#trust me i tried on a different page and it took like five tries for me to even get something i REMOTELY liked

[fridayyy-13th]

woah holy shit i’m posting more than one doodle in a day?? not only that but a whole sketchbook page??? wild

[ids in alt]

(the galactic text in the jmart drawing says "my fucking God these bitches gay good for them" and the galactic text in the drawing of me says "ughhh idk what to drawww." i drew the tape and the lighter after that, bc i wanted to fill some space) (also yes i know the tape isn't the most accurate i didn't have a reference and didn't grow up in an era where they were common :////) (anyway)

[on-my-vigilante-sht]

Sorry to Meet You

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Summary: The moral dilemma of the patriarch of the Cullen clan finally meeting his mate after 350 years. 

Warnings: Angst, death, blood, accident, surgery, not beta’d, turning, grief

Word Count: 5.8k (sorry, I got a little carried away and I’m getting used to writing one shots again)

Masterlist

I rounded the corner within the halls of my father’s hospital, heading towards his oh so familiar office. I  had spent a good portion of my childhood playing in the office halls of the hospital so as to not get in the way of an emergency. Every take your child to work day, every early dismissal, random day off from school, and every weekend he had to work and couldn’t find someone to watch me, he brought me here up until I was about 12.

Now I was in college, studying biology as a pre-med student at Johns Hopkins University. But today I was returning to Forks for my summer vacation in between my freshman and sophomore year. He was supposed to pick me up from the airport tomorrow but I had wanted to surprise him at work so I left a day early.

Reaching the door to his office, I entered. Embarrassingly, I had been so eager I hadn’t even checked if he was busy. As the door swung open I was met with the golden hair and eyes of the most gorgeous man I had ever seen. Given his youth I assumed he was a student or a resident but one look at his badge told me he was an attending.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” my father’s voice broke me from my trance.

“Hi!” I smiled at my father, ripping myself from the mystery man’s enchanting gaze. “I wanted to surprise you,” I explained, returning his hug. “I was so excited I didn’t even consider that you were busy. Sorry,” I apologized to both men.

“Don’t be,” the blond said in an almost melodic voice. “Trust me I understand the importance of family.”

“Yeah Dr. Cullen’s kids are here all the time,” my father laughed.

‘This guy has kids?’ I thought. ‘Plural? He looks no older than 25.’

Seemingly reading the confusion on my face he explained. “Adopted kids. My sister and I were foster kids so we always agreed we’d adopt as many as possible. So far we’ve adopted five teenagers, hoping to give them a new shot at life.”

“Wow,” was all I said, unsure of how to react. ‘Well this guy was definitely out,’ I noted to myself. ‘Not only is he your father’s colleague, he had five teenagers.’ “Well I should let you get back to it,” I said shyly, already backing out of my father’s office, embarrassed. “I’ll be at the house and we’ll get dinner after?” I suggested to my father.

“Sounds good. See you later sweetie,” he called after me.

~

Carlisle tried his hardest to focus on Dr. L/N’s words but he couldn’t, he was so focused on his colleague’s daughter. When she entered the office he had sucked in a breath he didn’t need. He had heard that some mate connections hit you like a brick but he hadn’t seen it with anyone except presumably between Rosalie and Emmett when she demanded he save him.

So as soon as he was done with his meeting he hopped into his Mercedes and headed towards Dr. L/N’s house. Once he reached it he found no cars in the driveway or any indication that there had been a car there recently, only wet footprints leading up to the porch and inside the door, presumably from Y/N getting out of a cab.

Continuing past the house he parked about half a mile away before running back to the house, a feat that only took him a couple seconds.

Taking a page from Edward’s book he began creeping along the side of the house, trying to spot Y/N through a window. But when he couldn’t find her he was forced to climb up some trees until he found her in what was presumably her bedroom, unpacking a suitcase full of clothes.

He watched, admiring the girl as she sorted through the clothes, tossing some in the laundry bin and others in piles to be sorted in the closet. He realized that he could watch her all day, admiring the quirks of her expression as she reacted to different situations. He hadn’t understood the other Cullens’ obsessions with each other until now.

He continued to watch for hours. His eyes sometimes drifting to the delicate curves of her body but always scolding himself for thinking of her like that given that she didn’t even really know him. But a small part of his mind whispered that she’d be his one day.

He only left when he heard her father’s car approaching, swearing to come back to learn more about her so he could strike up a conversation about her favorite things the next time they “accidentally” ran into each other.

~

The next time I visited the hospital wasn’t just to visit my father, it was because I had managed to slip in a puddle, earning myself a gash on the forehead.

I was sat in the waiting room going on two hours with a blood soaked rag pressed to my forehead. I truly didn’t mind waiting seeing as I knew there were far more injured people getting treated. But as I continued to wait I started to get more and more light headed. I began to make my way to the desk in hopes they could give me some answers when I got a head rush, stumbling into a very cold, hard chest.

“Y/N?” I heard the melodic voice again. This time dripping with concern. “What happened?”

“Oh nothing,” I dismissed, reluctantly pulling away from the grasp he had on my arms. “Just slipped in a puddle and my head kind of ate it,” I chuckled.

“How long have you been here?” he asked, more concern ebbing into his voice.

“I don’t know about two hours?” I shrugged, trying to not make a big deal of it. “Please don’t tell my dad, he’ll just get all concerned and angry and wonder why I wasn’t immediately treated.”

