s doing it because he wants you to enjoy it.

Chest brushes against his with sweat sticking to skin both of your skins and you can feel the way his breath stutters when your nipples graze across his when you lean in closer. Forehead pressing to his, and noses bumping before your lips brush against just but not quite kissing. “Clark-” you whisper just to see how he reacts. It’s so hot when he moans after you say his name. It’s soft and broken that makes your pussy clench around him and makes him jerk up into you without meaning to. His cock is twitching inside your cunt as he tries to hold back.

“God, you feel- you feel so good,” he pants, eyes fluttering shut, lashes dark and damp against his cheeks. “So fucking tight around me, goddamn-” Hips just rocking and bouncing down harder when you hear his words, it’s like a compliment hearing that so you grind against him. Your movements made his mouth fall open before a ragged sound snatched out of his throat. His head tips back against the backrest of the couch and the sight below you is so hot. Him being pussy whipped, hands on your sides, and the way his cock disappears when you sink your body into him.

Your hands slide up into his hair to tug lightly, and his eyes snap open. It’s glassy and blown wide, looking up at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. His hands flex on your hips, and you feel it when he bucks up into you, the angle hitting that spot that makes you gasp, makes your thighs tremble around him. “Please- fuck, please, baby,” he mumbles, not even sure what he’s asking for, but you understand. You feel it too. The desperation. The heat builds between your bodies. The wet slap of your pussy taking him over and over as you ride him slow and deep. Letting him fill you up. Letting him feel how warm and wet you are around his cock.

And you don’t want to come yet. There’s something in you that doesn't want this to stop. Something that wants to stay here at this moment. You don’t know if that’s the sex making you feel that way but you think he wants that too. Especially with the way he twitches when your pussy clenches around you. The way he moans when you wrap your hands around his hair to tug it. How he gets closer to make sure your body pressed so close when the sweat drips down to your chest. Breath mingling as you fuck yourself down on him, slow and steady, over and over. You want to remember how it feels when his hands slide up your back. How does it feel when he’s holding you tighter. When he whimpers against your mouth before kissing you like he can’t help it. How his tongue slides against yours. How he swallows your moans as you move together.

Now you get it. Now you get why everyone looks at him like that. Because right now you’re looking at him like this. Like you are asking him why you don’t want to stop. But you already know the answer. You don’t want to. Not when it feels so good. Not when he’s hitting it so deep. Not when it’s so thick inside your pussy. It drags against your walls with every slow, desperate grind of your hips, and every bounce that has your thighs shaking. Your cunt keeps sucking him back in, wet and hot with slick dripping down onto his pelvis where your bodies meet.

He’s still wearing his glasses. God, he’s still wearing his fucking glasses, and you don’t know why it makes you moan, but it does. Something about how they’re slightly crooked on his nose, how they fog up when his breath stutters, how they press cold against your neck when he leans forward and kisses you there, mouth hot and open, tongue dragging over your skin before he bites down softly. “Clark,” you gasp. Nails raking down his chest, over the open edges of his shirt, as you try to ground yourself, try to hold on when his hips jerk up into you. It hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back, makes your cunt clench around him, and makes him let out a low, broken groan against your throat.

“Fuck, you feel- you feel so good, can’t- can’t believe how good you feel,” he babbles. His voice was wrecked. Kissing up your neck, sucking a mark just under your jaw before pulling back to look at you. His eyes are glassy behind those fogged lenses, lips pink and swollen. You whimper while your hips stutter. Your pussy tightens around him when you see how he looks at you, like he’s falling apart, like you’re the only thing keeping him together. “Take them off,” you whisper. Fingers sliding up, hooking around the arms of his glasses, pushing them off his face as he blinks up at you. His pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any blue left.

You toss them to the side, somewhere on the couch, and cradle his face in your hands. Your thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “There,” you breathe, “wanted to see you.” He moans a soft, choked sound. Hands gripping your hips tighter, and guiding you down onto his cock. Helping you grind deeper, slower, rolling his hips up to meet you. The wet sounds of your pussy swallowing him fill the room, until the head of his cock drags right against your cervix, over and over, until you can’t hold back the sounds spilling from your mouth.

You’re so close you almost can taste it. Heat feels so tight in your belly. Legs trembling and shiver shooting down your spine with every thrust, every grind, every time his cock hits that spot that makes your vision blur. That makes your body shake above him. Your thighs are burning. Your breath is coming out in broken moans. Your forehead pressed to his, sweat dripping down your temple as you keep moving, chasing the edge, chasing that high, and wanting to come so badly it hurts.

“Please- fuck, please,” he gasps, and you don’t even know what he’s begging for, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re begging too, whimpering against his lips, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop-” And he won’t. He won’t stop because he lets you control everything tonight. He won’t let you fall off his lap. He won’t let you slip away. He just won’t, not when your pussy is tighter than anyone he fucked before, not when your pussy is squeezing and sucking him so tight. He’s going crazy under you and his hips are thrusting up into you. His hands pull you more down before guiding you up.

You’re right there, right on the edge. Your teeth can feel your orgasm already high and it feels like it’s going to break you both. Body shaking, nails scratching his visible skin while your pussy gushes down in his cock. Doesn’t care even if both of you are soaking the fabric of your skirt and his pants which are pulled down to around his thighs. It makes everything so messy. Skin slapping and wetness fill the room. So fucking perfect.

Now you get it. You get it when it happens- when it finally happens- when the pressure building between your hips snaps, when the pleasure spills over, hot and blinding. Tearing a sob from your throat as your cunt clenches down around his cock, so tight and wet that his breath catches, that his eyes roll back as he moans your name like a prayer. You get it when you see the way he looks at you while you fall apart, the way his hands grip your hips so hard it borders on bruising. He’s pulling you down onto him, grinding you against him as he fucks up into you, chasing your high, helping you ride it out, helping you take everything you need.

“Fuck, Clark- shit, I’m coming-” you gasp, your head falling back, your hands scrambling for something to hold onto, finding the fabric of his open shirt, finding the soft hair on his chest, clutching it as your body shudders, as your thighs clamp around his waist, as your pussy milks his cock in desperate, pulsing waves. “God- baby, I-” he stutters, his hips jerking up, his eyes fluttering shut, his jaw going slack as he feels you coming around him, as he feels how wet you are, how warm you are, how perfect you are like this, taking him, taking all of him.

“Want you to come,” you whimper, leaning forward, pressing your forehead to his, your lips brushing against his as you breathe him in, as you move your hips in slow, rolling circles that make your overstimulated pussy spasm around him, that make him choke on a groan. “Want you to come inside me, please-” That’s what breaks him.

Mouth finds its way to yours and he starts swallowing the sounds you are making. Kissing you hard that it became messy with both of your teeth grinding together and tongues sliding while his hips stutter because his cock twitches inside your wet cunt. And then he spills and cum inside of you with a guttural and desperate moan that you feel vibrates against your lips.

You love the feeling of the warm cum that released and flooded deep inside your pussy and you absolutely love that he keeps thrusting to stuff it more inside. He’s fucking you through it. He chases every wave of pressure and drags out your orgasm until it’s almost too much. Until you’re shaking in his lap, and whimpering into his mouth with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how good it feels.

You’re so full and pussy is so wet because of his cum leaking out around his cock. It drips down to his pelvis and stomach which makes everything so slick and messy. It feels sticky and the sight is obscene. The room is filled with mixed sounds from both of your breaths, the wet and slick slide of your bodies, and the soft and broken whimpers the two of you let out when you slowly come down from the high.

And you just stay in the same place with your forehead resting against his and your lips brushing against his at the same time. Chests heaving when you try to catch your breath and you feel the aftershocks from the orgasm still pulsing through your pussy. You feel it still fluttering and clenching around his softening cock inside you.

Now you get it. You get why he’s worth the giggles, the stares, the soft smiles in hallways, the stupid little crushes. Because he’s gentle. Because he’s kind. Because he looks at you like you’re the only person in the world, even now, when you’re messy and fucked-out in his lap, your skirt bunched around your waist, his cum dripping out of your cunt, your hair sticking to your sweaty skin, your mouth swollen from kissing him too hard.

You get it.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀twenty-twenty-five © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

[crybabycabin]

I love your soulmate au so much! I know you may already be tired of writing for it, so you don't have to answer this if you don't want to. I just want to know how you think Bucky would react to the reader getting hurt? I love all your stories so much!!

ask and you shall receive!

bonus drabble: overkill | b.b.

**read touch and go here**

✮ synopsis: a minor car accident, a sprained wrist, and a seventeen-year-old who learns exactly why you don't rear-end the winter soldier's girlfriend.

✮ pairing: soulmate!bucky x soulmate!reader

✮ warnings: mild injury (sprained wrist), protective bucky barnes, mentions of blood (not reader's), mild language, bucky terrorizing a teenager, bucky still having the emotional regulation of a feral cat

✮ word count: 1.5k

✮ a/n: slowly expanding the touch and go extended universe

"—and I'm just saying, maybe don't mention the blood."

Steve's voice crackles through your phone speaker, carefully neutral in that way that means he's managing a situation. You shift on the uncomfortable plastic chair, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear while you fill out insurance paperwork with your good hand.

"What blood?"

"The blood on his—you know what, never mind. How's the wrist?"

"Sprained. I'll live." You pause, pen hovering over a question about previous injuries. "Steve, why are you calling me about blood?"

"No reason."

"Steven Grant Rogers."

A pause. You can practically hear him running a hand through his hair. "He might have been interrogating a Hydra operative when I called about your accident."

"And?"

"And he might have... left abruptly."

"Steve."

"Still covered in the operative's blood."

"Jesus Christ."

"I broke several traffic laws trying to catch up with him, but he had a head start and that bike is faster than—" Something crashes in the background. "Shit. I should go. Just, uh. Maybe give the hospital a heads up?"

"A heads up about what—"

The automatic doors explode open like they've personally offended him.

"Never mind," you mutter, watching Bucky stride through the ER like an avenging angel dressed in tactical gear and what is definitely someone else's blood. "He's here."

"Is he—"

You hang up on Captain America.

Three nurses scatter. An orderly drops his clipboard. A small child points and whispers, "Mommy, is that the Winter Soldier?"

His eyes find yours across the crowded waiting room and everything else ceases to exist. The murderous expression melts off his face so fast it's almost comical, replaced by something raw and desperate that makes your chest tight. His shoulders drop from murder-mode to oh-thank-god and he's moving, crossing the space between you in long strides that have people scrambling out of his way.

"Buck—" you start, but he's already there.

His hands frame your face with devastating gentleness, thumbs ghosting over your cheekbones like you might evaporate. The metal one leaves a smudge of something you're not going to think about too hard. His eyes catalog every inch of you, frantic and thorough.

"You're okay." His voice comes out gutted. "You're—Steve said accident, said hospital, and I—"

"I'm fine." You cover his flesh hand with yours, trying to ground him. The soul bond thrums between you, flooded with his barely-contained panic. "Bucky, breathe. It's just a sprained—"

His gaze snaps to your wrapped wrist and the temperature drops ten degrees. The shift is instant—soft boyfriend to Winter Soldier in 0.2 seconds flat. A muscle in his jaw ticks.

"Where?"

One word. Flat. Deadly. The kind of tone that makes trained assassins reconsider their life choices.

Your thighs clench at absolutely the wrong moment.

"Bucky—"

"Where is he."

"It was an accident—"

"Don't care." His metal hand drops to your shoulder, plates recalibrating with that soft whir that means he's fighting for control. "Someone hurt you."

"A teenager in a minivan hurt me," you clarify. "By accident. At five miles per hour."

He processes this information like a targeting computer, eyes scanning the waiting room with mechanical precision. They land on Tyler Hendricks—seventeen, terrified, wearing a Midtown High letterman jacket and clutching a juice box like a lifeline.

"Him?"

"Bucky, no."

But he's already moving, that predator-stride that would be absolutely terrifying if it wasn't so goddamn attractive. Tyler sees death approaching and goes pale enough to match the walls.

"Oh shit," Tyler whispers. "Oh shit oh shit oh shit—"

Bucky looms, all six feet of blood-splattered tactical gear and barely-leashed violence. Tyler might actually be crying.

"You did this?"

Tyler opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. No sound comes out.

The silence stretches. You watch from your chair, caught between concern for Tyler's blood pressure and an inappropriate appreciation for how Bucky's shoulders look in his compression shirt.

"I—yes? It was—the light was—I'm so sorry, man, I'll pay for everything, please don't murder me, I have college applications due—"

"College applications." Bucky's voice is winter-quiet, which is somehow worse than yelling. "You hurt my girl and you're worried about college applications."

"I mean—yes? No? I don't know what the right answer is here, sir. Mr. Soldier. Sergeant Barnes? Wikipedia said you were a sergeant—"

"You looked me up on Wikipedia?"

"I wanted to know how to address you properly before you killed me!"

Bucky circles Tyler's chair slowly, each step measured and deliberate. The poor kid tracks him like a mouse watching a cat, juice box forgotten.

"Do you know what a sprained wrist means?" Bucky asks conversationally.

"Um. Swelling? Four to six weeks of healing?"

"Wrong." Bucky stops directly behind him. Tyler goes rigid. "It means she's in pain. Because of you."

"I'm really sor—"

"It means I have to watch her hurt." His voice drops lower. "Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

Tyler squeaks. Actually squeaks. "It means you get to fuss over me and carry my groceries and open every single jar in the apartment," you interrupt, trying for levity. "Bucky, stop terrorizing children."

"He's not a child. He's old enough to drive. Old enough to hurt—"

"Old enough to have his prefrontal cortex still developing," you interrupt. "Also old enough to need therapy after this. Tyler, honey, you're doing great."

"I am?" Tyler's voice cracks three times in two words.

"No," Bucky says flatly.

You roll your eyes. "Come here, James."

The use of his first name makes him pause. He gives Tyler a look that threatens death and dismemberment, then lets you pull him away. But not before leaning down one more time.

"I know your name," he says quietly. "Tyler Hendricks. Midtown High. License plate AGH-2847. Instagram handle @TylerBBallKilla04. If she has even one moment of unnecessary pain because of this—"

"James."

He gives Tyler another look that promises creative violence, then stalks back to you. The second he reaches you, his hands find your face again, gentler this time, thumbs stroking your cheekbones like you're made of spun glass.

"Stop threatening minors," you murmur. His touch makes you feel a little soft, a little dizzy.

"He hurt you."

"It was an accident."

"Don't care." He presses his forehead to yours, and you can feel the tremor running through him. "Can't—fuck, baby, when Steve called—"

"I know." You reach up to cradle his jaw, feel him lean into it helplessly. "But hey, I'm okay. We're okay."

He exhales shakily, then straightens. Turns back to Tyler, who immediately tries to become one with his chair.

"You're paying for her medical bills."

Jesus Christ.

"Yes sir!"

"And her car repairs."

"Absolutely!"

"And—"

"Bucky." You tug on his tactical vest. "We have insurance."

"And her pain and suffering," he continues, ignoring you.

"I don't think that's—"

"Are you suffering?" he asks you, eyes still on Tyler.

"Tremendously," you deadpan.

"See? Pain and suffering."

Tyler nods frantically. "Whatever you want! My mom's a dentist, I can throw in free cleanings!"

Bucky blinks. Once. Twice. You can see him trying to process this unexpected turn. "Are you... bribing me with dental care?"

"Is it working?" “No.”

"We should go," you say, standing carefully. "Before you give him a heart attack."

Bucky immediately wraps an arm around your waist, taking most of your weight like you've broken your leg instead of sprained your wrist. The casual display of strength makes heat pool in your stomach.

"Call if you need anything," Tyler says desperately. "Anything at all! I'm really good at calculus! And I babysit!"

"We don't have kids," Bucky says flatly. Then, under his breath, so quiet only you catch it: "Yet."

You pinch his side through his gear—hard enough to make your point. He retaliates immediately, metal fingers finding that spot just above your hip that makes you squirm. You have to bite your lip to keep from making an undignified sound in front of poor, traumatized Tyler.

"I can also do yardwork!"

You're definitely laughing now, muffled against Bucky's shoulder. He guides you toward the exit, but pauses at Tyler's chair.

"I know where you live."

"That's deeply concerning!" Tyler's voice hits a pitch only dogs can hear.

"Good. It should be."

And then he's guiding you out, hand splayed possessively on your lower back. The cold air hits like a shock after the hospital warmth. Without hesitation, he shrugs out of his jacket and wraps it around you, ignoring your protests.

"Is that actually someone's blood?" you ask, eyeing a suspicious stain.

"Probably."

"Bucky."

"What? He was Hydra. He'll live." He helps you onto his bike with careful hands, gentler than you've ever seen him. "Probably."

"You can't just—"

"You were hurt," he says simply, like that explains everything. Justifies everything. And in his mind, it probably does.

He swings onto the bike, pulling you tight against his back. You can feel the tension slowly leaving his body now that he has you close, safe, confirmed alive and whole.

"For the record," you murmur against his ear, "the whole protective thing? Very sexy."

His hands tighten on the handlebars. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Probably shouldn't traumatize teenagers over it, though."

"He had it coming."

"He's probably stress-drinking his apple juice as we speak."

"Good." He starts the engine, then glances back at you. "You really okay?"

You press a kiss to the spot just below his ear, feel him shiver. "Take me home and I'll show you how okay I am."

The bike peels out of the parking lot fast enough to leave rubber on the asphalt.

(Tyler Hendricks posts about his near-death experience on Reddit that night. It goes viral. The title reads: "TIFU by rear-ending the Winter Soldier's girlfriend."

The top comment is from Steve Rogers' verified account: "You got off easy, kid.")

feedback is always appreciated ♡

[thatonegrimm]

CAN WE GET A SAJA BOYS (SEPARATE) X READER WHERE READER IS SUOER GOOD AT GIVING MASSAGES, AND GIVES THEM ONE AFTER A PRETTY STRESSFUL DAY? 

-⭐️

Thank you for the request! These are always fun to write lol. Here you go!💌

🌙 Saja Boys x Reader – You Give the Best Massages

------------------

🧿 Jinu 

Jinu wasn’t the type to admit when he was stressed.

He just sat a little too still. Smiled a little too tightly. Rubbed the back of his neck as if trying to manually release the tension coiled in his spine.

You found him like that on the balcony, sitting in a patio chair with his tea untouched, his gaze unfocused.

“Turn around,” you said softly.

He blinked. “What?”

You stepped behind him, placing your hands on his shoulders. “I said, turn around. Let me help.”

Jinu stiffened as your thumbs pressed into the knots beneath his hoodie, but he didn’t pull away.

You worked in silence—slow, firm pressure along the cords of muscle between his shoulder blades. He exhaled sharply, head tilting forward just slightly.

“That’s… wow. That’s really good,” he muttered.

You smiled. “You carry everything here,” you said, kneading gently. “Let me take some of it off your shoulders.”

For once, he didn’t argue. Just leaned back into your touch, eyes closing.

Later, he’d quietly bring you a blanket and your favorite tea.

But in that moment, all he said was: “Don’t stop.”

------------------

💪 Abby 

Abby looked like nothing could shake him. Unbothered, unbreakable, all relaxed charm and big energy.

But after back-to-back rehearsals and helping move heavy set pieces when no one else could, even he had his limit.

You found him face-down on the floor, groaning into a pillow.

“I’m dying,” he mumbled.

You grinned. “Good. Stay there.”

You straddled his lower back and started working your hands up his spine. He jolted.

“Wait—woah, that’s—holy crap.”

Your thumbs hit a tense spot near his shoulder blades and he let out a very un-Abby-like whimper.

“You’re tense,” you teased.

“I’m always tense. I didn’t know until just now,” he muttered into the pillow.

You laughed, but your touch stayed steady—rolling circles into his shoulders, then kneading into the muscles of his arms. Slowly, Abby melted under you like warm butter.

By the end, he was completely limp.

“You’re magic,” he groaned. “Marry me.”

You smacked his shoulder playfully. “Let me finish the massage first.”

------------------

📚 Mystery 

You didn’t notice it at first.