Inside, Carlisle was already feeling all those things I just described. “Well you shouldn’t have to sit there for two hours, bleeding out of your head. You should’ve been brought for a CT. C’mon, can’t have Dr. L/N’s daughter bleeding out in the waiting room.”

I smiled shyly as I felt his strong, cold hand be gently placed on my lower back as he guided me towards an exam room.

~

All throughout the exam Carlisle had to hold his breath. He has excellent control, it’s what many believe to be his special ability and it allows him to do what he loves but Y/N’s blood? The faintest smell alone made venom flood his mouth. And the blood soaked rag along with the fact that he had to bandage up her forehead didn’t help.

“Okay, that should do it,” he smiled, thankfully pulling back from his mate as he finished taping a bandage onto her head. “You’ll have to keep it bandaged for a couple days but your father should be able to help with that. And you most likely won’t scar.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks Dr. Cullen. I owe you one.”

He shook his head, breathing a laugh as he looked down at the girl’s chart. “Please, I’m happy to do it. And you can call me Carlisle.”

“Carlisle,” she repeated, nearly melting the vampire right there, “that’s an interesting name, never heard it.”

“Well my parents were a bit old fashioned,” he explained. “So your father tells me you finished your first year at Johns Hopkins? That’s very impressive.”

He admired her blush as she looked down at the ground. “Thanks. I think I was the only one of my graduating class to go out of state.”

“Yeah, I’ve figured out Forks is a very small town. Not many people leave,” he chuckled. “Do you know what you want to study?”

“Um I’ve always kind of wanted to be a surgeon. I know it’s the most difficult specialty but I enjoy the precision of it,” she shrugged.

Carlisle felt a sense of disappointment at the news that his mate wanted to be a surgeon. Being a doctor was hard enough as a vampire but having to literally cut people open? Even he didn’t think he’d be able to focus surrounded by so much blood. He was already dreading having to tell her that she couldn’t be a surgeon after she turned, not at least for decades while she learned control. He was suddenly snapped from his fantasies realizing that this human barely knew him and practically everything he knew about her came from his lurking outside her windows.

Dragging himself out of his thoughts which had no doubt created a long, awkward pause he spoke again. “Yes, well if you made it to Johns Hopkins then I’m sure you can do it.”

“Thanks Doc- Carlisle,” Y/N corrected before standing up off the table and heading for the door.

As she exited, taking most of her intoxicating scent with her, Carlisle sucked in a breath he didn’t need. As much as he hated watching his mate leave he needed a break from her blood. No one had tempted him the way Y/N L/N had, even when he was a starving newborn. And he realized that he would have to figure out a way to get close to her and get her to love him before he even told her about the mate bond. A difficult feat considering her father’s place as his colleague.

~

When Carlisle got home that evening he immediately went to his room, tipping off the family that something was different.

As he collapsed backwards onto his sofa he let his mind wander to his mate. He could picture her face so clearly, and more frighteningly he could still imagine the smell of her blood with eerie accuracy. He imagined all his future endeavors to keep her safe as a human. He’d watch over her, always be within reach to step in when she needed. He pictured their love story. It’d be slow and start with glances and fleeting touches until he invited her out to dinner once she became more comfortable with him. He’d kiss her goodnight on the porch and then make sure she got into the safety of her home before leaving. Their relationship would develop from there with more dates, with Y/N’s father’s approval of course. And when she uttered the words ‘I love you,’ he’d tell her about him and his species because he knew he had earned her love. And as much as he didn’t want to damn her to a life of hiding and being a monster, he couldn’t help but imagine her turning. He’d gently bite into the soft flesh of her throat, injecting his venom into her veins, cementing her as his forever. But the thought of hurting her and turning her into a monster made him hesitate.

As Carlisle continued to immerse himself in his fantasies, his sister entered. “Carlisle?” Esme called softly. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, sitting up. He wasn’t sure whether or not to tell his family that he had met him mate, considering they were already dealing with the human mate to Edward, Bella, who they had just moved back to Forks for. Of course no secrets stayed secrets for long thanks to Edward and Alice’s gifts. Edward could be counted on for discretion but Alice’s overeager nature wouldn’t allow that. He was surprised that Alice hadn’t already planned a party but maybe she hadn’t seen his mate in her visions yet. He had also wanted to keep her his own little secret for a while but clearly that wouldn’t be happening so he relented. “I- uh met my true mate.”

Esme’s eyes widened as she gasped. Of course living in a house full of vampires everyone heard and immediately began rushing in.

“You met your mate!” Alice practically screamed, nearly knocking over Esme.

“What’s she like?” Emmett asked with a grin. “Or he?” he added hesitantly.

“It’s a she,” Carlisle confirmed. “It’s very new. She doesn’t even really know anything about me and everything I know about her comes from lurking outside her window,” he groaned in embarrassment.

“Well that worked with Bella,” Jasper laughed.

Edward shot his brother a glare before looking back at his adoptive father. “Just find an excuse to be around her, ask her on a date.”

“That’s the thing, she’s 19-”

“You’re physically 23,” Alice cut in.

“Her father is my coworker,” he elaborated. “Besides they think I’m 31 at the hospital. And she just finished her first year pre-med.”

“So you’ll see her around the hospital!” Alice insisted, still trying to convince her adoptive father that everything would be fine. “Suggest that she comes to the hospital more to observe or do an internship! Then you can get to know her and ask her on a date.”

“That’s not actually the worst plan,” Edward admitted.

Carlisle thought for a second. That could actually work, he’d just have to figure out how to bring it up to her and her father naturally.

“So what’s she like?” Rosalie asked suddenly.

If vampires could blush Carlisle would be bright red. “Well um she has H/L, (hair length) H/T, (type) H/C (color) hair. She actually looks a lot like her father, Dr. L/N. She goes to Johns Hopkins. Look can everyone just go back to what they were doing?”

“But we want to meet her,” Alice practically whined.

In his frustration with everything Carlisle blurted out, “You may not even get to meet her.”

That dampened the mood. “What?” Esme asked softly.

“Nothing is decided yet but she’s human. We’re already dealing with Bella, the Volturi are already keeping their eyes on us, and I don’t want to doom her to this life if I don’t have to.”

“But this is your mate,” Alice insisted. “You’ve been alone for 350 years!”

“He has a point,” Rosalie cut in. “We can’t afford to have another human know about us especially with the Volturi sniffing around us. And we shouldn’t be turning people unless they’re actively dying.”

“But she’s his true mate!” Alice maintained, practically stamping her foot on the ground. “He can’t just turn his back on her.”

“Look nothing is decided,” Carlisle tried to calm Alice down. “I have to be back at work in a few hours and I need to hunt so if you’d all please let me be.”

Everyone shuffled out of the room reluctantly except for Edward. “It will break your heart to let that girl go.”

Carlisle paused. He knew that, the idea of letting her go live her life and potentially fall in love with someone else broke his heart. “I know,” he admitted. “But the thought of having to hurt her and make her like this hurts just as much.”

“So love her for the duration of her mortal life.”

“Just to watch her age, live in pain, and die? I couldn’t handle that.”

“But you’re doing it for her,” Edward pointed out.

“But if I’m doing it for her shouldn’t I just let her go live a normal life?”

Edward shrugged. “I don’t know the right answer here just that no matter what you choose it’ll kill you in some way. That’s the unfortunate truth about loving a human.”

~

A few weeks went by and Y/N became a routine part of Carlisle’s day. He’d usually see her at the hospital, working as a secretary. (A job she acquired even without Carlisle’s suggestion.) Because of that he had gained a reputation for hanging around the nurses station, flirting with Y/N. Not only did he learn about her through actually talking to her, he would make frequent trips to her house to watch her through the windows, even occasionally going into her room, which he felt wrong about but being surrounded by her scent dismissed any doubt from his mind.

“Y/N,” he greeted like he did every morning, bringing her a coffee.

“You must be spending a fortune on coffee,” she commented, taking the cup. She had protested several times, insisting that she pay him back but he refused every time so she just began to accept it.

“It’s nothing,” he dismissed. “But if it was it’d be worth it,” he flirted, earning a blush from the girl. Carlisle had learned a lot about flirting in these few weeks. At first it was a bit clumsy but he picked it up fairly easily with a little coaching from Rosalie and Emmett.

“Yeah well you won’t have to spend like $4.50 everyday for much longer, one of my professors is starting a research project a month before the semester begins and he invited me as a fellow,” she explained, a glimmer of disappointment behind her bright, casual expression.

If Carlisle’s heart wasn’t already frozen it would’ve stopped beating. He tried his best to hide his shock and disappointment. “Oh, well congratulations. Getting invited to stuff like this is really good for med school applications.”

“Yeah, and I like being here but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up, y’know? Plus it’ll be nice to see the sun again,” she awkwardly laughed, sensing the doctor’s unease.

“Yeah, um well I have to go get some labs. Congratulations, I’ll see you around,” he rushed out with a forced smile. He didn’t stay long enough to hear her response, rushing out of the room as fast as possible without being suspicious.

He couldn’t think straight. He of course had thought about her just leaving but now that it was actually happening, as well as happening sooner than expected, he didn’t know how to deal with it.

~

Carlisle had no clue what to do when it came to his mate leaving. He couldn’t stop her, that wasn’t fair to Y/N, so instead he kept his distance. Which was easy considering that he could smell her from a mile away. Until one day at the hospital when the scent of her blood was particularly strong.

“19 year old female, car crash. Resuscitated once in the field, three times en route,” the panicked voice of the paramedic echoed through Carlisle’s sensitive ears. He rushed into the ER, spotting her through the window of the trauma room. He mostly recognized her through her scent but would know that H/T, H/C hair and S/T skin through purple and blue bruises from a million miles away. But the next words from her attending doctor only confirmed the worst. “Page Dr. L/N, it’s Y/N!”

It felt like Carlisle had been sucker punched in the gut. It took everything in him not to stagger back and let out a dry sob right there in the ER. When her heart monitor flatlined he wanted to slaughter every person in that room in his grief. It was ridiculous, 350 years of self control would be gone just because of a girl. But not just any girl, his girl.

When they finally got Y/N’s heartbeat back they wheeled her up to surgery, just as Dr. L/N entered the ER. “Where’s Y/N? Where’s my daughter?” he demanded, trying to launch himself at the ER desk.