Mystery never looked tired. He didn’t slump or complain or sigh dramatically.

But his silence had shifted—more withdrawn, more brittle.

So when he sat beside you, eyes shadowed and shoulders tight, you didn’t ask questions. You just reached out, lightly brushing your fingers over his arm.

He flinched—but only a little.

“Let me?” you asked quietly.

After a pause, he nodded.

You moved behind him, fingers finding the edge of his shoulder blade, working along the tight bands of tension he’d clearly been ignoring. He didn’t speak, but he tilted his head slightly to the side—giving you access.

You felt him unravel in degrees. A breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. A subtle shiver when you found just the right spot near his neck.

Finally, he whispered, “…Feels good.”

“I know,” you said. “You don’t have to hold everything by yourself, you know.”

He didn’t reply, but you felt it—the way his fingers brushed yours afterward, small and deliberate.

A thank you in silence.

------------------

💋 Romance 

Romance lived for affection, but even he had bad days. Off-stage stress, a manager with too many opinions, and a performance that didn’t go how he wanted—it left him sulking on the couch, arms crossed, frown threatening to settle in for the night.

You came up behind him quietly, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing the crown of his head.

“Want me to help?” you asked.

He turned just enough to meet your eyes. “You’ll make me cry.”

“I’ll risk it.”

You pulled him onto the floor between your knees and began massaging his shoulders, thumbs pressing in small circles.

He melted. Instantly.

“Oh god, you’re good at this,” he moaned. “Is this love? Is this how I die?”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Yes, by massage. Very tragic.”

As you worked down his back, he sighed, completely boneless in your hands. His voice dipped quieter.

“…Thank you.”

You kissed his shoulder. “Always.”

And later, when you tried to stop, he dramatically flopped back onto you.

“Now I live here. This is my home.”

------------------

🔥 Baby 

Baby never asked.

But you noticed how he moved a little slower that night, hoodie riding up his back as he sprawled on the floor after practice, arms crossed under his head like a makeshift pillow.

You sat beside him and poked his side.

“Wanna trade? I give you a massage, you stop being grumpy.”

He grunted. “I’m not grumpy.”

You arched a brow. “That wasn’t a no.”

So you scooted behind him and gently placed your hands on his back.

At first, he tensed like he was trying not to react.

Then your palms pressed into the tight space between his shoulders—and he groaned.

“Don’t tell anyone I made that noise,” he mumbled.

“I’m recording it for blackmail,” you teased, grinning.

But you kept going—slow, methodical, watching his posture shift as he finally let himself relax. His breathing evened out. His hands unclenched.

When you stopped, he cracked one eye open.

“…Ten more minutes.”

You smirked. “You like this, huh?”

“…Shut up.”

But the next night, he was already sitting on the floor, hoodie off, waiting.

------------------

M-List

[buckysfaveplum]

starboy

summary: recovering from kryptonite poisoning back home in Kansas leaves your relationship with Clark a bit confused. you’ve always been his rock- his best friend. but now, back on the farm, maybe there was always something more

pairing: clark kent x female reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: spoilers!!! don’t read if you don’t wanna be spoiled you’ve been warned! just a lil hurt/comfort fluffy fic, friends confessing feelings type shit, reader calls clark ‘starboy’. um reader makes the first real move cause Clark is a bashful lil gentleman and too nervous

a/n: guyssss i’ve been gone for a while i’m sorry. i’m in the home stretch with my master’s thesis. but i just saw Superman and i’m a mess so here you go! it's my first time writing for the character so I'm still getting a feel. it's short and quick but i hope you enjoy!

masterlist | send requests

Your hands gripped the rough blue fabric of his suit as firmly as you could manage. Fingers trembled as you struggled to pull him up from the seat in the craft. His body slumped into the cushions, refusing to budge as you shook him gently.

“Clark, hey, wake up.” You tried your best to keep a steady and confident tone, but your voice betrayed you, “Let’s go, hun. We’re here.”

His eyes fluttered open slowly and glanced around, somewhat confused by his surroundings. The daze left when he looked up to be met with your bold eyes. Your hand softly combed through his ink hair, resting at the crook of his neck.

“Hey…” he said, his words slurred and dreary. You looped your arm under his and around his back, tugging as he slowly pushed himself from the seat.

The thud of his boots filled the craft, bouncing off the walls as they revealed the limp and stutter of his steps. His weight was all-consuming, with Clark leaning heavier into your side than he wished to admit. With each laboured breath, each wince and grip from his hand on your hip, your heart clenched. It was too close of a call, too lucky were you that you had pulled him out from the portal. What if you were a second later? What if the kryptonite had finished the job? What if you never saw him again?

You reached the ladder down from the craft. Slowly, you helped him down each step; his normal speed and agility were wiped away as he teetered down the stairs, balancing into your side. The sound of feet crunching thick, tall grass filled your ears. Looking up, an older couple stood at the foot of the ladder. Soft eyes, worn but kind faces, calloused yet gentle hands—the Kents.

The man you assumed to be John rushed up the steps as you reached the bottom. His large hands and strong arms opened to take some of Clark’s weight off you. Martha stood aside, watching with worry creased into her forehead and the wrinkles around her eyes

“He needs to rest, he’ll be okay,” you said as the four of you slowly made your way inside.

“Thank God,” Martha said, clutching a small gold cross strung from her neck. 

“i.. c’n walk…” Clark, the ever self-dependent and strong man, tried his best to shake off the help. His feet attempted to carry his weight. But a small dent in the ground had other plans. His foot caught, causing him to stumble and slip from your grasp.

“Woah, hey!” You slid to his front before he could fall from John’s hold and hit the ground. You gently pushed him back up, your hand tenderly brushing a curl from his forehead. “Don’t scare me like that, starboy.”

Even in his delirious and weakened state, Clark couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face. That damn smile, the one that had somehow found a way to make your knees buckle. You miss the glance exchanged between his parents. 

Once inside, you awkwardly laid him into his bed. The kiddish sheets contrasted with the vibrant blue and red fabrics of his suit. The worn blue headboard popped against the stained wood panels lining the walls. His large frame spilled over the small twin bed, and you found yourself wondering how the Kents ever kept up with his growth as a child.

His hair was slick with sweat, and he was exhausted from the strain of reaching the farmhouse. John’s hand rested on Clark's forehead as he eased him into the pillows. Clark’s mumbling filled the room as he tried to relax, the comfort of his parents overwhelming him.

“ma… they sent me here t’ kill p-people,” his words were broken as he stammered. The sound of Martha gently shushing him sang through the room. 

You stood back, giving the family space. You didn’t want to intrude, he was their son after all; you were just his friend. If that was all you were, then why was your heart still pounding?

Your eyes roamed over the room, taking in the intimate setting you never thought you’d see. Clark was so private with his parents, so protective. No matter how close you were, that side of him always felt closed off to anyone else. Anything to assure their safety. 

The room was scattered with toys, which you guessed were from his early years, just the few that a teenage Clark might have found too much fondness for to toss. Posters from bands you had always given him grief over, old sports trophies, blankets you guessed Martha had made him over the years; it was a room that showed a remarkably humble and mundane childhood that shaped him into the man he was. 

Clark’s mumbling called your attention back over to the bed. His words were slightly panicked and rushed, and his half-lidded eyes began to dart around the room.

“where’s…. where’s y-y/n? y/n…” his hand weakly stretched over the sheets as if trying to feel for you.

“She’s right here, sweetheart,” Martha said. Her kind eyes glanced over to you, giving you a welcoming yet sad smile that beckoned you over. His fragile hand took yours and placed it along Clark’s arm, moving from her spot beside the bed to let you sit.

Now at his side, your hand gently stroked his arm and shoulder, working your way up to the silky curls at the nape of his neck; the ones that he couldn’t smooth out no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much comfort you took in having him there, you couldn’t quite push down the bile rising in your throat at the feeling of his dark raised veins along his neck, the painful reminder of how close he was to leaving you.

“I’m here,” you said softly, as if it was just for him. It was.

That damn smile was back, slightly lopsided and shaky from exhaustion, but just as striking as ever.

“mmm… good,” he said as his eyes finally slipped closed.

You sat there for a good while, your hands gently resting at his side, keeping an eye on him as if you were his sole protector while he was gone to the world. You’d never seen him so small, so vulnerable- as small as a 6’4” alien could be.

John’s hand stayed resting at Clark’s head, pushing back his sweat-soaked curls as he tried to relax from the ordeal.

“Don’t let him fool you, he’s just a softy. Especially when it comes to Clark,” Martha said, patting your back as she walked over to her husband. Her eyes watched intently as your hands continued to tremble around Clark’s, unable to let go. She smirked before ushering John out of the room. You heard the faint mumblings of he’ll be okay, he’s got her as they left.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to leave his side, not after he was almost lost to you forever. An hour or so passed before sleep finally overtook you as well. The peaceful look on Clark's face was the last thing you saw before drifting off, your head resting on his side as your arm stretched across him.

-

A continuous, soft tapping against your thighs stirred you awake. The bright Kansas sun spilled in through the blinds and danced across the room. The angle was different than when you dozed off. Rather than lying perched beside the bed, you found yourself staring up at the ceiling with sheets surrounding you. Clark.

Of course, he moved you to his bed.

The thumping continued, and you finally looked down, taking in the sight of Krypto lying cozy across your body, his face mere inches from yours. The tapping of his wagging tail made you giggle as you slipped from the handknit blanket Clark had wrapped you in to scratch behind his ears.

“Good boy,” you said. 

The old door creaked on its hinges as you slipped out of the room and down the hall. Your feet padded softly across the tile til you reached the kitchen. Martha stood at the stove, gently pouring a cup of coffee and spreading a thick red jam across two biscuits. You tried to be quiet, wishing not to disturb her morning. 

“Morning, dear,” she said before turning to you. You wondered if Clark’s enhanced hearing was something he just learned from his parents because you swore she had it too.

“Morning, Martha,” you said.

“Oh, dear, call me Ma,” you smiled at her words and nodded, walking over as she handed you a cup of coffee. The warm mug filled your hands, and for the first time, they weren’t trembling anymore.

“Thank you for letting me stay the night,” you said.

“Don’t even mention it!” she said before returning a jug of milk to the fridge. While you took a sip from your mug, she stepped over and placed a hand once again on your back. “Thank you for bringing him back to us safely.”

Before you could respond, she nodded her head in the direction of the window out the kitchen door.

“He’s out front,” she said. You gave her a thankful smile before resting your drink on the counter and slipping out the door. 

The fabric of your skirt swirled around your legs, long blades of grass pricked at your calves as you waded through the field to reach him. Clark leaned against the rickety wooden fence, watching horses prance and whinny. Your hand gingerly patted the soft snout of one of the horses standing along the fence before you found your way to his spot. 

You stood beside him, a comfortable silence falling between you. The sound of the horses filled the air, harmonizing with the low buzz of the bees. You could help but notice the worn flannel stretched over Clark’s arms and back, how the faded jeans he wore had heel bites that revealed the dark brown of his leather boots. It always seemed to slip your mind that he was a country boy through and through, except for those times when his Kansas accent would slip out, it always seemed to happen when you took the last dumpling at dinner.

“You really gave me the bed?” you asked, watching the horses trot around the pen.

“What kind of man would I be if I let you sleep on the floor?” he said.

“The kind who needed rest ‘cause he was poisoned…” You said with a giggle, but he knew you were serious. He simply shrugged, a casual smile on his lips.

He moved to stand closer to you, leaning forward on the fence and finally looking over at you. His hands wrung as he looked you over. For a moment, you thought maybe he was nervous, like you made him anxious. 

You leaned on the wood with him, your shoulder nudging slightly into his. Your hands hesitated before a gust of courage helped you take his and stop his fidgeting. A placid sigh slipped from his lips as that damn smile came back. 

“You scared me, starboy,” you said. 

A blush burst across his face. Once, that always seemed to appear at the sound of that nickname. Perhaps yesterday he was too out of it, but today that blush was back in full swing.

He stepped closer to you, leaving little distance between your bodies. His hands gingerly played with yours, turning it over softly and tracing the lines on your palm.

“...I know, I could tell,” he said.

Oh.

Your free hand moved delicately to the soft flesh at the crook of his neck. Slowly, your fingers traced along the thick veins under his skin. The dark, bluish black hue they were only a few hours before had subsided, leaving them to blend in with the flushed pink hues of his skin. You could feel the flutter in his heartbeat and the way his breathing stuttered at your hands. Neither of you said a word; he just let you feel what you needed, letting you reassure yourself that he was there. That he was okay and wasn’t planning on leaving you.

“Clark…” you said, looking down to avoid his gaze.

His hand slid up to your chin, guiding your eyes back to his with a kind smile. A low hey slipped from his lips before his head ducked closer to your height.

“I wanna say something, something that feels crazy… and if it is, tell me… cause I’ve been feeling this for a while now…. and-and if it’s crazy just-” you stopped his rambling.

“Say it,” you said.

He bit his lip, and you tenderly pulled it from his teeth. The blush on his cheeks grew stronger as he let out a thankful huff and tilted his head. He had a bad habit of subconscious lip biting, one that often resulted in a gash along his lower lip from his strength. You tried your best as often as you could to stop the habit, to keep him from harming himself in any way.

“Something feels different with us. You’re my best friend, my favorite person, and… lately I’ve been feeling things I shouldn’t feel. Things a friend shouldn’t feel and I…” your eyes widened as he spoke, his words stammering as her nerves took over. He spoke with a speed that revealed his nervousness, one that was uniquely Clark. “It’s not fair to you, me wanting more, feeling more. But I do. I think I love you, y/n.”

He didn’t break your gaze, but that didn’t hide the fear of rejection that was clear on his face. It was obvious; despite lying helpless in a pocket dimension with kryptonite just a day ago, despite being weakened and exhausted in his childhood bed the night before, he had never felt more vulnerable or exposed than this moment.

You were quiet, probably for too long. He finally broke eye contact, ducking his head away. Your hand caught his face gently, brushing along the soft stubble that grew along his sharp jaw. 

Before he could speak again, you were leaning in. Your lips pressed against his. He moved in tandem with you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he held you close. It was soft and intimate; you had imagined kissing Clark so many times, but you never could’ve predicted just how blissful it would feel.

His grip on you tightened as he leaned further in. Somewhere in the moment, you felt your feet lift from the ground. Your arms wrapped firmly around his neck as you deepened the kiss, nipping softly at his lower lip.

When you finally pulled back, he rested his forehead to yours. His arms held you safe and secure to his chest as the two of you hovered over the fence. Your hands slipped to card through his curls.

“I love you, Clark,” you said. He sighed with relief, giggling tenderly as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Promise me you’re not going anywhere?”

“I promise, sweetheart,” he said. You leaned further into his arms, finally relaxing in his presence. He was here, he was safe, and he was yours.

“Now, could you please put us down, starboy?”

---

this was quick and cute but I hope y'all enjoyed ;)

[majestyeverlasting]

𝐢'𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 | 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing clark kent x reader summary clark gently coaxes you away from your work with soft hands and softer wisdom about the importance of rest. [fluff, wc 1.2k] a/n to the superman/dc fandom: I have arrived! happy to be here ♡

⠂⠁⠈⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂

Nightfall arrives all too soon. Outside the window your desk rests along, the peppered lights of Metropolis shine in a dazzling protest against the darkness. A lone desk lamp illuminates the room and mingles with the harsher, cooler glow of the computer screen. The cursor blinks at the end of an unfinished sentence halfway down the stark, white page. 

For the first time in four hours, you can’t find the right words. The well had dried somewhere in the midst of your strained eyes and the dull ache across your upper back. You glance to the framed picture of you and Clark that rests off to the side. Then to the walls where various cover stories of his were framed. 

At your defeated sigh, a gentle pair of hands settle on your shoulders. They could only belong to one person, but you startle even then. 

Clark doubles down with a reassuring squeeze, the warmth of his palms seeping through your old tee. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he soothes in a honeyed timbre. “Thought you heard me coming.”

It was a wonder how someone of his stature could be so quiet and light on his feet. His very existence is so synonymous with vigor and undeniability that it seemed like the world itself would be attuned to his coming and going—maybe Kal-el or Superman, but not Clark Kent. Clark managed to ride humbly between the lines and didn’t mind slipping between the cracks every once in a while. Yet he’s the closest thing to a god on Earth. 

“I just need to finish this page,” you say. 

Clark hums. You’d said that three pages ago too. 

A brief moment of silence passes. At your motionlessness, he digs his thumbs in the space between your shoulder blades with just enough pressure to make a small hum rise up your throat. Clark chases the sound and you go soft beneath his touch despite the part of you that wants to resist. He bites back a smile as the tension melts from your muscles. 

“The profile isn’t due for another two weeks,” Clark says. You’re always ahead of schedule as if you’re scared the finish line will move at any second. “Maybe we can be done for the night. It’s getting late.” 

He says we despite not being a part of the writing process. It’s his way of saying you’re in this together. He’s not going to sleep without you. Not tonight. 

“But this page…” you trail off. 

“Will be here tomorrow,” he assures. “C’mon.” 

His lips meet the top of your head. When you don’t react, he leans down to kiss the delicate skin beneath your right ear. The shiver he’s looking for dances down your spine. You don’t expect him to reach over your shoulders to your laptop touchpad to save the document, then ease the top shut. He straightens back to his full height, and you miss the warmth of his proximity when he steps away. It’s only right that you swivel your chair around to face him. By then, he’s already in the hallway, headed towards the kitchen. He smiles when he hears the sound of your footsteps behind him. 

“Drink,” Clark hands you half a glass of water and leans back onto the counter as you obey. Not even his baggier t-shirt can conceal the prominence of his biceps as he crosses his arms with a tilt of his head. He’s either admiring you or trying to figure you out. Perhaps both. 

The empty glass clinks against the faux granite as you set it down. “What?” 

Clark shakes his head. 

You move into his personal space. “Tell me.” You toy with the hem of his shirt. “Since you dragged me away from my super important assignment.” 

He laughs then, low and genuine, those dimples you love indenting his cheeks. Rather than answering your question, he rests his hands on your waist and kneads gently. 

“I wish you’d be kinder to yourself,” he finally says, smile shifting into a deeper sincerity. “Listen to your body instead of pushing limits.” 

“All you do is push limits,” you accuse in a murmur. 

“But not because I think I have something to prove,” he says. 

“The sooner I finish writing, the sooner I can get the draft over to the editors and get ahead on revisions,” you say. “This needs to be good. I can’t afford for it not to be.” 

Clark purses his lips, and you continue, “When’s the last time the Daily Planet let an intern do a major profile piece like this?” 

He understands your passion, your drive. How bad you want to be staffed. But he also knows that you’re one of the strongest and most disciplined journalists that have passed through the program in the seven years that he’d been working there. 

“Maybe that’s proof that Perry already believes in you,” he says. “Don’t sacrifice rest out of fear.” You bite your lip guiltily. “Fear is a ruthless leader. Trust me.” He taps your chin with his knuckle. 

You search his eyes. They’re like mini seas. “I do trust you.” 

“Good,” he concedes. “I’ll never lead you astray.” 

A ghost of a smile pulls at your lips. “Cheesy.” 

“But it’s true,” he says. “Will you come get ready for bed now?” 

“Right after this…” you cup his cheeks and guide him down for a kiss. 

His lips are slow and gentle against yours. Both of you warm from the inside out, as if small stars have bloomed to life in your bellies and couldn’t contain themselves. With practiced ease, Clark spins around and lifts you onto the countertop. He drinks in your surprised giggle like it’s the sweetest thing on this side of the atmosphere. Or maybe of all. You pull back just to tease, and he chases like strings join you together. He lands a peck at the corner of your mouth as you shift out of reach.   

The air quiets at the dull thud of your head meeting the cabinet door behind you. 

Clark winces like it happened to him, lifting his hands to rub the back of your head. “Jeez Louise, sweetheart,” he breathes, brows furrowed in apology. You’re smiling though. “You alright?”