“D/N, D/N,” Carlisle tried to calm the distraught father. He had to physically hold the man back with vampire strength. Fortunately the ER was too chaotic for anyone to notice. “They took her up to surgery, she’ll be fine.”

“Surgery? Oh god,” the man began to cry. “But that’s my baby, she’s all I have.” With those words Carlisle began to feel guilty. Just a few weeks ago a part of him had been so ready to basically just kidnap this poor man’s daughter and completely shatter his world without a thought. “Oh god, surgery here is a death sentence.”

Carlisle began to protest before really thinking about it. Forks Hospital was small, their surgical staff consisted of two surgeons and whatever nurses that had completed the surgical nurse program. No one came her for surgery, they all went to Port Angeles and their non-emergent traumas went there too. The only people who came here were on the brink of death and unfortunately the two surgeons here weren’t exactly outstanding in their field. They were good enough but nothing remarkable and they usually lost their patients due to the circumstances.

~

Carlisle tried to carry on his day as if the love of his life wasn’t dying in a surgical suite right now. But the ordinarily smooth, confident doctor was distracted and constantly messing up. Until finally his shift was over and he went up to his mate’s room. He had orchestrated the nurses’ charts so she’d be placed in a secluded room should Carlisle need to intervene to prolong her life.

When he entered the room he was met with the most heartbreaking sight. Y/N was laid on the bed, an intubation tube sticking out of her throat. Her entire face was black and blue, some bones in her face looked like they had been broken. She hardly looked recognizable. On the only chair in the room sat her father looking like a worried mess. “Oh, hey Carlisle,” Dr. L/N said dejectedly.

“I’m so sorry, D/N.”

The man shrugged. “She’s tough. She managed to claw her way out of this place. She’ll survive this.”

“I hope so,” Carlisle agreed, staring longingly at his mate.

He didn’t want to arouse too much suspicion from Y/N’s father so he reluctantly went home to change and hunt.

After his quick hunt he re-entered his home finding Alice. “Carlisle, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. He wasn’t sure what to say to that but fortunately he didn’t have to come up with anything because she spoke again. “But you have to stay with her at the hospital if you want any shot at survival.” By now Edward had joined them.

“What?” Carlisle asked.

“She won’t survive this. You’re a doctor, you have to know that. So you’ll have to change her.”

Carlisle would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of the scenario where Y/N was severely injured and he needed to change her. He looked up at his oldest son. “There’s nothing wrong about saving her life if she’s already dying.”

Not wanting to waste another second Carlisle sped off. He almost ran to the hospital but realized at the last second he should take the car. So he floored it, doing 150mph practically the whole way there. And finally parking in the back so he’d be able to bring her home unseen.

When he got to the hospital his ears were bombarded with thousands of sounds, something he was now used to, but because of his experience he was able to tune into his mate’s heart monitor while he got his plan ready.

Heading to the morgue he found a body that was a similar build and coloring to Y/N. Carlisle was by no means squeamish but it felt weird to break her bones and watch bruises form over her skin until her face was unrecognizable. He then scraped up as many ashes as possible to make it look like someone had cremated her so no one would go looking for her body. Setting the body aside he headed back upstairs finding Dr. L/N slumped over in a chair.

Carlisle hesitantly shook the older man awake. “Hey,” he said softly, willing the man to take his suggestion. “You should go home and rest. Get changed. I’ll watch over her.” The man hesitated, still staring at his fragile daughter. “She'll be fine, I’ll call you if anything happens.”

He reluctantly agreed before heading out, making Carlisle promise to call him even if her heart rate changed by two points.

Carlisle sat for a while, waiting for the hospital to calm down a bit before enacting his plan. First he went to the nurses station while no one was there, turning off the monitors that connected to his mate’s room. He then went back downstairs, using his hearing and sense of smell to bring the body up without being detected. Finally it was time to turn his mate. He stood over her bedside, observing her mortality for the final time. Through the black and blue of her face he admired her beauty, reminiscing the unique, flawed beauty of mortals.

This would be the most difficult transformation of his life. He was more nervous than when he had turned his sister who was his first turn. Y/N’s blood smelled so sweet he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pull away. He took a deep breath through his mouth before lowering his head to her throat, biting quickly. It took everything in him to pull away. He had never killed a human but he had tasted blood when he turned them and Y/N’s was like nothing he had ever tasted before. He knew he had to hold on long enough for the venom to inject into her bloodstream which made it even harder to pull away but he did it.

When he pulled back he could see blood seeping from her puncture wounds telling him he didn’t kill her. He quickly began disconnecting her from the machines before the venom could wreak havoc on her system. He then swapped her body for the one from the morgue, connecting the machines once again. Running down to the car he placed her unconscious figure in the backseat before going upstairs to reconnect the nurses station, alerting them that Y/N L/N was dying.

But by the time they reached her room with a crash cart Carlisle was already escaping with his prize in the back seat.

~

It took three agonizing days for Y/N’s transformation. Carlisle spent every moment he could at her side. He had to go to the hospital in order to not arouse suspicion where he unfortunately had to deal with her grieving father. He had called him on the way home to tell that he had gone to the bathroom and when he got back she was coding. But it didn’t seem to make anything easier for Dr. L/N as the man tried to tackle Carlisle when he walked into work. Fortunately for his secret a nurse stopped him. “You left her!” he screamed. “I lost my baby. I didn’t get to say goodbye because of you!”

At first Carlisle had been elated to finally have his mate (among other conflicting feelings) but now he was confronting the grief he had created. He realized that even if she was going to die anyway, if he hadn’t intervened her father would’ve gotten to say his final goodbye.

Meanwhile at home Y/N was laid on the soft couch in his room. She had spent the first two days sleeping fairly peacefully to the point that Carlisle was afraid he had killed her but her slowing heartbeat was assurance that she was okay. The third day was the hardest, he learned from Jasper that he could feel her pain. He was at work when the pain started and Alice had called him since she would be awake soon and Carlisle had wanted to be the one with her when she woke up.

Carlisle had been sitting by her side for a few hours, admiring her now clear skin, pure from all the bruises and broken bones she had received. In his own cold, stone hand, he now felt the same in her hand, all the warmth having been drained from it now as he played with her fingers adoringly.

~

Even before I opened my eyes I could hear so clearly. I could hear the rustle of clothing, the sound of skin rubbing skin as I realized a cold hand was playing with my fingers. As I became more aware I realized that my throat felt so dry it felt like it was burning.

Peeling my eyes open I was met with what seemed like the brightest object in the universe. I was half convinced I was staring directly into the sun except I could heat the hum of electric lighting.

“Is it too bright?” a voice— Carlisle’s voice asked.

Turning my head I met his warm, golden expression. When I nodded in agreement he ran towards the switch faster than I had ever seen anything move. Weird, but maybe I was just really groggy, but strangely I didn’t feel groggy, I felt more alive than I ever had.

Carlisle’s face reappeared in my field of vision, I could now more clearly see the flawlessness of his skin and the flecks of gold in his irises. Unbeknownst to me he was was also now observing the smoothness of my skin and the deep red hue of my eyes. Something about him felt safe and warm, like I never wanted to leave his side again. “Carlisle?” was all I could think of to say.

His adoring smile widened when I said his name. “Hey, Y/N. How are you feeling?”

“Good…” I answered hesitantly. I felt better than I ever had but his question made me think I shouldn’t feel good.

“That’s good. The transformation can be rougher for some people,” he explained, pulling away slightly to allow me room to sit up.

As I pushed myself up I moved so fast the couch slid to the side. My eyes widened, realizing what happened. “What’s going on? What transformation?”

He took my hands in his, now kneeling on the ground in front of me. “This is going to be strange and you won’t believe me but bear with me, okay?” he asked, looking up at me. One look in his eyes and I was melting so I just nodded, allowing him to explain. “I’m… a vampire. And I made you one too.” Laughs began to wrack my body, this had to be a joke. But one look at the grave sincerity on his face told me he wasn’t joking. “It’s true. It’s why when you sat up the couch moved. Why you’re probably really overwhelmed with all the sound, smells, lights, and feelings. Vampires are the most dangerous predators. We have better senses, are faster, and stronger than anything else.” Seeing my lost expression he rushed out the next words. “I know it’s a lot and I’m sorry I did this to you.”

“Why did you do this to me?”

“How much do you remember?”

“The last thing I remember is driv-” I suddenly realized what must’ve happened. “I was in an accident wasn’t I?”

Carlisle nodded his head regretfully. “You weren’t going to make it. That’s why I turned you. I didn’t want to do it. I was going to let you live your life as a human whether that be with me or with someone else but I couldn’t just let you die.”

“So what? You just turn every dying patient in the hospital?” I asked, trying to wrap my head around his words.

He shook his head no. “You’re the first I’ve turned in nearly 70 years. I couldn’t let you die because… well you see-” Carlisle was struggling with the best word choice to keep from scaring his mate off. “We’re mates… I knew the instant I saw you. Humans can’t feel it as strongly and it’s rare to meet your true mate but that’s what we are.” I didn’t know how to react, I didn’t even know exactly what I was feeling. “You don’t have to stay, you certainly don’t have to accept our bond but I thought you should know about it. Before you got hurt I was planning to hopefully be worthy of your love the old-fashioned way but given the circumstances…”

Before I could say anything the door swung open, revealing three more vampires. One had blonde curls, another with a brunette, short pixie, and the third had caramel hair and had a strong resemblance to Carlisle. “Hi, I’m Alice!” the bubbly brunette introduced.

“Um, girls-” Carlisle attempted to dismiss them so as to not overwhelm his mate.

“She’s probably thirsty,” the blonde insisted. Everyone looked over at me expectantly. Remembering the burning in my throat I nodded. Alice approached, opening a cup allowing the most appetizing scent to permeate through the air. I took it eagerly, frowning when I looked into the cup to find a thick, red liquid. Blood.

“It takes a bit of getting used to,” the caramel-haired one empathized.

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” Alice encouraged.

I gingerly brought it to my lips. The more I could smell it the thirstier I got so I downed the drink. The second the blood touched my lips I couldn’t get enough as I began to down the drink. Once it was all gone Carlisle gently brought the cup from my hands. “C’mon, you should meet the others,” he said, gently taking my hand in his. He led me out of his room, the three women following us into what looked like a very modern living room where there were three men waiting for us. “Y/N, these are my adoptive kids,” Carlisle explained as the blonde and Alice went to stand with their… brothers? “That’s Alice and Jasper, Emmett and Rosalie,” he pointed out the couples, “Edward, and my sister, Esme.”