“No, I’m dying,” you say, then lean in to kiss his frown. Clark's fingers still massage gingerly at the back of your head. “Worrywart.” 

Clark gives you a look that’s more helpless than it is pointed. “It’s my job to be.” 

He huffs a chuckle when you take his wrists and usher his palms to hold your cheeks instead. He humors you by applying just enough pressure to make your lips pucker like one of the little fish he used to have when he was a boy. His touch falls away as he presses his forehead to yours. 

“I love you,” he whispers. 

“I love you more.” 

“Impossible.” 

Your lips quirk upwards. “I thought you said anything was possible if I put my mind to it.” 

Clark exhales. “Anything except that,” he amends, then pulls away. “Time for bed now. Please?” 

One look into those sparkling blue eyes and you’re reminded that you’d follow him just about anywhere. 

- 

Thank you so much for reading! Very punk rock of you. All likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated. I promise I see them all! 

CLARK KENT MASTERLIST 

ALL MASTERLISTS

[prettydaisygirl]

I love your firefighter!james potter series! :) can you write about their first kiss? Was it a first date type of thing, was it spontaneous or in the moment?

AND

hi! could you do a firefigher!James where a fire breaks out in r's apartment and she can't get out in time and James has to get her out?? <3

helloooooo nonnies! Thank you so much for requesting <3 The two of you literally requested these within an hour of each other so I thought it might be fate, and put them together. I hope you both enjoy this one and are having amazing, wonderful days :)

firechief!James Potter x fem!reader who needs saving during a fire ✿ 1.0k words

cw: pre-established relationship, fem!reader, reader's apartment is on fire, reader chokes on smoke/struggles to breathe, James carries reader

james potter masterlist

°˖✧✿✧˖°

“Fuck.” You curse through your cough, a hand raised to your chest as your lungs burn. Your eyes burn, too, as the smoke pours into your apartment in thick, dark wisps under the door. “Shit.”

You’re trapped in your apartment. The handle of the front door burns your hand when you try to open it. The blisters are already forming, but you don’t have time to think about it, the pain just mixing with the panic already surging through you. There’s no other way out.

You don’t have anyone to blame but yourself for your current predicament.

The fire alarms in your apartment go off all of the time. Enough times that you’ve met the Fire Chief (if ‘met’ means that you’ve gone on one coffee date before). So, when you’re in the shower, shaving your legs and getting ready for your second date with him, and the fire alarm goes off… you don’t get out. You assumed, like every other time, that the alarm is just a result of faulty wiring, just an accident, and it would be fine for you to leave the building once you’re at least dried off and dressed. You expected a small scolding from James, but nothing more. 

You didn’t expect the coughing, the smoke, the burn, the panic. 

You rush to one of your windows, tearing it open to try and inhale some fresh air. You can see the firetrucks turning onto the street, a small amount of relief flowing through you at the sight of the flashing lights. You tug your towel tighter, your hair dripping water down your back. You cough as you race into your bedroom. 

James is coming, you tell yourself as you throw on the first pieces of clothing you manage to grab, James will save me. You’re shaking, a mixture of panic and adrenaline, and your ears ring from the screech of the alarms. You can see smoke pouring out of your window as you rush back into the living room, and when you press your face to the window screen you can see it pouring out of the building from various other places too, the sky a strange mixture of blue and gray. 

You spot James the moment you look for him. He shouts commands to his crew, gesturing and pointing. You find it hurts to breathe as you watch him move, and it only becomes more and more difficult by the second. The fire must’ve been close to you, getting closer.

You lift your head enough to look out the window at him again. “James,” Your voice is raspy and quiet when you speak, but despite how impossible it is, James seems to hear you. His eyes trace over the building and land directly on your apartment window. He moves the instant he sees that you’re still inside, shouting for a couple others in his crew to follow him inside. 

You keep your face in the window, gasping for fresh air. The room gets warmer the longer you sit, and you wonder how close the fire is now. What if the fire makes it to you before James does?

No, you shake your head at your own thoughts. You know James. He wouldn’t let you get hurt. 

And he doesn’t. Just a moment later, you hear a crack and the front door breaks open off its hinges. On the other side is the Fire Chief, smoke billowing in behind him in a dark cloud.

“James,” You say, but your voice is cut short by a cough. He rushes over to you, his movements undeterred by his equipment. His arms slip around you, lifting you easily. In any other situation, you’d find yourself swooning, but now, you find yourself light-headed for an entirely worse reason.

“I gotcha, angel,” James reassures you, carrying you out of your apartment. He cradles you against his chest. “Hold your breath, baby, we’re almost out.” 

And, somehow, as James literally walks with you through a fire, you’ve never felt more safe. You know he’ll protect you, you know that as long as you’re with him, you’re going to be okay. You’ve never felt like that before.

“James,” You whisper, gripping onto the fabric of his jacket as he steps outside finally. 

“You’re okay.” James sets you on your feet shakily, his eyes tracing over you. His hands grip your arms like he’ll keep you standing if you fall. You know he would. “You’re okay, yeah?”

“Yeah…” You say with a slow nod, looking around at everything going on. Lights from the firetrucks, smoke, people crying, water spraying from hoses. It’s so overwhelming that you decide to focus on James’ face. Familiar and safe. “James…”

He opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn’t get a chance. You practically jump back into his arms, your mouth pressing to his. Your heart pounds in your chest, trying to get closer to him, trying to feel safe. You don’t think about it being your first kiss with him, truthfully you don’t think at all. 

At first, he doesn’t move. Just stands there frozen in shock. Then, his hands find your waist and his lips press back against yours. It’s short, sweet, and it has you calming down enough to breathe again.

James pulls away, but only a little. You know he doesn’t have a lot of time in situations like this, but the fact that he’s taking some to calm you down and reassure you means more to you than he’ll ever know. “You’re okay?” He asks you again, slower this time, making sure you’re answering truthfully.

“I’m okay.” You say again, nodding and loosening your grip on him. “That was fucking scary. Thank you for saving me.”

“Well, that’s my job.” James says, brushing a hand over your shoulder again as he steps back. “Don’t go near the building, okay?”

“I’ll stay right here.” You tell him, and your heart aches a little as he walks away, but you know he needs to focus. 

And you can wait right here for him, staying focused on the kiss, on the thought of him, instead of the fire. 

°˖✧✿✧˖°

© prettydaisygirl

[ackermanrage]

ᴍɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴀɪɴᴛᴇɴᴀɴᴄᴇ

janitor!levi x professor!fem!reader warnings: slow burn, expilct language, academic setting, power dynamics, flirting via insults and eye contact, smut, levi being the inpatient levi he is, some name calling (baby, babygirl) wc: 6.8k an: oof this is long. genuinely i have no idea what im doing i just start writing and then i dont stop so it might feel all over the place but DONT WORRY. because this is for all the girlies that love dom!levi.

summary of chapter: Levi being a freak? You didn't know he was capable of that. And then Hange had to go create a whole discord server that half the university joined in less than a minute. You got assigned an intern a few days later, then things a get a bit heated and who even expects Levi to be patient about this? About you?

masterlist to this series

He stood in your doorway like a mirage—silent, solid, all shadows and sharp lines. Cargo pants slung low on his hips, black gloves tugged snug over his hands, and a dark gray t-shirt clinging to his torso in the way fabric only does when it's been worked in. His hair was tied back today, a few damp strands sticking to the side of his face.

And for a moment, you just... stared.

Maybe it was the heat frying your nerves, or maybe it was the way his presence felt like a cold slap to your overheated senses—but either way, you couldn’t look away.

“Fan broken?” he asked flatly, his voice low and rasped with the edge of someone who hadn’t talked all day.

You blinked, your hand still hovering near your water bottle like you’d forgotten how to function.

“Uh—yeah. Fan. AC too,” you managed, already feeling the fabric of your blouse clinging tighter the longer he stood there. “It’s... sort of like sitting in a greenhouse. But with more body heat and less photosynthesis.”

He stepped into the office without a word, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. You were suddenly very aware of how small your space was. The room felt even more claustrophobic now—his presence swallowing the air.

Levi walked past your desk, straight to the corner where the little system that made the fan run sat like a crime scene. You watched as he crouched beside it, back muscles shifting subtly beneath his shirt. His gloves moved with clean, practiced ease—unplugging wires, pressing buttons, flicking switches.

You weren’t looking at his hands.

Well—you were. But not in the way that made sense.

And then he said, still facing away, “You gonna stand there and sweat or sit?”

Your brows lifted.

“...You talk to all the faculty like that?”

He glanced back at you, the faintest arch of an eyebrow giving away that bone-dry humor he kept buried beneath all that grump.

“Only the ones who put ‘send ice’ on a work order.”

You tried to bite down a smile, walking slowly toward your desk, heels clicking softly against the tile. You sat back in your chair, letting the leather stick to your thighs as sweat continued to bead along the line of your collarbone.

“I wasn’t exaggerating, by the way,” you muttered, fanning yourself weakly with a stack of papers. “It’s actually disgusting in here.”

“Yeah,” he said, pushing a loose wire into place. “You're sweating through your shirt.”

Your body stilled. Head tilted.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean it’s hot,” he added quickly, tone neutral. But he still didn’t look at you. And his ears—just the tips—were a little red.

You leaned forward, resting your elbow on the desk. “Didn't realize how long you were looking at me.”

“I’m wasn't,” he said shortly, standing on a stool to check the ceiling vent. “Just not blind.”

Your heart kicked up.

You leaned back slowly, crossing your legs with deliberate slowness. “So... you were looking.”

That made him pause.

Just for a second.

Then he turned, got off the stool, and walked back toward the fan. “Do you want this fixed or not?”

You smiled, letting your gaze drag lazily across his form. “I’m just trying to keep the conversation going while you crawl around on your knees in front of me.”

His head lifted sharply.

And this time—he looked at you.

Fully. Directly.

Eyes raking over you like he was finally letting himself. Like he wasn’t just tolerating your presence, but taking you in—how your shirt clung to your chest, the sweat glinting along your neck, your crossed legs shifting ever so slightly under the desk.

He didn’t say anything.

But the air felt electric.

“Something wrong?” you asked softly, voice just above a whisper.

“Yeah,” he muttered, dark eyes unreadable. “I forgot how fucking loud professors can be.”

That made you laugh—soft, low, and dripping with something just shy of flirtation. You didn’t break eye contact.

“Loud, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched between you.

You could feel it now—the shift. The change in atmosphere. It wasn’t just hot because the AC was broken. It was hot because he was standing in your space, breathing your air, looking at you like you were a problem he didn’t want to solve.

“Guess we all make noise in different ways.”

He said nothing.

Just stared.

Until the fan suddenly sputtered back to life behind him with a soft whirrrr.

You both blinked.

Levi rolled his eyes, muttering, “Figures.”

Then—without warning. he turned, gathering his stuff and brushing past your desk to your door.

You followed his motion with your eyes, head tilting again. “No ‘you’re welcome’?”

He paused in the doorway.

“Not my job to be polite.”

You smirked. “What is your job, then?”

He looked over his shoulder—eyes sharp, mouth set in a tight line.

“To clean up other people’s messes.”

And then he was gone.

Door swinging shut behind him.

Leaving you alone in a room that was finally cool… but somehow, you were still burning.

---

3 days later.

Late afternoon. The halls were quiet, most of the students long gone, with only the occasional sound of footsteps echoing off stone and tile. Your lecture had run long again, something about cellular respiration turning into a spontaneous tangent on trauma responses and human biology. It didn’t matter—you were too deep in your own rhythm to stop. But by the time you finally dismissed the few stragglers, your office had turned into a storm of clutter. A toppled stack of lab models. Papers everywhere. A broken glass frame you’d been meaning to replace since Monday.

You sighed, squatting down to gather the mess.

And then—you heard the cart wheels.

That low, rolling sound that had started to feel... familiar. Predictable, almost. You didn’t even have to look to know it was him.

Levi.

You glanced up as he passed, mop slung over one shoulder, clipboard tucked under his arm. He paused by your door, eyes narrowing faintly at the scene inside.

“Didn’t take you for the messy type,” he said, voice deadpan but not unkind.

You huffed a laugh. “I’m not. My students are. You ever seen what twenty teenagers can do to a stack of flashcards?”

He didn’t reply. Just stepped inside, calm as ever, and crouched down beside the broken frame like he did this for a living. (He did.) Gloved hands reached out, collected shards of glass with movements that were methodical, precise. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. Veins shifting beneath his forearms. Wrist flexing with every pick and motion.

You watched, unable not to.

The air between you felt heavier with every second.

And you—stupid, impulsive, maybe heat-drunk off how absurdly composed he looked—let the words slip out before you could stop them.

“You’ve got really nice hands.”

He froze.

Just for a second.

Fingers stilling over the last jagged shard of glass.

He turned his head slightly, his eyes dragging toward you like they didn’t want to. You couldn’t read his expression, not fully. Something sharp edged into his silence—something unreadable and still and aware.

You cleared your throat. Tried to play it off with a careless tilt of your head.

“I mean—steady. Not what I expected from someone who works with bleach and mop buckets.”

You saw his mouth twitch.

“You look at everyone’s hands that close?”

Your breath caught.

You swallowed. “Only when they’re in my office. On their knees. Touching my stuff.”

His jaw shifted. A flicker of something—heat? irritation?—passed across his face. His eyes dropped back down to the glass, and he set the final piece aside with more force than necessary. Then he stood slowly.

But when he spoke, his voice had dropped an octave.

“You really shouldn’t say things like that.”

Your heart thudded. “Why?”

He looked at you now. Really looked. Not just passing glances—this was a look. The kind that stripped things bare. The kind that knew.

“Because I’m not good at pretending I didn’t hear them.”

The words lingered.

You sat there, still crouched, your breath stalled in your throat, the heat in your body shifting from surface-level irritation to something deeper. Needier.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out.

He broke the moment first. Bent down, picked up the small trash bag he’d brought in, and turned toward the door.

Before he left, he paused. Didn’t look at you this time—just stood with his back to you, hand resting on the doorknob. His arm flexed as he gripped the doorknob a bit tighter.

“They’re not the only steady thing about me, you know.”

The door clicked shut behind him.

And you— You sat there in silence, absolutely ruined.

---

The University of Paradis cafeteria was less of a dining hall and more of a chaotic ecosystem.

Today, you were sandwiched between Erwin and Hange, picking at a croissant and sipping watered-down iced coffee while trying not to melt. The AC in the cafeteria was working fine, but after your week from hell—and that one specific janitor still taking up way too much real estate in your brain—you’d been in a semi-permanent state of distraction.

Across from you sat Miche, unreadable as always, and next to him, Petra was talking softly with Nanaba about the logistics of next week’s campus conference.

It was almost peaceful.

Until a group of students two tables away decided they had no concept of volume control.

“…I’m telling you, she smiled at him. Like actually smiled. The janitor, dude.”

You blinked. Head tilting slightly.

Hange perked up immediately.

Another voice chimed in—someone you recognized as Connie.

“Nah nah nah—it’s more than that. Sasha said she saw them alone. In her office. Door was closed.”

“Shut up,” Armin whispered, clearly trying to do damage control. “You guys are way too loud—”

Jean’s voice cut through. “I mean, look at the guy. He’s always around. Like… suspiciously around. The mop cart’s never that far from her classroom.”

“Maybe he likes biology,” Eren offered.

“Or maybe he likes Professor [Last Name] in those pencil skirts,” Sasha laughed.

You froze.

Beside you, Erwin set down his fork with a slow blink.

Hange’s head snapped toward you like a dog that just spotted a squirrel.

Miche didn’t even look up. Just calmly stirred his soup.

You cleared your throat. “They’re just kids.”

“Kids with working eyes, apparently,” Hange said brightly, leaning across the table toward you. “You know, I did wonder why Levi suddenly started fixing things so promptly when your name’s on the work order.”

You blinked. “My fan broke.”

Erwin smiled faintly. “Did it also break your common sense?”

Petra gasped softly into her palm.

Nanaba sipped her tea like this was the best lunch she’d had all month.

You huffed, leaning back in your chair. “Okay, first of all, there is nothing—”

“Door was closed,” Hange sang, wiggling their brows. “C-L-O-S-E-D. Oh my god, do you think he’s a wall-pusher?”

You choked on your coffee.

Miche finally lifted his head just enough to murmur, “He does have strong hands.”

“Miche!” you hissed.

Erwin rested his chin on his fist, smirking. “I do find it fascinating. We always thought you’d end up with someone from your department. You know—someone who publishes in Nature.”

“Levi’s definitely not submitting to Nature,” Hange muttered. “But he is a natural.”

You were one bad joke away from setting fire to the cafeteria.

“Can we not talk about my imaginary sex life at work?”

“Imaginary?” Hange whispered like they were taking notes. “So it hasn’t happened yet. Interesting. But you want it to.”

“Can I eat my croissant in peace?”

“No,” Erwin and Hange said in unison.

Just then, as if summoned by sheer bad karma, Levi appeared.

He entered from the side hallway, pushing his cart toward the industrial trash bins, clearly unaware he had just walked into a war zone. His sleeves were rolled up. Gloves tucked into his belt. That usual scowl etched into his face like it belonged there.

Your stomach did something very stupid.

He didn’t look at your table. Not once. But you could tell—he knew you were there.

Hange whispered under their breath, “Look at him. You’re telling me that man hasn’t bent you over your lab table yet?”

You kicked them under the table so hard Erwin’s coffee sloshed.

Levi dumped something in the bin. Adjusted his gloves.

And—finally—glanced your way.

Brief. Just a flicker.

But it was enough.

Your throat went dry. Your mouth parted. Your hand, still holding your fork, paused halfway to your plate.

And just like that, he turned and walked out.

Like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just made you remember every single thing about the last time he’d looked at you like that.

The table was quiet for a moment.

Then Hange leaned back with a sigh, folding their arms behind their head.

“God. If you don’t kiss him soon, I will.”

---

It was the end of the day—nearly seven o'clock, and the campus had fallen into that calm, post-sunset hush. The halls were dimmer now, painted in soft orange light from the last bit of sun bleeding through the high glass windows. Most students were gone. The classrooms were empty.

Except for Lecture Hall E3.

The hall was quiet except for the low buzz of the building’s old lights and the faint clink of something metal in your hands—a broken microscope clamp, one of the dozen things still malfunctioning in your lab since midterms ended.

You sat on the edge of your desk, legs crossed, one hand gripping your cold coffee while the other held the offending clamp. Across from you stood Levi, tool belt low on his hips, sleeves rolled up.

Hange hadn’t meant to go there, not really. They were looking for a dry-erase marker Petra claimed she'd left during her last guest talk. But as they wandered toward the room, humming under their breath, they paused in the doorway—stopped cold by what they saw through the crack in the half-closed door.

You. Levi.

Too close to not be suspicious.

You were sitting down, arms crossed, head tilted in that way you got when you were poking at someone on purpose. Your voice was low, but Hange could feel the tone of it—even from outside the room. It was teasing.

And Levi?

He was standing directly in front of you, one hand resting on the edge of the desk, head dipped low, voice a rumble.

You said something—soft, laughing under your breath—and Levi stepped closer. Just a fraction. Just enough to make it absolutely inappropriate.

You weren’t touching. But you might as well have been.

His hand brushed the desk next to your thigh. Your knee shifted. His fingers tapped. You smiled like you were about to say something stupid.

That’s when Hange gasped.

Too loud.

You both turned sharply, your conversation shattering on impact as you spotted Hange standing frozen in the door like they’d walked into a porno.

“Oh shit,” you blurted.

Levi didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

He just blinked. Slowly.

“...You lost?” he asked Hange, deadpan.

“Uh-huh. Yep. Marker. Dry erase. Important. OkayBYE—”

And then they were gone—bolting down the hallway, nearly tripping over their own feet as they pulled out their phone mid-sprint.

You and Levi stared at the empty door in silence.

Then he looked at you, jaw tightening. “Next time we talk, we do it somewhere with a fucking lock.”

---

8:12 a.m.

You stepped into the main faculty lounge, and instantly felt the shift in the air. Like the energy had turned radioactive.