~

The Cullen clan welcomed Y/N with open arms, including Bella when she eventually met the new vampire. It took a day or two of warming up but soon enough Carlisle and Y/N began to behave just like other mates. They were constantly together, and the rest of the Cullen clan were happy to finally see Carlisle so happy with his mate after 350 years.

Masterlist

[catscidr]

Dr ratio and student (adult) reader who tried really hard to study but she is kinda failing? 😭 I once had strict teacher like ratio and he was softer to me, so Idk if ratio would be the same or even more mean

this is a little different from what you asked. BUT. i Do think that he wouldn't be mean n would help u study because it means you're trying to not be an idiot and his whole shtick is trying to make people less dumb. ykwim. i might've projected a littol bit... times r tough what can i say <(ㅍ _ㅍ)> cw: blurb/headcanon format (?), hurt/comfort technically because ratio is a little mean. it's not that bad tho trust, university setting includes: gn!student!reader, professor!veritas ratio, can be read as either platonic or romantic (or favoritism lmao) wc: 1k

-ˋˏ I think he would be pretty frustrated at first. How come all your studying did little to nothing to change your less-than-ideal grades? Especially when he’s the one teaching you, at this point it’s an insult to him and his teaching skills! 

-ˋˏ ...but when you showed up to his office with your lips curled down in deep a frown, downturned brows and meek eyes that refused to meet his gaze for more than three seconds and reflected just how embarrassed (and almost ashamed) you were, he could only sigh and wave his hand to gesture for you to come in. 

-ˋˏ You took out your textbook, your notes and the study guide he had made specifically for the final exam. They felt heavier in your hands than they usually do, since now he could very well take a single look at your messy, scribbled notes and turn you away for “wasting his time” like you’ve seen him do with other struggling students. You couldn’t afford failing this exam though, so you place down your things on his (now cleared) desk and sit at the edge of the chair he had across of him, silently praying to whatever god to grant you some mercy. 

-ˋˏ His first reaction was... not good, for lack of better words. Your notes were a mess and there were splotches of black all over about five pages— the result of an unfortunate accident where your pen exploded in your hands during an all-nighter. He was tempted to turn you away or to, at the very least, scold you for being so disorganized, but he wouldn’t be the infamous Doctor Veritas Ratio if he did. One look at you and he could tell that you hadn’t slept properly in God-knows how long, that you hadn’t eaten a proper meal in just as long, and that you had the drive to study, but for a reason unknown to you, simply couldn’t. Or, at least not in a way that made you retain the information you tried to hammer into your brain. 

-ˋˏ You'd sit there; hands folded in your lap, eyes refusing to meet his, silently waiting for him to say something, anything lest you implode on the spot. Ratio would gloss over your notes, eyes lingering on the little doodles of yourself you drew in the margins of the page with a little speech bubble saying ‘help’ right above it, and would hold in a sigh. Crossing his arms over his chest he would lean back in his chair and tilt his head, burning holes in your skull until you lifted your head up. He wouldn’t say a word, he’d be as patient as he needed to be, waiting. 

-ˋˏ When you finally looked over at him you swore you felt your heart drop to your ass (how long had he been staring?) as you forced yourself to not grab your stuff and dip. “Um-” you started speaking but he promptly shut you up by interrupting you with a question of his own; “Do you honestly think you can study adequately in such conditions?”  

-ˋˏ (Of course he’d notice, you scold yourself internally. There’s no way to successfully hide the dark circles under my eyes.) 

-ˋˏ You’re taking way too long to answer, too absorbed into your head to speak, and it’s starting to get under his skin. His frown seems embedded onto his face, the absence of his plaster head making you quiver in fear from the sheer amount of frustration he must feel because of you. Unfortunately, you’re nowhere near as observant as he is— because if you were, you would have noticed that his frustration wasn’t aimed at you, but at himself. How did he let it get this bad? He’s supposed to be a teacher, and teachers are supposed to care for their pupils

-ˋˏ (It might seem like he couldn’t give two shits about his students, but he does care— in his own harsh way. He considers kicking people out of his class a blessing; if he didn’t care about their wellbeing, he would have let them stay and feel stupid as well as let them be completely overwhelmed as a result of not understanding the content of his lessons and the workload he assigns. Of course, he doesn’t want people to drop his class, but if that’s what it takes for people to not go insane then so be it. He’s made peace with it.) 

-ˋˏ “When was the last time you were able to sleep for longer than eight hours consecutively?” he asks, intense gaze unfaltering as your eyes dart all over his office in a poor attempt at avoiding the inevitable. Finally, you look at him sheepishly, and mumble a number that was far from satisfactory in his books. He clicks his tongue and unfurls his arms, grabbing your books strewn across his desk and shuts them, sliding them over towards you. You sit, puzzled and flustered that you’ve gone all this way just for him to kick you out. If he was going to be an ass, he should have just dismissed you as soon as— 

-ˋˏ “Your assignment is to get a good night’s rest. Do not come into my classroom if you haven’t slept for 8 hours minimum. If I see you work dark circles as prominent as the ones you have right now, I’ll drag you to the nearest bed or couch myself.” 

...Can’t say you expected that kind of response. 