Erwin looked up from his tablet. Petra was pretending to read an article. Nanaba had the most serene smirk on her face, sipping her tea with both hands.

Your phone kept buzzing. Constantly. You just hadn't checked it yet.

You unlocked it and pulled up the source of hell itself, thinking you should check it out before putting it on Do Not Disturb.

Whispr. Paradis University’s unofficial gossip forum. Anonymous posts. Zero filters. All chaos.

anonymous:

Just saw Professor [Last Name] in a lecture hall w/ THE janitor ��

horseface:

Pls they're always standing SO CLOSE…

anonymous:

he leaned in and whispered something. 🫣

connie_69:

Nah bc my friend said she saw him leave her office TWICE last week after hours. 😏

sashasandwich:

I saw them chit chatting during breaks...

Seriously?! A discord server?!

You scrolled down, horrified.

There it was. The new "nickname". Burned into your corneas like a curse.

“MISS MAINTENANCE.”

And the top-liked comment?

“If I were her, I’d risk it all for those hands too. #MissMaintenance”

You groaned, slamming your phone face-down on the table in the faculty lounge.

Hange was already there, sipping coffee like they hadn’t ruined your life 12 hours ago.

“Oh good—you saw it,” they chirped, grinning wide. “What was it again? Miss Maintenance?”

You glared. “They made a hashtag, Hange.”

“I think it’s cute! You’ve got fan pages now!”

“I’m going to bury myself under the supply closet.”

“You’d have company," they winked, “Better make room for Levi.”

"Hange—"

---

The science building’s break room was barely functional—fluorescent lights, burnt coffee, a sad little fridge that buzzed like it was haunted. You only came in here when absolutely necessary, and today, unfortunately, was one of those days.

You were mid-sip of what barely passed as coffee, leaning back against the counter and scrolling through lecture slides, when you heard it.

The door creaked open.

Footsteps. Deliberate. Slow.

You didn’t even have to look up.

“Levi.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just let the door click shut behind him, the silence stretching in that way he was infamous for. When you finally lifted your eyes, he was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest, expression unreadable.

There was something… off. Not angry, but something close. Tight around the mouth. Focused.

You arched a brow. “Is this a social call, or are you here to fix the refrigerator that’s been humming like a possessed gremlin for three weeks?”

Still, nothing.

Then, after a pause.

“What the hell is a ‘Whispr’?”

You blinked.

“…What?”

His jaw tensed. “Don’t play dumb.”

“I’m not—wait.” You straightened. “You saw it?”

“I didn’t know about it until ten minutes ago when Yeager and Kirstein nearly killed each other laughing outside the janitor’s closet.” He paused. “One of them was reading a post out loud.”

You rubbed your temples. “Please don’t say which one.”

“Miss Maintenance.”

You physically recoiled. “God. That’s so much worse when it comes from your mouth.”

He took a step closer.

“You gonna tell me why half the campus thinks I’ve been sneaking into your lecture hall to screw you over?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you mad about the gossip?”

His gaze pinned you. Sharp. Flat. So perfectly Levi.

“I’m mad that everyone’s talking like they know something I don’t.”

That shut you up.

Because—holy guacamole.

You’d been fine joking about it. Teasing Hange. Rolling your eyes at Connie’s fake whispers in your class. But hearing him say it like that?

Possessive?

That did something dangerous to your spine.

You cleared your throat. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know,” he said simply.

“But?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t mean I liked hearing Sasha say she wants to ‘switch majors and watch us make out.’”

You choked on your laugh, mouth flying open. “She said that?”

“She said it to Miche, of all people.”

“Oh god—no wonder he couldn’t look me in the eye.”

Levi stepped closer again. Just a little. He wasn’t touching you. But the way his eyes lingered now—on your mouth, your neck, the edge of your blouse—it was definitely not neutral.

“I don’t care about the app,” he said. “I care about the fact that I didn’t get to hear you say half that shit to me.”

Your breath caught.

“You wanna flirt? Don’t do it where everyone else gets to enjoy it first.”

Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then you spoke, quiet but steady.

“Then let me say it now.”

Levi’s expression shifted. Slightly. A slow blink. A twitch of his jaw.

You stepped forward, until only a foot of space separated you.

“Every time you walk into a room...” you murmured, "I forget how to act right..."

He didn’t smile. But his breath hitched—just once.

Then he muttered.

“Still not enough.”

Then he turned and walked right out. The door clicked shut. You inhaled then exhaled.

"UGH—"

---

You were halfway through explaining protein synthesis when you saw. the unmistakable posture of students not paying attention.

Connie Springer and Sasha Braus were hunched over a shared notebook in the back row, heads tilted together like they were plotting world domination. Their pens weren’t moving. Their eyes definitely weren’t on the projector screen. And every few seconds, Sasha would nudge Connie and cover her mouth to stifle a laugh.

You paused for a moment mid-sentence, chalk still in hand.

“…which brings us to messenger RNA,” you continued, your voice calm. Measured. Like you weren’t mentally calculating how much detention you were legally allowed to assign in a university setting.

“mRNA is transcribed from DNA in the nucleus—”

Sasha wheezed. Loudly.

Your eyes flicked toward the back row.

She slapped a hand over her mouth. Connie was vibrating in his seat like a child who just discovered what sex is.

You exhaled slowly and turned back to the board.

Be mature. You’re the professor. Don’t let the gremlins win.

You tapped the chalk to the board, continuing, “—then exits into the cytoplasm where ribosomes begin translating the sequence into proteins—”

Behind you, a faint whisper.

“Do you think they’ve kissed yet?”

You froze.

You didn’t move, didn’t react—but your brain slammed into a wall.

Was that… Connie?

Another voice, “Nah. Levi looks like the type to suffer in silence.”

Sasha.

Your grip tightened on the chalk. You weren’t even breathing anymore. Just listening.

“So like…depressing love?”

You closed your eyes for half a second. Steady. Controlled.

The scrape of a chair leg. The rustle of Sasha’s notebook.

Then Connie again, gasping softly. “I bet he doesn’t even know he’s in love yet. He’s probably just like—‘Why do I want to mop this one person’s floors extra good?’”

Oh my god.

You turned around slightly, just enough to glance at them, but they were in full ship-mode now, completely oblivious to how loud they were being.

Sasha leaned in dramatically. “What if they roleplay?! Like—she pretends to spill something and he’s like ‘Tch. Messy,’ and she’s like ‘Clean me, Levi.’”

Your entire body tensed.

The marker slipped from your fingers and hit the floor with a loud clack.

The room went silent.

You turned around slowly. Calm. The picture of professionalism.

“Everything okay back there?” You smiled tightly.

Sasha’s eyes went wide. Connie turned red—like full-face, sunburn-level red.

Sasha scrambled for an excuse. “Yup! Just… mitochondria.”

Connie nodded, doing his best “I’m innocent” face. “They’re the powerhouse of the cell.”

A slow blink. “Right.”

You leaned down, picked up your chalk, and straightened your blouse with a sigh.

“Let’s keep the roleplaying to your dorm rooms, yeah?”

Half the class gasped. The other half laughed way too hard.

Connie and Sasha looked like they were ready to sink through the floor.

You turned back to the board and continued the lesson like nothing had happened.

But internally?

You were screaming.

Because now you were thinking about the mop. And the look Levi had given you the last time he was in your office. And the way his hands looked when they were wrapped around—

“Anyway,” you said louder than necessary, “translation occurs when ribosomes read codons in the mRNA strand, starting with AUG—”

You did not survive a doctorate for this.

But god, were they kind of right.

---

Then you got assigned an intern.

Liam, second-year biology major, GPA solid, energy borderline annoying. He was eager. Bright. A little too eager, honestly. Always volunteering to carry your books, lingering after hours to “go over lab protocol,” asking you questions that had nothing to do with class.

At first, you brushed it off. "He's just trying to break the ice.", you told yourself. You would try your hardest not to seem too interested in what he was doing, but you could tell by his body language, and that grin he always had on his face. Most interns were awkward. Some tried too hard. But Liam? Liam tried really hard.

He’d show up early—armed with coffee, compliments, and a smile so polished it had to be practiced.

“I hope this isn’t weird,” he said once, handing you your preferred iced drink. “But you have, like, main character energy. You know that, right?”

You gave him a bland look. “This main character is grading 37 terrible lab reports on a Friday night.”

He grinned. “Then I’m clearly the love interest.”

You nearly choked on your straw.

But the real problem wasn’t Liam.

The real problem was that Levi saw it all.

You hadn’t known he’d been cleaning the floor outside the lecture hall that day. Or that he’d passed by your office just as Liam leaned across your desk—too close, holding out a folder with a smirk like he was offering more than just extra credit.

Levi had paused outside your door. Stood there. Watched for a beat too long before walking away—fast, stiff, eyes dark with something cold and irritated.

He didn’t say anything. Not then.

But the next time he showed up in your office—under the pretense of "dusting your shelf"—you knew.

“Didn’t know interns came with complimentary flirting now,” Levi muttered, taking out his duster, tools clicking in his hand.

You raised a brow from your seat. “Is this about Liam?”

He didn’t look up. “Tch.”

You smiled. Innocent. “What, jealous of a sophomore?”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped quickly—too quickly.

You tilted your head, studying him.

“He’s just a kid,” Levi continued, tone clipped. “Doesn’t need to be in your office every damn day.”

“He’s learning,” you said mildly.

“He’s learning your coffee order. And how you laugh. And what perfume you wear.”

That made you pause.

You set down your pen slowly. “Excuse me?”

He finally looked up. Straight at you. His expression unreadable—but his jaw was set, eyes sharp.

“He asked about it,” Levi said. “Two days ago. When you left the room.”

You stared. “You were there?”

“I was working.”

You exhaled through your nose. “And eavesdropping.”

His mouth twitched like he wanted to deny it—but didn’t.

You stood, crossing the room, arms folded.

“And what if I like having someone around who notices those things?”

Something flickered behind his eyes.

“I don’t care if he notices,” Levi said, standing slowly. “I care if you let him think it matters.”

The air thickened.

Your heart thudded.

“You think I’d let a student get that close?” you asked, stepping forward.

He stepped right in front of you. “I think you don’t always see what they’re trying to do.”

“And you do?”

“I’ve seen enough.”

You were close now. Inches away. Tension crackling between you like static.

Then you smiled, slowly.

“You could just say you want to be the one noticing.”

His breath caught.

You leaned up slightly—close enough to whisper:

“Or are you too busy cleaning to care?”

For a second—just one—his control cracked.

Levi’s hand braced the wall beside your head. Not touching you. Not yet. But claiming space.

“I notice everything about you,” he said lowly. “I just don’t say it like some idiot kid trying to impress his TA.”

Silence.

You looked up at him, heart hammering, lips parted—

And then—

A knock.

The door opened an inch. Liam’s voice, cheery as ever.

“Professor? Just dropping off the inventory sheet—”

Levi didn’t move.

His hand still very much cornering you against the wall.

Your face was flushed. His was unreadable.

“Come in,” you said, voice steady.

Levi stepped back, slowly.

But the heat in his eyes hadn’t left.

And Liam? Liam took one look at the tension in the room and called it quits.

“Uh… I can leave it on the desk.”

Smart boy.

---

Liam hadn’t meant to break the internet. He just had a mild panic attack and made the worst possible decision: he posted in the Whispr Discord.

It happened less than twenty minutes after he walked in on you and Levi.

You’d been calm. Unbothered. Professional. Levi, on the other hand, had looked like he was one half-breathed syllable away from pinning you to your office

He dropped the folder and left like the room was on fire.

Which, in a way, it kind of was.

So naturally, he went to the only place a confused, mildly scared intern would turn to in a moment of crisis: The Whispr Discord. Specifically: the #rumors-and-sightings channel.

liambiology02:

i didn’t know Professor [Last Name] and the janitor were like… together???

The server exploded in under 30 seconds.

horseface:

EXCUSE ME????????????

sashasandwhich:

TOGETHER TOGETHER OR “I’M JUST HELPING HER FIX HER FAN AGAIN” TOGETHER???

humanitiescommander:

Please use factual language and avoid libel 🙏

aruminated:

WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. BACK UP. LIAM. WHAT DID YOU SEE.

liambiology02:

idk! nothing happened!! he was just like… really close??? i just felt weird and left i don’t KNOW if they’re together omg

e_revenge:

this is how scandals start and I, for one, am READY

connie_69:

bro Levi prob gave him the look THE look the "I’ve imagined killing you and you wouldn’t even make a sound" look

Meanwhile… you hadn’t seen the chat yet.

You were finishing up your last lecture. Calm. Composed. Unaware.

Until Hange sprinted into your classroom, phone raised like a torch.

“Professor!” they gasped. “You’re trending on the Whispr Discord again. And you didn’t even do anything this time!”

You blinked. “What now?”

They flipped their screen around. Showed you Liam’s message. Then the reactions. Then the floods and floods of messages from basically the WHOLE university.

You stared. Slowly sank into your chair.

“I told you to delete that server...”

“Too late,” Hange grinned. “You and Levi are officially the gossip of the entire STEM department.”

You dragged a hand down your face.

“Does Levi know?”

“No. But he will,” Hange smirked. “Give it about five minutes.”

---

You were heading to your office when you heard it—

“Professor.”

You turned.

Levi was standing in the middle of the hallway like he’d been waiting. Arms crossed, face unreadable, dark eyes locked on yours like he wasn’t letting you pass until you gave him what he wanted.

You blinked. “Hey.”

He didn’t respond at first. Just stared. A muscle jumped in his jaw. His fingers flexed at his sides. You noticed the way his shirt clung to his shoulders, the dust streaked across one forearm, the slight sheen on his skin like he’d just come from fixing something.

“Have you seen it?” he asked finally. Voice low. Controlled. But his eyes? oh you knew you were in for a long one.

Your heart hiccuped. You didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“…Yeah.”

“Liam’s little confession.”

You nodded.

He stepped closer.

“Everyone thinks we’re—” He cut himself off. Jaw clenched. Swallowed the words like they tasted bad.

You tilted your head. Calm. “Together?”

His breath hitched. Just a flicker. But you saw it.

“They’re saying you’re sleeping with me,” he muttered. “That you’re using your position. That I’m just—the janitor.”

You stayed quiet. Let him talk.

“I’ve been hearing it all day,” he said. “Hange, Miche, all of the damn students. Like they know anything. Like they get to decide what this is.”

You folded your arms slowly.

“And what is this, Levi?”

His eyes narrowed. “That’s the problem. You never say.”

“Neither do you.”

Silence.

Then he stepped in. Close. One foot between yours. Voice low. Heat just beneath the surface.

“If you’re not serious, tell me to walk away.”

You inhaled.

“If you don’t want this—me—say it.”

Your lips parted.

But nothing came out.

He searched your face. Tension pulsing off him like heat. Like gravity.

Then—so quietly it barely touched the air—

“But if you do..."

And that broke you.

You reached out. Hand at his collar, fingers brushing the edge of his throat.

“Levi,” you breathed, steady now, “I’m not interested in pretending.”

His jaw twitched.

You stepped closer. So close he had to tilt his head to keep your eyes.

“If they’re going to talk anyway…” Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric at his chest.

“…we might as well give them something to talk about.”

A long beat.

Then he said, rough and low—

“Finally.”

His hands gripped your waist, pulled you flush. His mouth was on yours before the next breath—hot, hungry, all the things he’d been holding back slamming into you at once.

It wasn’t neat. And it definitely wasn’t soft.

It was a week of stolen glances. A month of silent tension. A semester of wanting and not saying a damn word.

The kiss had barely ended, and Levi was already reaching behind you—one hand sliding over your waist, the other twisting the lock on your office door with a quiet click.

It was instinct. Automatic. Like he knew exactly what he needed to do before either of you had the chance to second-guess this. You didn’t pull away. You didn’t blink. You just watched him, your chest rising and falling too fast, heat blooming low and thick under your skin.

“Levi,” you breathed, half-warned, half-melted, “we shouldn’t—”

“You want to stop?” he asked, voice hoarse, already slipping his hand up under your blouse.

You hesitated.

He smirked—barely. “Didn’t think so.”

Then his mouth was back on yours, hungrier this time, less controlled. His hands? Unbelievable. Rough in all the right ways. Not fumbling, not frantic—just confident. Like he knew what you wanted before you could ask for it.

Your back hit the edge of the desk, and Levi didn’t even pause. He lifted you onto it like it was nothing, like you didn’t weigh a damn thing to him. His gloves had been tucked into his back pocket; now they hit the floor with a soft thud as his bare palms slid over your thighs, up under your skirt, dragging heat everywhere they touched.

“You know I’ve thought about this,” he muttered against your neck. “Way too much. Couldn’t stop.”

You gasped as his teeth grazed your skin. “When?”

“First day I saw you,” he said. “Walked right past me after asking me where your lecture hall is. Like you weren’t setting my whole fucking brain on fire.”

You laughed breathlessly, curling your fingers into his shirt. “You glared at me.”

“Yeah,” he said, dragging his hands up your hips, “because I was panicking.”

Then—fabric shifted. Buttons slipped loose. Skin met skin.

You reached down, impatient, undoing your belt. He watched you, eyes dark, jaw tight, like he was barely holding it together.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” you said, teasing.

He leaned in, voice low and brutal in your ear.

“I'm not leaving this office until you can't fucking walk straight.”

And that was it.

Your clothes didn’t come off all at once. They were pulled aside. Pushed up. Wrinkled and messy in the places that mattered. He tasted like mint and frustration and something darker—something needy. Like this wasn’t just lust. Like he’d been starving.

He was rough in the way that made you dizzy, then gentle in the way that made your stomach flip.

You said his name once—softly, breathlessly—and he swore under his breath, pressing his forehead to yours, fingers gripping your thighs like they were the only thing grounding him.

“Say it again,” he whispered. “Say it like your mine.”

"Levi..."

His hands were already on your cilt, rubbing soft but fast circles around it. Your hands slid down to his pants tugging at his belt.

"You want it, baby?" He said, clicking his belt open and pulling it off. You just moaned in response. Could you really help yourself? He was beautiful, long and pink. And the girth was out of this world.

You swear you were a hero in your past life because what the fuck could you have possibly done to deserve this dick?

"Dirty girl..." Levi smirked.

He spun you around, your chest flat against the desk. His hands were on your ass, giving it a few light slaps. Then out of nowhere, he shoves his whole cock right in.

"Oh fuck—"

His thrusts were fast. Levi had waited for this moment, he had dreamed of fucking you, touching you, holding you...and right now he was doing just that.

"So fucking tight f'me babygirl" he grunted.

He can feel you getting close, he was too. Your warm cunt wrapped around his cock was just too much for him to handle.

His eyes flutter shut. he’s always been so weak for you—it was such a contrast to his usual demeanor, but god, he just couldn’t help it.

And when you finally came—shaking, breath caught in your throat, his name tangled in it—he didn’t let you go. Not for a second. He kissed you through it, slow, warm, grounding.

“‘m gonna cum,” he grunts, “tell me to pull out.”

“inside.” you clench around him, milking him of everything he has. and for you, he’d give you the whole world.

"fuuuck..." he says as he fills you up with his cum.

You two just stayed like that for a few moments, panting, in each other arms. Then you started laughing. And Levi looked completely and utterly confused.

"I-....I cant believe I just did this HA!"

"What."

"Like—you know. Me and You."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Whateverrr"

"Your fucking crazy."

"Says the one that just fucked me on the desk I grade lab reports."

"Thats different—!"

You guys cleaned up, and you couldn't stop giggling, the color in your cheeks hadn't faded away.

"Im....gonna go now." Levi said.

"So soon?"

But not without pulling your skirt back into place, brushing a kiss against your temple, and muttered something that had definitely sounded like,“Next time, we don’t stop at your desk.” Before saying,

"Yeah, I have better things to do than rage baiting janitors."

"Levi!"

By the time Levi slipped out the hallway, shirt rumpled, cheeks slightly pink. A smudge of lipstick on his neck. Some classes had just ended, students were filing out.

Someone saw Levi outside your office door, looking dazed.

Of course someone saw.

And a picture was posted to Whispr by morning.

Caption?

“The janitor definitely took her to church.”

---

You woke up feeling sore in a way that should’ve been inconvenient—but wasn’t.

There was still a faint ache between your legs. The kind that made you sit a little differently. Walk a little slower. Smirk a little too knowingly when you slipped on your silk blouse and saw the subtle fingerprints blooming across your hips.

You were still thinking about it as you stepped into the faculty lounge with your coffee.

And that’s when it hit.

The energy.

Everyone turned.

Everyone looked.

Sasha’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. Connie dropped his croissant. Jean looked like he’d seen the Virgin Mary herself.

Then—Erwin, seated at the far end of the table, took a long sip of coffee and cleared his throat.

“Morning, Professor.”

You blinked. “Morning.”

Another deliberate sip. Another throat clear.

“Everything… work okay in your office yesterday?”

Hange howled.

You didn’t even blink. You just sipped your coffee and slid into the nearest seat.

“Fine, thanks. Though someone should really check the thermostat. Things got a little warm.”

Erwin coughed. Loud. Nearly choked.

Miche arched a brow like he knew exactly what you were doing.

And Hange? Hange was fully sliding their phone across the table toward you.

📸: A blurry screenshot from Whispr. anonymous: “Maintenance? More like mating-nance 😏”

You blushed furiously.

You just handed the phone back and said, “People need better hobbies.”

Hange grinned, eyes practically glittering. “I mean, you’re a hobby now.”

“Don’t,” you warned.

Miche snorted. Jean cackled.

"Get a life..."

---

Levi was in the library, restocking the cleaning supplies.

He didn’t look up as Armin passed by with a cautious nod. Didn’t react when Eren and Connie peeked around the corner and whispered, “That’s him. That’s himmm.”

But his ears were pink.

Just slightly.

The librarian walked by. Gave him a look. Said, deadpan.

“Rough night?”

Levi stared at her, unimpressed.

“Tch. Shut up.”

taglist: @lvstyangel @alebrasil0101 @creati-bunny @porcelain-soupspoon4 @r4td0lll @wedypopcytragedy @nxcxllxsevens @levkuna @glads-stuff @bnbaochauuu @maskedbunni @auriuswolve @obsessionprofessional @maeviees @wakasaswifeysblog @fromsaltandsea

©ackermanrage - please do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work!

[only-lonely-star]

hiii!! I love your writing <33 I was wondering if you can to a fic (Dallas Winston x greaser reader) where reader gets hurt and Dallas gets really protective . Tyyyy <334

Hands Off

Dallas Winston x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: Violence, but nothing too graphic.

Summary: Dallas wouldn’t let that slide…

Author’s Note: We love protective Dallas over here. This is an old request, but I hope if you find this you’ll still enjoy it, anon <3

Word Count: 2.2k.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·. .·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

Dallas Winston was your sleazy boyfriend who never cared for the little things. He didn’t give a rat’s ass about going on cute dates or making the effort to set aside a day for the two of you. Sure, he would call you late at night when the world had gone quiet and became a playground for his mischievous antics, but rarely did much else. He loved you, he just had a funny way of showing it. Real funny. After last night’s scolding before you crawled underneath his sheets, you made him swear he’d do better. Dallas sighed, reluctant to make a promise he felt he couldn’t keep.

But here he was, pulling the entrance door open and gesturing you inside a family-owned diner— one you swore had the best milkshakes around town. Dallas scanned his surroundings before following you towards the red booth you claimed. You slid in first, watching him with an almost comical look on your face. Small tufts of his jagged hair stood and pointed in various directions. Dallas overslept, nearly missing the date entirely. His bed head explained how he managed to arrive just two minutes late to your house.

Dallas took his time as he slid into the booth across from you, pushing aside the condiments and napkins that sat in the center of the table with one finger. He locked eyes with you from across the table. “What was it you wanted, baby? A chocolate milkshake?”

“Vanilla,” you corrected.

“Right, right… vanilla,” he nodded, “How ‘bout some real food with that? I’m just about starved.” Dallas took a pack of Winston’s out of his pant pocket and plucked one from the box. He held the pendant around his neck in one hand and scraped the tip of the cigarette against it. Once, twice, and it lit.

“I don’t have much money,” you replied, eyeing him expectantly. Though you both weren’t the ‘rich-kid type’, Dallas swore he’d do better, and he had to start somewhere.

“I’ve got enough. Pick whatever,” he said, drumming his knuckles against the table impatiently.

After a moment, a tall, blonde woman approached the table with menus in hand. She smiled warmly, setting them in front of you. But Dallas’s attention was stolen by the bell ringing overhead the entrance door. In walked two boys, each dressed sharply in pastel polo shirts paired with khaki pants. Their shiny loafers stomped towards the countertop, straddling the circular seats just in front of it. They were handed menus almost immediately. Dallas squinted, recognizing the blonde headed one who flashed a smile at the waitress. That same boy decided to test his luck and trip Dallas himself at a rodeo last week. The Soc stuck his leather boot out, snickering at the sheer look of embarrassment as Dallas landed on his knees. It was safe to say Dallas had never thrown a punch so fast before.

“Dally!” you squeaked, nudging his forearm. The waitress had returned, holding her notepad close to her chest with pursed lips.

He tore his gaze away from the pair of Socs as a confused ‘huh’ left his lips. “Yeah- yeah, I’ll uh start with a chocolate shake.”

The waitress left the table, scribbling onto her notepad. You gave Dallas a bit of a look. “What’re you gawking at? That poor woman was standing there waiting on you!”

Dallas cleared his throat, speaking unusually loud. “I ran into those bastards last week. I’ll see if they fuck with me again, you just watch,” he said proudly, puffing his chest out and flicking the tip of his tongue over his canine.

The Socs paid him no mind. They spoke to one another so quietly that their conversation wasn’t audible from where you sat. The blonde one’s buddy would allow his gaze to flicker back and forth between Dallas and his friend. It was like he also recognized Dallas; his face wasn’t one to forget, especially after taking a beating so harshly.

“Don’t go looking for trouble. Not today, at least,” you groaned. Today was set aside for you, not for fighting. If Dallas dared to hit it off with the Socs, you swore that would be the final straw.

“I’m not, baby, relax,” he drawled coolly, shaking his head. “They won’t do nothing.”

“They keep looking,” you said through gritted teeth, begging him to keep quiet. “You’re drawing attention, now stop!”

And finally, the blonde headed Soc turned his lean body around. He shot an intense glare at Dallas, nodding along as his friend spoke. They were communicating— or maybe planning something. He gave you a sideways glance and shifted so that he had his back towards you.

It felt as if you could finally breathe again once their eyes were no longer on you or Dallas. Dallas didn’t seem too fazed; he seemed to be more at ease with their lurking presence. “So,” he began with a grin, “Where are we goin’ after this? My place? Your place?”

“I was thinking we could just drive around, see what’s out there to do,” you replied with a slight raise of your brow. “Downtown Tulsa has always got something going on.”

“If them Soc folk ain’t out there picking fights, then maybe,” he answered with a slight eye roll in the Socs’ direction.

The waitress had come and gone another round, delivering milkshakes, taking more orders, and delivering your food all within the span of ten minutes. She did the same to the Socs. Every now and then, the blonde one would steal a glance at Dallas. He wouldn’t spare the time of day to glance back. Dallas could feel their lingering eyes on him, but decided to leave it at that. He had gotten his lick back that day at the rodeo. If there was to be a fight, it would be on account of the Soc; perhaps because his reputation was too badly bruised. Taking a beating from a greaser— much less Dallas Winston, and losing against him… it was an embarrassment.

After Dallas paid for your meals, he gestured you towards the door. He made sure to keep an eye on the Socs, double checking to see if they wanted trouble. The two of you successfully made it out of the diner without problems. Dallas had one arm slung around your shoulders, an air of confidence in his stride. He kept you on the right end of the sidewalk as he took the street side. It wasn’t long before those familar stomps followed behind you, stopping you dead in your tracks. Dallas gave a slight push forward, leaning towards your hair as he whispered into your ear, “Don’t pay them no mind, damnit.” But it was too late. By the time you reached the hood of Dallas’s borrowed Thunderbird, the pair of Soc boys were directly behind you. Dallas’s palm on the small of your back urged you towards the passenger door. “Get in the car,” he commanded lowly, turning on his heel to create distance between the Socs and you.

Usually, you could hold your own in a fight. Girls over on the East Side learned how to at an early age. You were nothing like the prissy Soc girls who cowered behind their boyfriends as soon as tension thickened between an opponent. But these boys were built— you were intimidated to hell and back. Unable to leave Dallas to fend for himself, you ignored his command and stood behind him, your hand driving away from the door handle.

“Dallas,” the blonde headed boy said sternly, “I see you brought some help this time around, huh?”

The other boy watched as his friend provoked Dallas. After last week, he wasn’t too keen on picking a fight with him; he saw Dallas’s dangerous glint in those cold eyes of his. He knew of what Dallas was capable of.

“You don’t think last week was enough? You had time to heal and now you’re wanting more?” Dallas replied through gritted teeth, a crease formed between his brows. You could see the way his fists clenched by sides, and the way they twitched with adrenaline.

The Soc only scoffed, “That wasn’t a fair fight and you know it.” He locked eyes with you, moving his head at angle to see past Dallas’s shoulder. “She can fight. Can’t you, baby?” he called to you with a taunting smirk.

‘Baby’. Dallas’s neck cracked at the nickname. He stepped closer to the boys, specifically the blonde, and tensed his body to keep himself steady. “You touch my fuckin’ girl and that’s your ass,” he threatened, worsening the bubbling tension between them.

You stepped closer to Dallas, tugging on his shoulder. Dallas hadn’t started this one, it was all on the Socs. But that didn’t mean you wanted him to continue to egg them on. “Dally, let’s just go. Come on, they ain’t worth it,” you tried to reason.

He bristled at your whine, stepping closer. Dating a hothead meant backing out of a brawl was non negotiable. Dallas Winston never backed out of a fight.

With a firm shove to the blonde’s chest, he toppled over him onto the pavement. The other Soc leapt for Dallas’s back, pawing away at him like a rabid dog. The last thing you intended on doing was joining in on a fight like this. But what could you do? Stand there and watch your boyfriend get hurt? He wouldn’t want you to assist him. Whether it be your safety or for bragging rights once he chased them both off, you didn’t know. Standing and observing made you feel helpless, something you couldn’t bear.

In the heat of the moment, you decided to leave the blonde one for Dallas to tend to, for he was the one that provoked him the most. You pounced for the Soc on Dallas’s back, shoving him clean off of his body. That was the easy part, for it was an unexpected move on your end. But the boy drew his hand back swiftly and smacked the fragile skin of your cheek before he could even process what he had done.

He laid a hand on Dallas’s girl.

The boy took you by your arms and shook you senseless, maneuvering you until your back hit the hot hood of that red Thunderbird. You let out a yelp as the scorching metal made contact with your flesh. It was evident he regretted even thinking about touching you. He held onto your chin tightly and begged for you to stop. He begged for you to keep quiet. Angry, muffled pleads escaped his lips as he tried to pin you down on the car. You kicked and squirmed, though that didn’t get you very far. You yanked him down by holding onto the collar of his pastel blue polo. One fist plowed underneath his jaw, sending him at least a foot away from you. While he was stunned and confused, you took advantage of the time you had bought, stumbling off of the car.

Dallas had been socking the Soc in the gut relentlessly, cursing with every punch. His lip was bleeding, and his denim had fresh tears along the knee area, but he had done it. Dallas had successfully beaten the blonde into a state of desperation and regret. He lay there, a groaning mess as Dallas loomed over him. “Fuckin’ coward,” he taunted from above, spitting on him for good measure. The boy you had slugged held his jaw, backing away in submission. Dallas hadn’t hit him. He knew by the sheer look of terror on his face that he had done something to provoke violence from you. Dallas licked at his bleeding lip. “You fuckin’ touched her, didn’t you?” he demanded.

“I didn’t do nothing. Honest— I didn’t,” he staggered behind desperately.

“Lying sack of shit,” Dallas cursed, closing the distance between them. “What’d I say?”

One hit. Two hits.

The boy held onto the sore spot between his ribs where he had been attacked. He groaned, shaking his head in a submissive manner.

“You keep your fucking hands off,” Dallas snarled, giving him one final blow. He stood and watched him writhe in pain, checking to see if his buddy was back on his feet. They both managed to stand back up, though silently made it known they didn’t want anymore trouble. The duo stumbled over their own two feet, wincing with every step back to their car.

Dallas turned to you immediately, his demeanor shifting once he saw your fear-ridden eyes. “Hey,” he softened his voice, stepping closer to you. He held your face in his hands. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, still shocked by just how quickly plans had changed. One pair of Socs were enough to flip your entire date around. “I’m okay. He didn’t hurt me too bad.”

You could see his jaw tick as you reminded him that he hadn’t protected you to his best ability. He pulled you against his chest, kissing on the crown of your head gently. “You don’t ever pull a stunt like that again. Leave the fighting to me.”

And though you felt you had done the right thing in assisting him, your cheek said otherwise. Dallas may not be your ideal boyfriend when it came to planning romantic dates, but he could sure defend you when needed. Maybe that was how he showed his love; through defensive acts when faced with danger. His way of loving you was protecting you. Maybe he wasn’t such a sleazy boyfriend after all…

I LOVED THIS SM HAHA

THANK YOU GUYS FOR READING!!

-Sophia 🫶🏼

[cheeseceli]

Their celebrity crush

Pairing: ot7!BTS × gn!reader

Genre: headcanons, fluff

Request: Could you write one where Ot7 are dating their celebrity crushes?

Warnings: they are idols, mentions of fans and rumours, mentions of Hybe (?), jungkook's reader has been working for longer than him

A/n: I have another version of this, one way more delulu and cringe, but I couldn't find it so here we go | daily click

Jin

I believe he would want to keep the relationship private in most scenarios

That's not one of them though

Everyone and their mothers are going to know about this

First, everybody already knew you were his crush

Bro has no filter

He probably said it with all the words

So once you guys actually date

Man, he's not gonna shut up

Obviously he wouldn't do anything of that if you're not comfortable with it

But in the end he's just a fan

Yoongi

Oh he's so cocky about this

100% bragging about it every time

I don't see him as someone who has a lot of celebrity crushes

You'd be like one of the few

Maybe even the only one

So he only had one chance and STILL managed to date you?

Goat

You're also never knowing that lmao

Yes, he'll brag about dating you but you'll never know he was your biggest fanboy ever

And as he already assumed to write fanfics when younger

Imagine him reading fics about you before dating you 😭

J-hope

I am a firm believer of social butterfly hobi

Meaning he knows everyone

Including you

Even if you are or aren't from the same industry

What matters is that he knows you

And he tries to keep it cool and pretend everything's fine

Because he finally managed to talk to you

He doesn't want to scare you off

But

Rumours go that he is your celebrity crush

Since feelings are mutual

Who is he to lose a chance like this

Right?

Namjoon

Bro really really really is tryna keep it shut

Like he's doing his best to not open Vlive right now and just say

"yo, guess who's dating y/n"

And he's 100% aware that this is a horrible move

But he wants to do it nevertheless

Honestly, at this point he's hoping that you will slip up so he can finally bring it up

But fans already know something is up

I mean

It's kinda hard not to when he is so obviously in love in his songs

And oh, is that a a very clear reference to you in his lyrics?

Jimin

This would definitely start the wrong way lmao

The ever so friendly and flirtatious Park Jimin is going viral for... not liking you

Or at least that's what netizens think

The truth is that Jimin and you get to be special MCs for a program for once

And you see, he's used to being people's crush

Now he is the one having a crush

In order to avoid being obvious about it and making rumours up, he tries to avoid you overall

And now people think he hates you

Let me tell you that he PANICS when he finds this rumour out

So imagine when his apologies to you work and, after a while, you're dating

The shock the internet (and him) would feel

Taehyung

He's literally the opposite of Namjoon

Namjoon is trying his best to not spill the tea

Taehyung is trying to spill it without people noticing

At this point he thinks of it as a game

Let's see how close to insanity he can bring the dispatch staff

Seriously though, he just admires you so much

And he's so proud of you

It's not fair to expect him to not overflow with love

If he sees the green light coming form you, better believe he will make Hybe do some damage control

Jungkook

This one was funny

You were his crush before he was too famous

So he was like

"Imagine if we were famous and I met Y/n?"

A boy can only dream, right?

Except he didn't dream, he manifested

Then one day BTS becomes famous

He becomes famous

And the next thing you know is that Jungkook is finally talking to you

And you better bet that he's shooting his shot when he finally gets to see you

Masterlist | you'll probably like: I'm not letting go

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @butnotmontana @sheraayasherrecs @queenofdumbfuckery @lezleeferguson-120

Dividers by @cursed-carmine | images 1, 2 and 3

[honeypiehotchner]

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part thirty-three

Coming up for air from my other one shot idea for today's Gambit update as promised 🤭

Warnings: our usual angst but more about r's father that is 🫣, bits of fluff here and there, local cops being local cops, that's about it i think

Hotch knows this is inappropriate. He knows this is so beyond unprofessional. He knows a “no fraternization” seminar is certainly in his future if this goes any further.

But when he sees you lying there, sleeping soundly, he can’t bring himself to care. He’ll deal with Strauss, with HR, with anyone who tries to make this something it isn’t.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking ahead like this — because the two of you haven’t talked. Richard Monroe turned up dead, the unsub left the body outside your old school, and you had (and fought off) a panic attack and somehow remained standing. You have no idea how strong you are.

Hotch tucks the blankets better around you before forcing himself to sit in the desk chair and go over some files while you rest. Rossi texts him updates from the precinct — nothing viable — and not-so-subtly asks how you’re doing.

She’s sleeping, Aaron types back with a slight eye roll. Dave certainly gets even nosier with every passing day.

How did you manage to do that? is Dave’s reply.

Aaron turns his phone over and doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks over his shoulder to check on you, but you’re fast asleep, little puffs of air escaping your lips peacefully.

He turns back to his files. They’re coming up empty so far, and it’s starting to worry him.

Yes, the majority of these officers were raised here, but aside from some charges that have since been dropped and were clearly the result of teenage ambition, there is nothing untoward, nothing to suggest that one of them might know more than they’re letting on.

Frustrated, Aaron grabs his phone and steps outside into the hall, keeping the door open a crack, and his back pressed against it protectively. He dials Rossi.

“Aaron?” Dave answers.

Hotch keeps his voice quiet, “I’m not finding anything. Some vandalism charges from spray painting the playground, from egging a police officer’s car, all while teenagers. That’s nothing to write home about.”

“I agree,” Rossi sighs. “It’s the same here. Small things, no indicators of the kind of behavior we’re looking for.”

Hotch rubs his forehead. “We’re— We’re grasping at thin air, Dave.”

“We’re still missing something.”

“How can we be missing something still? After all this time?” Hotch fights to keep his voice low. “I can’t leave her alone. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“I know you do,” Dave says quietly. “You sure it’s not mixed with something else?”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t know.”

“Have you two talked?”

“Yeah,” Aaron murmurs, a fond smile toying at his lips. “We have. But—” Your fucking raccoons interrupted us and she hasn’t acted the same since. “Obviously we were interrupted with Richard’s death, and…” He trails away, shaking his head. “Now isn’t the time.”

“Now might be the time,” Dave argues. “To let her know how much you care. How much you’re worried about her.”

“She knows, trust me,” Aaron says. “She was angry with me for making her get some rest—”

“You did spring that on her.”

“Because you know she wouldn’t have agreed if I tried to ask.”

“Maybe,” Rossi muses. “Or maybe you could try something new, try talking to her before making an executive decision about her. You did it on the jet.”