-ˋˏ You can’t even get a word in before he beats you to it, already knowing what you were about to say. “I’ll let you retake the exam if I deem your health to be unacceptable when you arrive in the lecture hall for the exam.” You shut your mouth, unsure of what to even say in response. You really felt like you were being scolded. 

-ˋˏ He would gladly help you study when you come back looking (and feeling) refreshed, though. Not that he’d show it with his body language, but his actions said everything. He’d bring energy bars for you to snack on while he explained material you struggled with, would be patient when you’d ask seemingly dumb questions (one time you asked him why he hadn’t kicked you out of his class yet, and that was the first time he actually scolded you. Because that was the first dumb question you asked him). 

[kaleidoscopewritings19]

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Title: Biggest Regret

Character(s): Bruce Wayne, F!Reader, Alfred Pennyworth, and made up character Dean Vansen.

Warnings: NONE

Prompts: in bold, credit @ bookished

Bruce Wayne was reading one of the many magazines that Alfred brought home from the grocery store, when one particular magazine caught his eye.

“Y/N Y/L/N IS ENGAGED! THE LUCKY MAN? DEAN VANSEN.”

Bruce quickly flipped through the pages until he landed on the cover story. “Y/L/N is excited for her engagement, however, they’ve been engaged for over a year. The wedding is to take place this Friday at the First Church of Gotham.” At the bottom of the column, it showed a picture of you smiling next to your soon to be husband.

“I am so thrilled to finally be marrying the love of my life. This has been a long time coming.” -Y/L/N stated in a recent interview.

Bruce closed the magazine and tossed it on to the kitchen table. His chin rested between his thumb and forefinger. How could he have let this happen? It had been three years since he seen you last— he was sure you were still in love with him. What changed?

Three years ago, you were on the cover of magazines with him. You two were the power couple of Gotham. He was the rich billionaire playboy, and you were the sweet, beautiful, book author— you were so different from his past girlfriends.

Alfred walked into the kitchen, “I see you read the article about Miss Y/N. I believe it is time to send a congratulatory bouquet? Or perhaps a card?” The trusted butler asked, and Bruce shook his head.

“No. Better yet, I will take both of those things in person.” Bruce said as he stood up, and tightened his tie.

Alfred chuckled. “Master B, I do not think that is a wise idea. The media will be following her, and if you two are seen together, a scandal story will be written.” He said and Bruce shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s just a card, Alfred.” Bruce said before grabbing his car keys. Before Alfred could protest any further, Bruce was out the door.

Bruce picked up your favorite flowers and a card. As he drove to the five star hotel your husband-to-be owned, he remembered the last words that were shared between the two of you.

You two had just gotten into a fight and you were packing your suitcase. “Y/N, come on, don’t do this.” Bruce said as he tried to grab your arm.

You pulled away, “No! I’m tired of seeing you hang around all of those models! They act as if I don’t exist, and you don’t make me feel like I do either.”

Bruce took a step back, “Woah, wait a minute—” but before he could finish his sentence you cut him off. “Bruce, I am tired of waiting for you. I’m tired of waiting for you to decide if I’m worth having around for the rest of your life.” You say quietly.

“We have been together since we were 18. We’re 25 years old Bruce! That’s seven years of being loyal. Seven years of proving that I am worthy of the Wayne last name. Seven years of showing you that I want you! That I want to marry you, and have children.”

Tears were streaking down your face and you shut the lid to your suitcase. “I’m tired of waiting, Bruce. I waited for you to figure out what you wanted to do after highschool. I waited for you to figure things out with Wayne Enterprise. I am still waiting for you to figure out the Batman thing. When will there be room for us?” You questioned, and Bruce hung his head.

“Please, give me time, and I promise that I will take a break from it all to work on us.” He said, and you shook your head.

“This is the third time you have said it. I can’t believe your empty promises any longer.” You said before carrying the suitcase out of the shared bedroom.

————

Bruce pulled up to the hotel, and the valet offered to take his car. He shrugged them off, “I’ll only be a minute.” He said and he approached the front desk.

“What room is Y/N Y/L/N in?” He asked and the clerk gave him a small smile. “She would be in the honeymoon suite. Are you here for the rehearsal dinner?” She asked and Bruce shook his head.

“No, I will just be a moment. I’m here to congratulate her.” He said.

The clerk gave him the room number and Bruce was nervous the entire elevator ride up. No matter what he told everyone, he still loved you. This whole engagement angered him, and he was genuinely upset. His heart broke when he read the headline; a part of him hoped you would leave here with him tonight.

As the elevator dinged, he got off and clutched the vase of flowers in his hands. One he reached room 312, he knocked. There’s not turning back now.

“Just a minute!” He heard your voice call from the other side of the door. It was just as sweet as he remembered. You opened the door with your phone up to your ear. When you had seen it was Bruce, you pulled the phone away from your ear. “I’m going to have to call you back.” You say before hanging up the phone.

You were more beautiful than the pictures had shown. You were stunning- glowing, and-and happy. “Bruce? What are you doing here?” You questioned.

He was tongue tied, just like he was when he first met you when he was 16 years old. Instead of answering your question, all he could say was: “Every time I see you, it feels like the first time all over again.” He whispered and all you could do was stare at him.

You opened the door allowing him to enter the suite. He came in and sat the vase of roses on the table near the door.

Slowly, you closed the door and leaned against it. “We shouldn’t be in here together, you know that.” you whispered. “Dean could be here any minute, and if the paparazzi found out you were here, there will be a made up scandal created.”