“Right.” Aaron sees his friend’s point. Maybe you would be more open-minded about his help if he would talk to you first, especially now, after getting things out in the open about how he was trying to help all those years ago. The jet was different; it was in relation to work. And as much as he tries to convince himself that ordering you to nap is also considered work, he knows it isn’t. He knows it’s something else. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Dave says. “You should try to rest too, if you can.”

Hotch thinks back to earlier. You had told him he needed to rest too, and he hadn’t planned on it, but maybe he should. Maybe an hour.

When Aaron heads back inside, you’re on your side, eyes cracking open.

“Hey,” he whispers, shutting the door. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“C’mere,” you murmur, obviously still half asleep. “Y’gotta nap too.”

He smiles. “Alright. I concede.”

He strips his suit jacket and tie off but leaves his pants and shirt. He’s just about to crawl into bed beside you when you give him a funny look.

“You’re gonna wrinkle your clothes.”

“It’s fine.”

“That can’t be comfy.”

“It’s just a nap.”

You shrug, snuggling further into the pillows and shutting your eyes. Hotch sighs.

He takes off the dress shirt, and hangs it over the back of the desk chair. When you don’t move, clearly drifting off again already, he strips down to his boxers, draping his dress slacks over the chair too.

He sets his phone on the nightstand before sliding into bed beside you. You might be half-asleep, but you move closer to him instantly, curling into his side and sighing happily. Aaron wraps an arm around you, chuckling softly as he tucks you into his chest.

+++

You hate being back in this town.

You wake with a start, the gunshot in your dreams still echoing in your ears as if it happened just now. One quick glance around the room tells you it didn’t. You’re in bed, in a hotel room, and you’re alone.

Well, almost alone. There is currently a koala clinging to you in his sleep in the form of Aaron Hotchner.

You laugh softly as you try to twist in his arms, but have no luck. You don’t even know what time it is, but knowing Hotch, he set alarms, so you can’t be late for anything.

You let the comfort of that — and his arm around your waist — lull you back to sleep again, even if for just another few minutes. And it was the worst idea you’d had all day.

This time when you wake, you manage to fling yourself out of Aaron’s arms, sitting up so suddenly that he is woken with a jolt.

“What is it?” He’s alert instantly, the man and agent that he is. His hand comes to rest on your shoulder.

“Sorry,” you laugh it off. “You ever have a dream and wake up, then fall back asleep and the dream picks up right where it left off?” You’re rambling and you make no sense, but that doesn’t matter. “We should get back to the precinct.”

You stand up and head for your work clothes still hanging up where you left them. You’re barely touching the fabric when Aaron is behind you, hand on your shoulder again.

“Talk to me,” he says. “What happened in the dream?”

To his credit, he doesn’t try to turn you around to face him. You don’t think you’d be able to speak if he did.

“My um,” you pause, clearing your throat. “My dad almost shot me. It was real.”

You hear him sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand dropping down to your arm, thumb rubbing your skin gently. “It wasn’t real, it was just a dream.”

You shake your head. “It was a dream, but it was also…a memory.”

His motions falter. “What do you mean?”

You start shaking your head again. “It’s stupid, it’s probably my mind twisting my memories because I learned about what my dad did and now everything is tainted with that—”

You stop to catch your breath when Aaron says your name, his voice quiet, broken.

“We were getting lunch together,” you murmur, taking the clothes off the hangers just to busy your hands while you speak about this. “It was a good day.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t even know,” you huff. “We were having a good day. Mom had gone to run some errands, Dad took me out for lunch, it was the weekend so I was just surprised and happy he was home. We went to my favorite sandwich place nearby— It’s probably not even here anymore. But I was just eating, he was talking. I guess I said something wrong?” You don’t even realize Aaron has turned you around until he’s taking both of your hands in his, trying to meet your eyes. “I don’t think I even knew he had his gun on him — I knew he had one, that’s normal for a family in Alabama, but like, shotguns. For hunting deer. Not a pistol.”

“He tried to shoot you?” Aaron prompts.

You nod. Shake your head. Nod again. “He shot the floor. He was looking over my shoulder.” You pause. “And then we left, and when I got up I saw that it was— It was so close to my foot, Aaron, he nearly shot me.”

“And you left— Was he angry with someone that worked there?”

“I don’t know, I was too shocked by the fact that he shot the fucking floor where my feet were,” you snap, yanking your hands out of his. You wipe your palms on your shirt.

“What was the place called?”

“I don’t know, something Deli,” you shake your head. “It was in a trailer— Does this even matter?”

“It might, we can look into it,” Hotch says, keeping his hands by his side. “Why don’t you take a shower?”

“Hotch, I don’t have time—”

“What will help you calm down?” he asks. “What can I do?”

You sigh. “What time is it?”

Hotch looks like he doesn’t want to answer, but he does anyway. “Almost 11:30.”

“Okay. Can you—” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I don’t fucking know what to do.” You breathe shakily. Then, you ask him something that surprises the both of you. “Can you tell me what to do?”

He nods slowly. “Take a shower,” he starts. “It’ll help. I’ll get dressed. I’ll call Rossi and tell him what you told me, we’ll get Garcia to look into it. Do you remember how old you were?”

You shake your head. “Elementary school, I think.”

“Okay, that narrows it down, good job,” he says softly. “We’ll leave when you’re ready and get back to the precinct and go over everything with the team. Find some new leads and we’ll follow them. We’ll get this guy.”

You nod. “Okay. Okay, I’m gonna—”

“Shower,” he says, one hand coming up to your arm again, guiding you toward the bathroom.

You walk with him, pausing just outside the bathroom door to turn around. You hesitate for a moment before throwing your arms around his neck.

He stumbles for a second before his arms encircle your waist, squeezing you tightly against him. As if a promise to protect you from anything bad that will ever come your way again.

“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling back to press a kiss to his cheek.

You’re into the bathroom and shutting the door before Aaron can even register what just happened.

+++

The team is waiting for you and Hotch when you arrive back at the precinct. You don’t necessarily look well-rested, despite your nap, but you do feel marginally better, and Hotch had you change clothes instead of wearing the same ones from before. A fresh start. A reset.

“What do we have?” you ask casually, hoping the team of profilers will pick up on the fact that you do not want to talk about you being practically ordered to get some sleep.

“They have mostly clean slates,” Rossi starts as Hotch shuts the conference room door. “Some petty theft, some vandalism, mostly from teenage years. One officer has a sexual harassment charge that I’m eager to ask about.”

“Who?” you ask. Not that you think that officer might be the unsub you’re looking for, but it’s all you’ve got so far.

“The deputy,” Rossi says. “Laneman.”

“Wait before questioning him,” Hotch interjects, just a touch of warning in his words. “I’m not sure I want these guys knowing we’re investigating them just yet. We need their help while we can get it.” He pauses. “We need to ask them about Adkins. Watch their behaviors, see if anyone recognizes the name or knows maybe more than they should.”

“How are we going to do that without it being suspicious?” Prentiss chuckles. “As far as they know, we’re just investigating Richard Monroe and his death.”

“And the guy was a serial killer, I’m sure they’re wondering why the hell we’re even being called here to investigate,” Morgan adds. “He had a lot of enemies, a lot of victims’ families that would’ve had more than enough motive.”

“But it’s the letter,” Reid says. “It— At times it almost reads like a suicide note, other times like an apology to you,” Reid looks at you, “but for what? And if it isn’t Richard who wrote it, if it’s the unsub, a suicide note makes sense, to make us think Richard killed himself, but the overkill immediately rules that out. It’s like—” Reid pauses and makes a face, stopping himself.

“What? What are you thinking?” Hotch asks.

“It’s almost like our unsub had this all meticulously planned out from the beginning, step by step, right down to this moment, but something threw a wrench in his plans and…that’s why there was such a brutal overkill.”

“Like he and Richard were part of a team to find her, until Richard bailed—” Morgan starts.

“Because the unsub brought Lila into it and Richard said he promised that he wouldn’t,” you finish. “Richard didn’t write that letter. The unsub did. Richard didn’t visit my dad in prison. I visited Richard. This unsub must’ve visited Richard as well, wanting to find out how to get to me, and—” Your eyes go wide and you turn toward Hotch. “The car chase.”

“Richard told the unsub we’d be there,” Hotch says. “Told him the exact time. It had to be approved in advance, he would’ve known in advance.”

“This unsub wasn’t friends with my dad, not as close as he and Richard must have been, or someone else the unsub witnessed being friendly with my dad— But he wanted to be. He wanted my dad’s approval for some reason. He wanted to be noticed by him,” you carry on, not sure where you’re going, but hoping it’s going somewhere. “And my dad must’ve written him off. Didn’t give him the recognition he was looking for, and it upset him. So he kidnapped me to get his attention.”

“And your father made it very clear that he wasn’t happy with whoever took you,” Rossi adds. “So that upset the unsub further. He wasn’t getting validation, he was getting contempt.”

“We’re just talking in circles here,” you sigh, propping your chin in your palm. “This feels like everything we’ve already known.”

“Assumed, and now it’s confirmed with behavior,” Hotch says softly. “But we are going in circles. We need to find out what these men know about Adkins.”

“Leave that to me,” Reid smiles, a little too deviously for him.

“Really, genius?” Morgan chuckles. “What are you going to do?”

“Ask them if they’ve heard of him,” Reid shrugs. “In my own way.”

Everyone shares looks.

Emily tilts her head with a smirk. “This is going to be good.”

+++

It’s like a well-orchestrated dance, the way Hotch rounds everyone up to set the scene for Reid to interject. The plan is to begin giving the profile, and Reid is going to start one of his rambles, this time about how the infamous serial killer Carson Adkins was from right here in town.

Rossi, Hotch, Prentiss, and Reid stay at the front of the room, while you, JJ, and Morgan hang around the sides, gauging reactions from there.

You’re not even sure what you’re going to be looking for. You wouldn’t be surprised if any (or all) of them have heard of your father. They obviously have no clue you’re his daughter, which is how it needs to stay, but unfortunately for everyone, your father is famous for his killings, and for turning himself in when you were kidnapped.

You can’t even count on two hands the number of articles you read that argued he had a heart because he turned himself in for his daughter. You don’t know that it was any indication of him having a heart or not, but you do know that he killed all those women and somehow wanted you to be safe.

Two things can be true at once, you guess, but those two things? Some days it just makes no sense.

“As you’re all aware, the victim, Richard Monroe, had been on the FBI’s Most Wanted for some time, so he has no shortage of enemies,” Rossi starts.

“This rings true in the injuries Richard sustained,” Prentiss continues. “It was the very definition of overkill. Whoever is responsible, they held a grudge against Monroe, probably for many years.”

“Do you think it could be like a family member of one of his victims?” Officer Hunt asks.

“I said save your questions for the end,” Deputy Laneman scolds with a huff.

“It’s alright Deputy,” Hotch says with a nod. He looks at the officer that spoke up. “It’s possible, yes, we’re looking into the whereabouts of the victims’ families.”

“But there could be some victims we don’t even know about,” Reid chimes. “So we’re not sure.”

“This guy is angry,” Morgan says from the other side of the room. “That kind of anger doesn’t just go away with getting revenge. We think he’ll slip up again.”

“So you’re sure we’re looking for a man?” another officer — Smith, you think — questions.

“We believe so,” Hotch replies. “White male, mid-30s to mid-40s, most likely the same build as Monroe, if not slightly larger. Monroe put up a fight, but was ultimately overpowered. This suggests our unsub was able to subdue him by brute force before continuing to injure him post-mortem.”

“Richard Monroe was just one of the famed and known serial killers in this region,” Reid begins, and just by the tone in his voice, you know where he’s heading. You scan the officers carefully, even the deputy who stands not far from you, arms over his chest like a shield. “Actually, uh, did you guys know that Carson Adkins, The Strangler, was from this town? His home was not far from here—”

“That’s enough, agent,” Deputy Laneman all but growls.

You cut your eyes to him, not moving your head, not wanting to raise any suspicions.

Hotch, however, fully turns his head to glare at the man. “Deputy, may I speak with you in private?”

“Whatever it is, you can say it in front of my men.”

“No, I think we should speak in your office,” Hotch gestures to the door. “After you.”

The deputy almost looks like he’s going to put up a fight, but he doesn’t. He clicks his tongue and bulldozes into his office, leaving the door ajar for Hotch to follow through. Hotch doesn’t look at anyone as he goes, and you can tell he holds himself back from slamming the door.

A tense silence settles over the room.

Reid, in all his blessed awkwardness, clears his throat. “Uh…sorry.”

Officer Robinson chuckles. “Don’t be sorry, kid, he’s a hothead.”

“We’ve all heard of him, though,” Officer Smith says. “The Strangler, I mean.”

Everyone pipes up in agreement.

“Even I’d heard of him, and I’m not from around here,” Officer Robinson adds. “He’s a boogeyman here, y’know? Almost like a myth.”

You swallow around the strange lump in your throat. Your father, a boogeyman in your hometown, even as a ghost.

“Yeah,” another officer, Whittler, laughs. “My brother used to tell me if I wasn’t quiet at night The Strangler was gonna jump out and get me.”

Everyone laughs, punching each other's shoulders in agreement with similar childish laughs.

You roll your eyes and head back toward the conference room. None of them are taking this seriously. You need a new angle, one that doesn’t involve asking any of these officers for insight. Clearly they won't be helpful.

+++

Hotch finds you, alone, in the conference room after his rather unproductive discussion with Deputy Laneman.

You’re staring at the board, at the photos of Richard’s body, at the photos of the charm bracelet and letter since both have been sent off for prints.

Hotch doesn’t even get to ask what’s upsetting you before you tell him.

“They’re just laughing,” you say, disgusted. “He’s a boogeyman,” you mock. “Our unsub is not in this precinct, clearly. They’d all run away screaming if he was.” You pause, finally turning to look at him. “What about the deputy?”

Hotch shakes his head. “He definitely has some anger issues and is probably aggressive when he’s drunk, but it’s not him. He thinks we’re wasting time by being here.”

“Wasting time? We haven’t even been here a full day yet.”

“I know,” Hotch says. He studies the pictures again. “What are we missing?”

You snort. “Everything, apparently. Every time I think we’re about to get a grip on this guy, it turns out he’s somewhere else entirely.” You chew on the inside of your cheeks. “Did Garcia ever look into the deli?”

“It’s on her list,” Hotch sighs. “I still have her looking into every officer’s background here, just in case.”

You nod. “It was nothing special, anyway. Except that their pickles were homemade.”

Aaron shares a soft smile with you. “Still. I’ll have her look.”

“And the victims’ families?” you ask with a smirk. “Or was that just to keep them thinking we’re not at all digging into their credit histories and tragic backstories?”

Aaron rolls his eyes at you, still smiling. “That was the truth. It’s on Garcia’s list.”

You raise your eyebrows with your grin. “Remind me to get her one of those big baskets of chocolates when we get back. And a bouquet of roses.”

He chuckles. “Funny, I was thinking of getting one of those for you.”

Your breath stutters a little as you turn toward him, realizing with a shock that he’s being sincere. “Well,” you knock your shoulder into his arm lightly. “Sorry to ruin your master plan.”

“You’re forgiven,” he replies, his fingers grazing the back of your hand.

The door to the conference room flies open and you yank your hand away, returning to crossing your arms over your chest. Hotch straightens and resumes his Unit Chief demeanor.

He waits until the door shuts behind JJ, Prentiss, Morgan, Reid, and Rossi before asking their thoughts on the officers.

“They were too busy laughing about a boogeyman to even suspect any sort of connection,” Morgan snaps. “I mean, seriously, how are we supposed to get anywhere if these guys don’t even seem a little concerned that whoever killed Richard Monroe might kill someone else?”

“I know,” Hotch sighs. “Prentiss, Rossi, go back to the dump site, see if there’s anything we missed. JJ, check on the bracelet, see if they’ve made any headway with the prints, if they haven’t, try to get it sped up if you can. Reid, Morgan, I’m having Garcia look into some of the families of Richard Monroe’s victims, help her determine anything suspicious, make some phone calls, see where everyone is.”

“What about us?” you ask.

“We’re going to drive around,” he says. “I want to see if any place jogs your memory. And see if Carson Adkins truly does haunt this town like the boogeyman they say he is.”

[bahngarang]

chapter 11.0 ☆ bsfs 2 lvrs (reluctant)

ss: 3

wc: 3,200

cw: emotions via bickering, chronic illness angst, chan is called 'freak' and 'slut' once each (lovingly), chan being a freak for like half a second, yn is bad at feelings

a/n: I'M BACK !! (finally)

this took way too long but exams really just wiped me out completely and then with the heatwave here I have like minus energy but it's done !! yippee !! now we can get to the fun chapters I've been daydreaming about and not actually writing

have fun reading my loves <3

"how long have you known?" chan asked suddenly, pulling yn's attention away from their phone.

they hesitated, fidgeting absently with one of their earrings before answering. "seven years," yn answered in a mumble, looking down at their lap.

chan paused mid bite, chopsticks halfway to his open mouth. the rest of the room were in similar positions of shock.

yn cleared their throat awkwardly. "when we went out for my birthday after you debuted... you know, when the button on your trousers gave up on life and you practically flashed me..."

instead of responding, chan shoved noodles in his mouth, staring very intently down at his bowl. he did not like to be reminded of that particular moment.

that afternoon all those years ago had been... eventful. it was something the both of them could look back and laugh at now, but back then? pretty mortifying.

chan had been wearing an 'old faithful' pair of trousers that he had refused to admit he was growing out of – but, after eating a big meal, they'd admitted it for him. the thread holding the button on finally snapped, his jeans sliding down to reveal his soul mark low on the right side of his hip. 

they had been happy for chan, seeing him debut, finally, but it had most definitely reopened old wounds that had maybe never fully closed. how they'd hoped and prayed for their body to heal after waking up from their coma, how they'd wished to one day wake up and have everything since that day turn out to just be a horrible nightmare. to not have to abandon everything they'd worked so hard for.

but no. every day yn woke up with a stiff, tender knee and a weight lying heavy on their chest. and that weight had only grown since all their other aches and pains had started showing up three years ago. it was a sore spot then, and honestly it was an even sorer spot now.

it was because of that, that yn made the stupid decision to keep the secret from him. it was a dumb decision, they knew. but their pride had held them back from doing the thing they were secretly yearning to. over time, it just became more difficult to face the fact that one day they might have to admit it... and now it had been seven years, and yn was regretting that decision more than ever.

for perhaps the first time since they'd come together, the eight boys were speechless. yn could practically hear the dust settle over the group.

jeongin was the first to speak up amidst the silence. "was it our fault that you didn't tell us? did we do something?"

his voice was small, almost hurt, and yn was suddenly hit with the reality that their actions hadn't just affected them. it was a very simple concept, that, somehow, they still hadn't fully managed to grasp yet.

keeping that secret... it had been an act of love... right?

but was it? they weren't so sure any more. 

yn had always managed to convince themselves that they were doing it for the boys' own good. that they were better off without knowing, better off without that burden when they already had so much to deal with.

if the roles were reversed, though... yn knew they wouldn't see it that way.

because it wasn't done out of love, not really – it was done out of fear.

fear of not being enough for them. fear of being too much work. fear of opening up and then being rejected yet again.

and the thought of tearing out their heart and placing it in their hands to keep safe, only to have it returned to sender once more, bloody and barely beating, was too much for the fragile muscle to handle.

"no, it's not you," yn reassured jeongin softly. "you guys didn't do anything. it's me. i... i was just... scared."

"scared? of what?"

"i don't know, just... you're all so..." yn hesitated, unable to finish the sentence. "and i'm... i'm not..." they sighed.

in theory, yn knew that having a chronic illness – well... more than one, really, with all the comorbid conditions – it didn't mean that they were worth less than other, able-bodied people. but god, did it feel like it when sometimes all they could do in a day was feed themselves and their cat, just barely. and trying not to compare themselves to people who's bodies actually worked was a never ending, uphill battle, especially when their soulmates were the type of people who could push their bodies to the limits and still be able to get out of bed the next morning. it was infuriating to not be able to do the basic things one needed to do to survive when you once took that ability for granted.

over time, yn had managed to work through it, a little. their worth wasn't intrinsically tied to their health, they knew that, it just... it felt like it. knowing that didn't stop them feeling like a failure every time they had to order food because they were too exhausted to cook, or spend hours in bed after a simple shower, or neglecting their hygiene because they couldn't get out of bed due to the amount of pain that wracked their body.

"and, besides that... i know i'm not... i'm not going to fit in with the group the way the rest of you do. i've spent so long pushing you all away and you're all... close..."

"you know, for someone so smart, you can be incredibly stupid," chan remarked.

"excuse you?"

"excuse me? you're the one who seems to think we're so shallow that we wouldn't love you just because of your conditions."

"okay first of all. 'just'? it's a big thing, actually. with the whole ruining my life aspect of it. secondly," yn paused, swallowing thickly. "no, i didn't think that, but, you know... it's more of an 'i don't think i'm worthy of love' type of thing rather than an 'i don't think you'll like me'.. thing... i guess."

they laughed nervously, catching an eyeful of chan's exasperated expression. it was weird admitting it out loud. "don't look at me like that."

he gave them a withering look, swallowing his bite of noodles before speaking. "i've been in love with you since i first met you." there were mixed reactions to this information from the rest of the room. some of them had definitely been privy to that information before now. yn wasn't part of that group.

"that's... not how that works," yn murmured skeptically.

"okay, well, it happened for me."

"you can't love someone without knowing them," yn objected. "at most – at most – it was infatuation. even that, i think, is a strong word."

"you're so unromantic."

"is that even a word?"

"it is now. and despite what you're going to argue, I've been in love with you for..." chan paused, and yn could almost see the loading screen in front of his eyes as he calculated it. "... fifteen years, and you being sick hasn't changed that."

"he's been very annoying about it," seungmin commented. "all... mopey."

"i do not mope!" chan said indignantly through a mouthful of food.

yn held in a snicker, muffling it with a cough and covering their mouth. chan absolutely did mope – usually, it was a bit melodramatic, just to be irritating. but every so often, when something really made him emotional, he sat in the corner of a room, playing genshin with a cute little pout.

"don't you start," he grumbled.

"what? i didn't say anything."

"yeah, yeah..."

a little while later, chan had finally managed to kick the others out, leaving him, jeongin and yn in their dorm. the youngest, luckily, had the presence of mind to clear off for the night and retreat back into the safety of his room.

meanwhile, chan was busy following yn around like a little lost puppy, barely leaving them alone to change into their pajamas, before trailing after them into the bathroom while they brushed their teeth. he sat himself on the toilet seat lid, just... watching quietly. it was only mildly unnerving. although, it wasn't the creepy type of watching, so it wasn't that bad. it was almost... admiring. or maybe yn just hoped it was.

yn tried not to acknowledge chan's gaze while going through their routine, but ended up turning to him in the middle of their skincare, their face lathered up with cleanser. "why are you, uh..."

"staring?"

"yeah."

chan shrugged, a gentle smile forming on his lips. "i never thought I'd see you here, like this. it's nice." he paused, fidgeting with a distressed string on the hem of his shorts. "i always hoped it was you, you know."

"really?" yn asked, disbelief clear in their tone.

"mhm. and since the mark had your initials, i... well, it didn't help my fantasies."

"you had fantasies about me?" yn huffed out a laugh, leaning back against the counter and folding their arms over their chest. they feigned nonchalance, but their heart fluttered dangerously loudly against their ribs. what if he heard?

"that's so..." they laughed again, shaking their head. he was too cute. they had never dared to think that anyone would have fantasies about them. and here he was, just admitting it like it was nothing. "corny."

"corny for you."

"psh." yn flapped a dismissive hand in chan's direction, turning back around to rinse the cleanser off their face. of course, they were probably just as corny for him as he was for them, they were just worse at expressing it. way worse. perhaps, with time... they might be able to figure out how to show it. now that they were actually allowing themselves to feel it, or trying to.

"... what kind of fantasies?" yn asked in a hushed voice, not looking up from the sink.

"just... i don't know. holding hands. cuddling," he mumbled sheepishly.

"we've done that before."

"i know, but..." chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. "that was different."

yn hummed noncommittally in response as they rinsed the cleanser off their face, water dripping down their arms and soaking the cuffs of their pajama top. grimacing, they stood there, frozen, for a few moments, holding their hands up awkwardly before chan appeared behind them, rolling up their sleeves.

"oh. thank you." when they looked back up at him, they followed his line of sight to the messy makeup bag of skincare on his countertop. "do you... want to organise it?"

chan almost deflated in silent relief, gently nudging yn sideways and tipping out the contents of the bag. he spent a good couple of minutes deciding where everything should go, before placing them in order ever so carefully, meticulously making sure the labels were perfectly aligned. it wasn't even like there was much there to arrange. yn's things were rather minimal.

finally, he generously let them continue their skincare – with the caveat that he was allowed to give and take the items as needed. so they couldn't mess up his arrangement. whatever made him happy.

he spoke up again after a minute, his eyes trained on their bonnet. "you... know you're wearing that inside out, right?"

"huh? oh. yeah, i know," yn said. "turns out the silk is only on the outside, which is... antithetical to its purpose."

"... you could just buy a new one."

"this one still works!" yn protested. "there's no point buying another one. it's past the return time, anyway, it would just go to waste."

"why didn't you return it before then?"

"... i would only get a partial refund..." yn admitted.

"i forgot you budget like a demon," chan said with a quiet chuckle.

"force of habit. i was a broke college student for like, eight years. and don't you still fight with the rest of them about who has to buy ice cream? you're millionaires."

"touché."

"you take the bed. i'll sleep on the couch." chan said as the both of them stepped into his bedroom. he made it sound perfectly sensible. it wasn't, of course – like, hello? back issues, anyone? but it was very him. being nice to the detriment of himself. "what?" he asked, seeing yn's face.

they weren't having any of it. a firm smack upside the head might be able to knock it out of him, but they valiantly restrained themselves. "that bed is big enough for the both of us. i don't have cooties, we'll be fine. unless... there's something you're not telling me?"

chan giggled, the tips of his ears turning red. "i don't think i have cooties..."

"see? you'll live. i don't bite."

"you don't?" he made it sound like he was almost... sad about it.

"freak," they said, smacking his arm.

"hey!" chan pulled away dramatically, holding his arm and pouting dramatically as he flopped into his desk chair, looking up at yn with wide eyes. "rude. you're so mean to me." he sniffed offendedly, keeping up the dramatics for a few more seconds before a smirk pulled at his lips. "but i did write railway, so i'm not sure what you're expecting."

"oh, you're admitting it now?" yn asked, perching on the end of his bed and folding their arms.

he shrugged.

"you're infuriating."

"so i've been told."

the mild bickering dissolved over time into a comfortable silence between the two of them. chan, with his headphones on, focused – or seeming so – on his music. yn wasn't sure how he could concentrate so well this late at night, but then again, his mind didn't get overridden by brain fog that sapped every coherent thought. at least, not as often.

at least they could somewhat fix their attention on the screen in front of them, mindlessly scrolling on their phone. it wasn't... fun, exactly, but it was something to do. maybe going to sleep was a better idea, but it wasn't the right time yet. their usual bedtime was over half an hour away. sleep was probably the better option, but the routine... they had a routine. what was the point of it if you didn't follow it? and it wasn't like they could sleep anyway, not with the light from chan's laptop illuminating the room.

they gave up eventually, refraining from throwing their phone across the room, despite the fact that they really, really wanted to. it was all stupid. everything was just... stupid.

curling into the fetal position, yn pulled the covers up over their shoulders and stared blankly at the wall opposite. their mind was running at a hundred miles per hour, and yet, not running at all. semi-coherent thoughts were a luxury. it was at times like this they they began to wonder what the point of it all was.

chan, as if sensing their mood, spun around on his swivel chair, eyeing them suspiciously. yn glanced over at the slight squeak of seat – he wasn't one to take even miniscule breaks when he was in the groove, so something was clearly weighing on his mind.

"are you going to sleep soon?" he asked, pulling his headphones off so they hung around his neck.

"depends," they murmured, shifting under the duvet so they could look at him without straining their neck. his eyes were filled with a painful amount of concern. "if you're going to keep lighting up the room with your laptop, it's not happening any time soon."

"ah. sorry. i'll go out into the living room." chan saved his work, closing his laptop and stood up, moving to open the door and leave the room.

"chan– wait, don't–"

he stopped in his tracks, turning back to where yn lay on his bed. "you want me to stay?" yn nodded self-consciously.

"i have to work–"

"do you?" yn asked pointedly. chan did need to work. sure. everyone did. but he could definitely skip one single night of not staying up until stupid o'clock in the morning. "just this once?"

"... fine." he set his laptop back onto his desk. "until you get to sleep, okay?"

"okay." it wasn't exactly the eight hours of sleep they were hoping to wheedle out of him, but it was probably the best they could get right now. baby steps.

yn shifted over on the bed to make room, watching chan pull off his shirt and shorts. it was nothing they hadn't seen before, but the circumstances were a bit different back then. he was also more... defined this time. if they weren't so sleepy...

"slut," they mumbled playfully as he folded his clothes, and set the pile down on top of the hamper.

chan turned, giving them a disapproving look, hands on hips in what could only be described as a dad pose. "in my own home?" he asked, exasperated.

"m-hm."

and then he laughed, smile wide and eyes crinkling up into slits like the wolfchan sitting next to his pen holder – yn couldn't help but to smile too, smaller but still there, hiding it as they drew the blanket up to their chin. he was so beautiful like that, they thought, half sure that he could hear the way their heart palpitated just by looking at him.

"you're so mean to me," chan said, clambering into bed in nothing but his boxers.

"and yet, we're still friends."

"... still friends, huh?"

"well, i... didn't want to assume..." yn said, chewing their lip.

"stop that," chan muttered, using his thumb to pull yn's bottom lip from between their teeth. "but was me saying i've been in love with you for fifteen years not enough of a hint? i want to be your boyfriend."

"we don't have to be that yet if you're not ready," he assured. "i'll wait as long as you need. the rest of the guys will too."

yn hesitated, taking in his words before mumbling, "i do want you to be my boyfriend."

"i sense a but."

"you could have anyone you wanted." the unsaid remainder of that sentence hung in the air. he could have anyone he wanted – so why would he want them?

"yeah, and... i want you. you're part of 'anyone i want'." chan reached forward, plucking yn's glasses off their face and placing them on his nightstand.

they watched him for a split second before rolling over. they couldn't trust themselves to look at him much longer without saying something stupid. chan shuffled closer, pressing his chest against their back. slinging an arm over their waist, he pressed his face into their neck, inhaling deeply. yn had to suppress a shiver.

he spoke up again, his voice low. "i love you. you... don't have to say it back."

yn's breath hitched in their throat, and they squeezed their eyes shut, attempting to control their breathing. deep breath in, hold, breathe out. repeat.

the things he did to them without even trying.

"i love you too, channie."

he smiled against their skin, just slightly. "go to sleep. i still have a track to finish."

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[swanimagines]

Oooo hii long time no request!!😅😅

If it’s okay, can I please request a oneshot (or imagine, whichever works best for you!!) with Morpheus x fem!human!reader where she is Alex Burgess and Paul’s Granddaughter, and she’s visiting her Grandparents after years of moving away, and even though she has been told ever since she was a kid to stay away from the basement, her curiosity gets the best of her and she goes down there anyways, happening upon a locked up Morpheus. I’m sure he’d be skeptical to trust her, knowing that she’s one, a human, and two, a Burgess, but when she starts actively trying to free him, he starts (gradually) to change his mind about her, especially when she manages to get him out of the fishbowl-like-cage he was locked in. Maybe he wants to repay her for helping to free him, and he shows her the Dreaming and they get (romantically) closer the longer she stays there?? Whatever you think!!💜💜💜

A/N: Fun to have filled your request again, it's been like 5 years since you last sent me something haha :D Also just a reminder, this request is oneshot sized so it doesn't even qualify as a ficlet/imagine request, which means I didn't really choose to make this a oneshot, the size of the request demands a oneshot. Just a reminder for anyone who may see this and misunderstand how do different request types work.

Also a little extra note because I'm sorry if it feels like I cut the corners too much, I know I stress the "detailed plot for a oneshot please" but your request unfortunately is far too detailed for a oneshot and if I wrote this JUST as you requested, a oneshot wouldn't be enough, at least not with my writing skills. And I'm not built for longfics so :/ I had to cut corners from some things that would need a looooong buildup for it to feel in character. I hope that's fine and you won't be too disappointed.

THE MAN IN THE CELLAR

Summers were the best time of the year, honestly. Getting away from your busy life, responsibilities and duties you had when you were born into a respectable family.

But during summers, your grandparents took you to stay with them at their manor, away from the city’s grime and everything you loathed. At certain things, city life could be fun, convenient and vivid, but you had always preferred the countryside, and the big manor your grandfathers owned was a perfect place for that.

The manor had its mysteries, like every old building had. The cellar in particular had been off limits for you since you were a child, your grandfather Alex had explained that his father had been a cruel man, backed up with your granddad Paul. And that the cellar had old relics, demonic artefacts, you’d better not see. And for years, you accepted that — you had read about your great-grandfather Roderick Burgess and the horrors he was rumoured on doing. You had tried to be curious about it when you were younger and asked your grandfather how was his father in real life, but he always avoided the topic and refused from telling more than what you could read from old articles.

It had been a long time since those times now, and you were already a young woman who was kind of expected to find a husband and establish a family soon, but your grandparents never poked you with questions like that, thankfully. You sometimes wondered how you were living in 21st century while constantly being asked about whether you’ve already found a man, but you always managed to brush it off.

This summer was a little different from past ones. Grandfather Alex had been irritated somehow, and constantly visited the cellar when he and Paul thought you weren’t watching them. If it was truly full of “demonic artefacts” your great-grandfather left behind, why was he so eager to look through them, constantly? And why he was snappy every time he came back up?

And one day, you heard him mutter to granddad Paul, “He’s never giving up. He’d be there for an eternity rather than just promise he won’t hurt us.”

Paul sighed. “Maybe we should let him out, Alex and just… trust him. It’s just not worth it to fear for our own safety, you have seen what keeping him prisoner has–”

“And risk our lives? Risk our daughter’s life? Her family’s life? What if he wants revenge and wants to wipe all of us Burgesses off the face of the Earth? How could I let him out, when I know we may wake up the next morning to find our own granddaughter–”

Creak.

They stopped talking and you cursed at stepping on that one plank you always knew to avoid when you were a child and tried to sneak to the snack jar. But you sighed and stepped forward, trying to pretend you hadn’t heard anything, plastering a smile on your face.

Both of them looked at you with wide eyes, and you frowned, trying your hardest to look puzzled. “What?”

Your grandfather pursed his lips together and waved at your granddad, who started pushing him forward and they both smiled at you. “Nothing. Good night, sweetie.”

You watched at them go towards the elevator, and glanced back to the cellar door. Well, now it intrigued you more than ever, and you also happened to know the passcode… so maybe you should just take a small peek.

You shouldn’t, you knew that. But maybe… just a peek.

At night, you waited until you were sure your grandparents had fallen asleep, before you quietly exited the guest bedroom and tiptoed downstairs. You barely even breathed as you typed in the passcode, slightly flinching at every beep it made. But you somehow got it right on first try, and slipped in, before you were stopped on your tracks again once you heard two voices chatting to each other.

“He’s been here for decades and has never even tried to escape, why the fuss?” a man asked and the woman smacked her lips.

“Have you even seen the news articles about the time boss’s father was still alive?”

The man sighed. “Stories often bend around enough to be something completely different from what they started from. If I started out a rumour about you that you like to keep a garden, in a few decades it would have turned into your daughter being a serial killer who buries her victims into your garden.”

You took two careful steps forward, and finally saw… a man. Sitting naked in a large glass ball.

What the hell?

You stared at him, not even blinking.

Why did your grandparents have a naked man as a prisoner in their cellar?

It was just absurd. If someone had told you this was the reason why you weren’t allowed to go to the cellar, you would have laughed for an hour about that thought, mocked the person for being delusional. Your grandparents were the last people to keep a human being a prisoner and have guards to watch over him.

But here you were, looking at the very proof they had done that exact thing.

—-—-

You started visiting the cellar every night after that. Something in him just drew you there every single night, and it wasn’t long before you started learning the patterns of the guards, when one of them fetched something to eat for both of them, the bathroom breaks, the moment the male guard felt like he can slack for a few minutes when the female one didn’t see…

You had found a place for yourself in the corner, there was a space, a dent in the shadows you could squeeze yourself into when guards passed you, and they never noticed.

You didn’t know if that man inside the glass ball noticed you either, as he always just sat there looking at his feet, never looking around, seeming like he never even slept. He just sat there in that same position, night after night.

You weren’t sure when you started feeling like it actually wasn’t a human. You remembered reading news articles about your great-grandfather having a demon trapped in his cellar, was this the demon?

But he didn’t feel like a demon.

But… on the other hand, isn’t that what demons are supposed to be? Trick people into thinking they aren’t demons so they’d open the gates to be possessed?

But the longer you thought of it, the longer you just couldn’t help the thought. You had to get that man out of there. Something wasn’t right, and he needed to get out.

So, you began planning how you’d get past the guards, break the sigils, break the glass. You knew any of that wouldn’t be easy, but you set your mind to it.

—-—-

It took weeks. Maybe a month or two, you lost count. In any case, your summer vacation was almost over when you finally, finally managed to switch the pills they used to stay awake to strong sleeping pills, and soon both guards snored loudly on their desks, which encouraged you to finally move from the dent and sneak past them.

The man didn’t look at you, didn’t even acknowledge you. You didn’t even know if he saw you. Was the glass a two-way mirror? You frowned, before you knocked on the glass to get his attention.

Still no effect. He was ignoring you on purpose.

Well, that wasn’t a wonder honestly, he had been imprisoned for God knows how long, he had probably lost all hope at this point.

You glanced back at the guards. Still out cold, so you snuck back and started digging through their drawers for a key, a wrench, a crowbar… something you could use to open the glass ball as you recognised the glass type, it definitely wouldn’t shatter even if you slammed it with a sledgehammer. But there was nothing there, which made you groan out of frustration.

Then, you remembered the sigils. You looked down on them for a moment before you snatched the water bottle from the other guard and marched back to the glass ball, pouring water on the sigils and rubbed it around with your foot. The sigils smudged away, but there wasn’t any magical wave or a whiplash you expected, which made you drop the bottle in frustration.

At least the man now looked at your shoe, that had turned faint yellow from rubbing it against the paint. He was probably disappointed too.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how to get you out,” you murmured against the glass. “I… I’ve been watching you for weeks now. I just… I just have this feeling you need to get out. I don’t know why, but I just can’t get it out of my head. I think you—”

You were interrupted as you heard your name being called from upstairs by your grandfather, which made you flinch and the man looked up. You sighed, closing your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Then, you sprinted away, pretending you were merely getting a glass of water before your grandfather could make his way downstairs, smile at him and claim everything is fine and you definitely weren’t trying to get the naked man in his cellar out.

But you still knew that you didn’t know how to forget and give up, when there was clearly nothing you could do.

—-—-

Next morning, you woke up to your grandfather shouting. “What do you mean he has disappeared?!”

“I don’t know, boss! We both fell asleep—”

“Fell asleep? You mean to say you forgot—”

“No, we took them, but somehow we still fell asleep! Maybe the sigils had weakened over the years and he managed to enchant us!”

You sat up slowly, listening to the ruckus. People pacing, running around.

He had escaped?

You let out a disbelieving breath, you had succeeded? Breaking the circle had worked?

Apparently that was exactly what happened.

—-—-

A few weeks later, you dreamed. For the first time in your life, you had a dream. A beautiful, neverending field with golden straws of rye spread around you and in the middle of it all stood a tree. And under that tree, stood a man in a long black cape. You recognised him immediately.

“You’re… here,” you mumbled, and he smiled softly.

“Yes. You freed me.”

You blinked. “How? I mean, obviously the sigils… but how did you get away without anyone noticing?”

He turned his eyes away from you, looking around the field. “I created a portal here, to my realm.”

You flinched slightly. “So… do you mean to say you are a demon after all?”

He chuckled. “This is not Hell. I am Morpheus, the Lord of Dreams. Children know me as the Sandman.”

You frowned. “Sandman?”

He hummed. “I was planning on cursing Alexander Burgess with eternal nightmares, but you being his granddaughter changed my mind. I do not wish to bestow such grief over you after this gift you gave me.”

You blinked. “…Thank you.”

He turned his eyes on you again. “You came to see me every night. You plotted on my escape for weeks. And for that, I am eternally grateful. The world order is restored, much because of you.”

You felt yourself blush and turned your head away from him. “I just did what I knew was right.”

He hummed again. “I wish to show you my realm. I know you have never visited here, as you were born when I was already imprisoned.”

You looked around again, and the field had shifted, replaced by a small town and a castle. “What is this place?”

He started walking slowly, prompting you to follow. “It’s The Dreaming. You will visit here every night in your dreams. Your dreams will be affected by what you went through during daytime.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. You didn’t know what to say to that. You felt his eyes on you, and you glanced at him shyly. “Will I see you every night?”

His mouth parted slightly before he frowned. “I do not usually appear into mortal dreams unless there is something I need to see.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly. “Oh.”

He was quiet for a moment. “But I may make an exception with you. I may not be able to appear every night, but I would like to meet with you any time I am able to.”

You brightened up instantly. “Really?”

He smiled softly again and hummed. You smiled at him widely, feeling a flutter in your chest, unaware Morpheus felt a flutter in his own chest too when looking at you smiling.

This could become something beautiful.

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[teacups-diary]

Buck Merrills Daughter (Dallas Winston x Bartender!Reader)

Notes: tysm @callme-holly for the permission to use her Bartender reader AU!! I thought of this the other day also, genuinely can you get shadowbanned on Tumblr? Because I think I somehow have, so any interaction helps (I think I figured it out, woohoo!)

You were off limits, that was what Dallas knew better than anything, no matter how bad he wanted you, he wanted to be spared by Buck more because hey, he needed the job and Buck would probably chop his hands off if he laid a finger on you

So he just had to settle for teasing and provoking you until you flip him off or ignore him with a little huff, and he was happy with that

"Hey dollface, how's it goin'?" Dallas said with a crooked grin as he approached you poured yet another beer for some random rodeo attendee

You always got a little worked up around Dallas, not in the hot way either, just generally pissed, he was either blowing smoke out just barely missing your face or straight into your face to see your nose crinkle, drunkenly passing out on the couch after cleaning up, sneaking girls he had no care for into his room for needless hookups

And worse, you still liked him, for the rare but nagging good moments, the ones where you'd patch him up after rumbles while he watched you like your gentle hands had hung the stars, the ones where rather than hearing girls stumble in and out of his room he'd lean against the wall calling your name and tapping on the wall making you laugh as he mocks hurt at your laughter over it all

All of it sticks to you like you ran into the ocean of shitty things he did and when you got out, the good things he seems to treat you too every so often stuck onto your skin

You shook your head of your running thoughts and reply with a "I'm alright" making the brew, Dallas leans on the bar counter and says "just alright? Even when I'm here in all my glory? God you wound me hot stuff"

You just roll your eyes, this was the game, he flirted, you turned your back and kept doing your job like normal, he flirted harder and you hid the smile that came on your face from his idiotic tendencies as always

"See my day was miserable, you know why?" He leans in and you say "Because I wasn't there?" and he says "Nah" You know he'd typically say that and he found it funny to keep you on your toes

And of course, as the night came to an end, you two have to clean up and do your thing, Dallas on broken glass duty, you just cleaning up spilt alcohol and such

"Good night?" Dallas mumbles to you, asking for the sake of asking when you shrug "yeah, well, it's work, dad was being a bother" Yeah, Buck liked to hover over you making sure you did your thing right

"Fair, any cute boys then?" Dallas asks, he just likes to be nosey but he secretly hopes you haven't got your eye on any boys as you reply "You think I can manage finding a boy when I have dad watching my every move? And if it isn't dad, it's one of his friends"

"Just sneak em in, it works for me with broads" Dallas shrugs and you shake your head "yeah but I'm dads only kid and a daughter at that, he'd probably boil me alive if I snuck a boy in"

"What if the boy already lives in the house anyway" Dallas's grin slowly grows and you give a little shove at his chest as you walk past making Dallas grin even wider if that was possible "Hey, it ain't like I'm pulling your leg, I'm serious"

That made you pause completely, freezing up with a "Oh don't lie to me, don't be a dick" you keep up your mopping, keeping your eyes on the ground

"Hey I might be an asshole but I mean it, get back to me about it yeah, princess?" He says as he reaches out, firmly placing something in your hand making you pause again

He walks off, going back upstairs to his room upstairs, you open your hand to find his skull ring, and you couldn't help but smile

Maybe you would accept his offer

Extra note: I might write part 2 I'm kinda rocking with this one

[ni-ki4luvs]

WAIT, ITS NOT JUST FANSERVISE??

N.R X READER CH.1 [NEXT]

Disc. When Ni-Ki and users managers decide to put you both in a celebrity dating show to promote the collab comeback between enhypen and you- a soloist, it starts to feel a little to real for just basic fanservice but after filming ends will Ni-ki and user decide to part ways or will they end up actualy falling for each other??

Warnings- this is my first fic and it's probably not going to be the most accurate depiction of dating in the idol industry lolol

This is a series, so please wait for the chapters. There will be a combination of writing and social media posts/ texts.

You were doing some solo dance practice to prepare for the duet comeback with Enhypen being a soloist, you felt as if you needed to prove yourself still, until one of the staff paused your music and began to speak, making you stop your dancing.

“Hey girl, uh, your manager needs to see you in his office, it's about the comeback or something”, she mumbled almost nervously, which made your stomach churn slightly.

“Uh yeah thank you for telling me unnie” you smiled and pranced off to your managers office only to be met with the makne of enhypen- the group you were collaberating with, and their manager, you looked to the boy who seemed just as confused as you were, you sat in the chair beside him awkwardly as you had only met once when jungwon introduced you too, you were assuming this suprise meeting was about starting to record the comeback and since you two were the same age- Ni-ki only being about 2 months older then you, you would be doing most of the duets in the music videos.

“Hello, sir. What is this about?” you eventually speak up since the two managers had been conversing and practically ignoring you and the tall boy beside you.

“Ah yes!! Ni-ki, [User], you both have been invited to join a TV show that will help promote the comeback!! And it will bring you both great publicity,” your manager speaks in an overexcited tone that made you and Niki both cringe at the volume change.

“And what exactly is this TV show?” Ni-ki speaks up for the first time since you got here

Enhypen's manager smiles and responds

“An Idol dating show!!” Both your and Niki’s jaws dropped

“Like us dating??” Ni-ki asked, instantly turning blushed

“We don't even know each other!!” you exclaimed, cheeks equally as pink, both of your managers sensed the shock coming from both of you

“That's the point, guys, if we advertise a potential relationship between you guys, it will get more publicity for the comeback!!” Enhypen's manager speaks up, and you and Ni-ki glance at each other but look away quickly. Ni-ki's heart is pounding out of his chest.t As soon as his hyungs met you, they immediately started betting that Ni-ki would think that you were cute, and unluckily, they were right, but he didn't think he would have to

do anything about it!! You, on the other hand, were more confused. Wouldn't this cause a lot of controversy

“I'll do it.” Ni-ki mumbled then spoke clearly to continue, “I mean it's only to push the comeback, and well, just have to pretend, then after everything will be normal again. It'll probably all be scripted anyway.” You nodded along with his statement

“Hm yeah Ni-kis right ill do it too!!” you smiled and your magers clapped excitedly and immediately handed both of you stacks of paper with all of the details

“Perfect we will start with a social media post to promote the show, filming will start in four days and you two will live togather for 2 weeks, filming will happen everyday there will be many challenges and dates to REALLY up the fanservice!!” your manger explained already calling up the director of the show. You and ni-ki sat there awkwardly listening to your managers yap with the director about your and ni-ki's commitment to the show

“Oh you two can go look out for the promo post tonight ph and go to the address on the first paper on monday at 8 AM for the first meeting!!” your manager whisper yells to you both before you and ni-ki nod and walk out of the room glancing over at eachother bowing slightly and awkwardly walking separate ways

Later that night with a facemask platered on your face you checked your twitter to see the statement posted about the show by ENHYPENs official account, HYBEs account and retweeted by your manager the information was seeming to be well reserved, fans already creating ship accounts for the two of you, you knew this whole ordeal was going to be awkward but seeing the excitement from fans made you feel a bit better about looking forward to it I mean who wouldn't want to have to date a cute guy.

for the next 3 days you mentally prepared and physically of course making sure to keep up with your skincare and practicing dance and vocals so you didn't fall behind before the comeback as the start of the show creeped closer the more nervous you became but finally on the first day of filming actually arriving to the studio and meeting the producers and crew the nervousness left your body, whats weird is the fact you hadn't seen ni-ki

[MASTERLIST]

[nyc-tophile]

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑'𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐖 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

After finding out about Hydra’s Project REVENANT, you, Bucky, and Natasha went forward with the mission to take down the Revenants. Uncovering what was a graveyard of identities and a haunting mirror of the Winter Soldier’s past. Confronting the prototype pushes Bucky to the edge, forcing him to face what Hydra made him… and what he’s fought so hard not to be.

Warnings - ooc winter soldier, psychological trauma, emotional vulnerability, injury recovery, discussions of identity and dehumanization, PTSD triggers, hurt/comfort, mention of captivity.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry this one’s getting posted a bit late; as I was writing, the electricity went out and completely threw me off! But I managed to finish it, and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. Thank you for being patient with me. Love y’all lots, always. xxx

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟖 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏𝟎

It started quietly.

Not the type of quiet that is peaceful. Not quite calm.

Quiet—the kind that presses on your chest and makes you forget how to breathe. The kind that doesn’t mean safety. It means something’s coming.

The jet flew low, hugging the treetops, skimming the mist as it descended toward a wide clearing tucked into the dense folds of a dead forest. No satellite image showed it. No intel gave it away. But it was there. Beneath the dirt and decay, Hydra had buried something again.

Revenant.

You stood beside Bucky, both of you braced at the rear of the Quinjet as the ramp hissed open. Wind bit into your skin. Cold, sharp, alive with the scent of the earth. You stepped down first, then Bucky, then Natasha. None of you said a word. Words felt too small for what waited underground.

Bucky’s jaw was tight, eyes locked on the trees ahead. The silence wrapped around him like armor, but it didn’t hide the weight pressing into his spine.

Natasha flanked his other side. Unlike her usual casual grace, her stance was rigid, sharp. She wasn’t masking it. Not this time. She knew what this place was. What it meant for both of you, especially for Bucky.

“Heads up,” she murmured, sweeping her eyes across the tree line. “This place doesn’t breathe like it should.”

“Because it’s not alive,” Bucky said, voice gravel-rough. “Not really.”

You looked toward the moss-covered rock formation ahead. It didn’t look like an entrance. But it was. A false boulder shifted at Natasha’s touch, revealing the faint shimmer of a biometric scanner.

She pressed her hand to it, then slipped in a thin drive from her belt. “I stole these codes last year,” she said softly. “Didn’t think I’d be using them.”

The scanner blinked green, and the stone slid as the metal hissed.

The door opened.

You went first. Bucky followed. Natasha last. The darkness swallowed you whole.

-----

The descent was sharp and suffocating—narrow corridors spiraling down into something far older than you expected. The air smelled like power cables, blood, and rot. Not decay. The rot of something is still growing.

No alarms. No sirens. No obvious security. That was worse. Hydra didn’t need noise to keep you out. They had other methods.

You moved silently, the sound of footsteps muffled against concrete and dust. The deeper you went, the colder it got. Pipes overhead wept condensation. Lights flickered. Not from neglect. From control.

“They want us to see,” Natasha said under her breath. “Someone’s watching.”

“Let them,” Bucky muttered.

It took ten minutes to find the first sign that this place wasn’t just a bunker.

It was a lab.

The room had been cleared, mostly. Restraints still hung from the exam tables. Blood smeared one wall. Electrodes dangled from the ceiling like dismembered nerves. And in the far corner, under shattered glass, a screen flickered to life without warning.

A face blinked into view.

You froze.

“Welcome back,” the voice said. Hollow. Glitched. “Asset… 32557038.”

Bucky didn’t move. But his breathing changed.

The screen crackled again. Cut to black.

“Keep moving,” Natasha said. Her voice was low and dangerous.

-----

You reached the containment level next. A long corridor, lined with cells. Some were sealed. Others had been… opened.

Inside, there were signs of struggle. Scorch marks. Bullet holes. Etched words were dug into the walls. In one, there were carvings scratched into the concrete.

HELP ME

HELP ME

HELP ME

Over and over again.

Bucky stood in that doorway for a long time. Long enough that you moved behind him and rested your hand on his back. His shoulders were coiled tight beneath your touch, tension running from spine to jaw like he was splitting down the middle.

“They lied to me,” he whispered. “They told me I was the only one.”

He wasn’t.

Revenant wasn’t a single project. It was a process. And Hydra had been perfecting it.

You didn’t speak. Not yet. There was still more ahead.

-----

The chamber at the end of the hall had thicker doors. Blast-resistant. Reinforced. Cold light buzzed behind them.

Inside… was him.

The subject. The one Hill had warned you about. Revenant’s prototype.

He looked like Bucky. Not exactly. Younger. Less scarred. Built the same. But the resemblance wasn’t in the features; it was in the posture. The stillness. The rage was buried under a calm, blank surface.

He looked at the three of you as you entered, eyes flat. Unblinking.

No fear, no confusion, just recognition, then he moved.

No warning. No protocol. He was out of the chair before you registered it, hurling a table across the room with brutal force. It hit the wall hard enough to fracture concrete. Natasha was already in motion, flipping over it and striking fast. You moved to avoid it.

But he was unnaturally fast and calculated.

He caught Natasha mid-blow, slamming her to the floor with a crack of bone and steel. You aimed and fired twice, but the shots barely staggered him.

And Bucky—

Bucky snapped. Not just into fight mode. Something else. Something colder.

He lunged, metal arm colliding with metal bone. Their blows were loud. Every hit echoed off the walls like a gunshot. And still, the Revenant didn’t flinch.

There was no pain, no emotion. Just programming.

Bucky faltered for a breath. Not from weakness, from recognition. The way the Revenant fought… it was his. His old movements. His old tactics. Like watching a recording of his worst years brought to life.

“Bucky—!” you shouted, but it was too late.

The Revenant slipped under his guard and drove a blade straight into his side.

You moved, heart lurching, grabbing the stun baton off your vest and jamming it into the Revenant’s ribs. The shock made him seize, just enough for Natasha, bleeding but standing, to launch a sedative dart into his neck.

He staggered. Crashed to the floor.

Unconscious.

Bucky dropped to one knee, clutching his side. Blood seeped through his shirt fast. You were at his side in a heartbeat, hands on his shoulders.

“I’m okay,” he hissed. “Just—give me a second.”

“You’re not okay,” you snapped, panic buried just beneath your voice. “You’re bleeding out.”

Natasha moved in behind you, scanning him with a quick med tool from her belt. “You’ve got a puncture. Nothing vital. But you’re benched for now.”

He didn’t argue. He just leaned against the wall and stared at the Revenant’s body, unmoving on the floor.

“They made me again,” he whispered. “But worse. Emptier. I wasn’t the end. I was just the first successful test.”

“No,” you said. “You were the first escape.”

And that made them scared.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Then let’s make sure no one else has to,” Natasha said, standing slowly. “We torch this place. Data first. Then fuel lines.”

You helped Bucky stand. He leaned on you slightly, and this time, he didn’t fight it.

-----

You didn’t speak again until the jet lifted off. The Revenant sedated and contained. The facility left burning behind you. Fire licked the trees as ash filled the sky.

Bucky sat between you and Natasha, quiet. Blood dried on his ribs. His hands were flexing in his lap.

“They told me I had no future outside them,” he said quietly. “That I was built for one thing only. Death. Obedience. Nothing more.”

He looked up at you.

“And now?”

You rested your hand over his heart.

“Now you’re free,” you said. “And they’re the ones who should be afraid.”

He didn’t smile. Not exactly. But something in his face eased.

He leaned back, closed his eyes, letting you both hold the silence for him.

-----

The facility was long behind you now.

Burnt into the soil. Reduced to ash and metal shards. Nothing salvageable. Nothing left for them to use again.

And still, the scent of smoke lingered on your clothes.

You helped Bucky down the jet ramp slowly, one arm around his waist, careful not to move the gauze pressed beneath his shirt. Natasha moved ahead of you, unlocking the entrance to the safehouse without a word. She looked exhausted, but sharp. Always sharp. Even in pain.

The door hissed open the warm air met you like a sigh. Clean, still, safe.

As safe as anything could be.

You steered Bucky down the corridor toward the med room, ignoring his half-hearted protests and muttered I’m fine’s. You didn't respond. Not until you had him seated on the edge of the bed.

“Take the shirt off,” you said gently.

He winced as he peeled the fabric up. The wound had stopped bleeding, but the bruising was worse than you'd thought. Angry, purple, spreading deep around his ribcage.

You pressed a new cold pack to it and felt him flinch under your hands.

He didn’t meet your eyes.

Natasha stepped in quietly, holding a med kit and a bottle of water. She handed them both off without a word, her expression unreadable.

“I’ll check the perimeter,” she said, tone even. “Give you two a minute.”

You watched her disappear down the hall. Then turned back to Bucky.

He still wasn’t looking at you.

You sat on the cot beside him, careful not to crowd him.

“You’re safe,” you said softly. “We’re back. It’s over.”

“That one looked like me,” he said, voice quiet. “Fought like me. Moved like I used to. Like they still had a piece of me.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

Because you knew he didn’t want reassurance. He wanted the truth.

So you gave it to him.

“They didn’t make him you,” you said. “They copied what they thought worked. But what they got wasn’t a person. Just another cage with a heartbeat.”

His eyes flicked up to yours.

“I looked into his face,” Bucky said, hoarse. “And I felt… nothing. Just cold. Like I was staring at the part of me I buried years ago.”

You reached for his hand. He let you take it.

“And you left that part behind,” you said. “You fought it. Every step. No one had to reprogram you. You chose to come back.”

He swallowed. His hand trembled faintly beneath yours.

“You’re allowed to feel shaken,” you said. “You’re allowed to be tired. Scared. You’re not a machine.”

He let out a slow, shaky breath. “But they wanted me to be.”

You leaned in, forehead gently touching his.

“But you’re not. You’re here. Bleeding, breathing, scared, and real.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The quiet wrapped around you, not heavy this time, but warm. Close.

And then his hand came up, sliding over the curve of your back.

He exhaled again, slower this time. Steadier.

“I hate that I flinched,” he murmured. “In that cell. I froze.”

“You didn’t freeze. You remembered.”

“And that almost got you killed.”

You shook your head. “You coming back to yourself? That’s what got us out.”

He didn’t speak after that. Just leaned into you, resting his head on your shoulder. His good hand curled into your shirt, not tight, just anchored. Like he needed the reminder of skin. Of closeness. Of now.

You let him stay there.

You stayed until his muscles finally started to loosen, until the sharp edge in his breath began to dull.

“I should get this stitched up,” he mumbled.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “But we’re not rushing. Not tonight.”

He nodded. “Stay with me?”

“Always.”

You eased him down onto the cot, helped him lie back gently. Bandaged his side. Smoothed his hair back from his forehead. He kept his eyes on you the entire time.

-----

Across the hall, Natasha sat on the arm of the couch, watching the silent feed from the facility one last time—the final flicker before the fire swallowed it whole.

She allowed herself one breath of release.

The war wasn’t over. But tonight, for once, they all lived, and that was enough.

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