Bruce again, ignored your words, “I can’t live without you, no matter how hard I try.” He said as he approached you slowly.

There was no where for you to go, all you could do was allow him to trap you between his body and the door. “Bruce, I’m getting married tomorrow. He’s a good guy. He loves me, and-and I love him.” You whispered, and Bruce looked down at you.

“I’m sorry for what happened between us, Y/N. Not putting you first, and not asking you to marry me sooner was my biggest mistake.” He admitted, and you shook your head.

“Your biggest mistake was not putting effort into our relationship. I felt like I was on the back burner when it came to Batman, and Wayne Enterprises, and models.” You said, and Bruce shook his head.

“I’m sorry. Please, don’t do this.” He said as he rested his forehead against yours. “You keep putting me in these positions, Bruce. I’ve left two other guys, because you’ve come and expressed how wrong, and sorry you are.” You replied.

Bruce’s nose brushed yours, and you felt his lips brush gently against yours. His dark eyes glanced into yours, “We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong.” You whisper against his lips.

His hand rested between your neck and cheek, “Then why does it feel so right?” He had no right to ask that question, but he did. His breath tickled your lips, and a tear rolled down your cheek. “Because I-I can’t stop loving you, no matter the consequences.” You stutter out.

Bruce pressed his lips against yours, and your lips moved against his slowly. The kiss only intensified, and before you knew it, he lifted you up off the floor. Your legs wrapped around your waist, as he pressed you against the door.

Your fingers tangled into his hair, and he groaned into the kiss. “Please. Don’t marry him. Please.” He whispered between kisses, and tears rolled down your cheeks.

You pulled away from him, “I’m sorry… I can’t do this again.”

Bruce looked into your eyes and put you back down to the floor. “I can’t ruin something that is good for me. He wants me, Bruce. He wants kids. He wants marriage. You don’t.” You say before opening the door. Bruce looked around the room, and then back at you. When he seen your gaze was dead set on the floor, he decided it was time to leave. Maybe you were right. Maybe this was good for you. Maybe Dean was the one for you.

“I’ll always love you. You’ll always be my first love, Bruce.” You said, and Bruce slowly stepped out. “I truly regret my past decisions, Y/N. But I love you. I will always love you.” He whispered before pressing a kiss to your forehead. Hot tears rolled down his face as he shakily pulled away from you.

You quickly closed the door and fell to your knees. Were you making the right decision?

Bruce had left, never looking back. His biggest regret would follow him for the rest of his life.

———

This was fast paced, but I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading.

[violencewithwings]

January 2024 reading wrap-up

If you’ll notice, I read very few books this month (especially compared to December, but even compared to my usual 6 books minimum a month). I am currently in the throes and insanity of first love, so I might not read much for the first few months of this year. I do miss reading, but how am I supposed to fall in love with book men when I have a gorgeous, sweet man right in front of me?

Books read ˋ°•*⁀➷ 4

Books DNFed ˋ°•*⁀➷ 0

Five-star books ˋ°•*⁀➷ 4

Fourth Wing (reread) - Rebecca Yarros

January 11th, ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

I’ve been anticipating this reread for a while. I couldn’t wait to be re-immersed in the world and see how differently the book read after reading Iron Flame. I was not disappointed, and in fact, I gave this book a higher star rating than I did on my first read. This world is very easy to get obsessed with and immersed in, and I still love Violet’s character so much. Rereading this book also made me appreciate Xaden’s intimidating front so much more than I did originally. I was able to fully sink into the present in the book instead of worry about what was coming, and I really enjoyed it.

Rereading the end of this book made me realize that most of the issues people complain about “popping up” in the second book (aka Violet and Xaden arguing) actually started at the end of the first book pretty much as soon as they got into a relationship. This shifted my perspective of the second book quite a bit, honestly. This was also the first book I tabbed as I read as well, so it was a new and fun experience for me. I can’t wait to read the next book.

The Lightning Thief - Rick Riordan

January 21st, ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

So, fun fact: this was my best friend’s favorite series when we were in elementary and middle school, but I had serious anxiety as a kid and couldn’t read anything more tense than Amelia Bedilia until I was about thirteen. I tried reading this series about four years ago but it kind of bored me? Reading it now, I’m completely unsure why, but I digress. Me and my brothers are watching the show, and being in my reading era, I decided I wanted to read the books too, and now the four of us are reading the books together as well 😆

This book was so much fun. Percy’s inner monologue took a little bit of time to get used to since I’m used to reading books from the perspective of teenage girls and adult women, but he was a very fun character to follow. I’ve always loved Greek Mythology, so getting to read a modern book with the gods was very intriguing. I thought the world was very immersive and the characters were fun. I can’t wait to see how this story progresses over the next few books.

On a side note: I can’t imagine Percy as anything other than Walker with his curly blond hair and blue eyes. Annabeth was a bit harder since Percy describes her so often in the books, but she’s kind of just a blurry haze in my head 😂

The Sea of Monsters - Rick Riordan

January 24th, ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

If you’d told me I was going to be eating up a middle grade book series this year, I’d have laughed in your face. This book was so good. Tyson has to be my favorite character in the whole series so far. He’s so adorable 😭

This book, like most middle grade books, was slightly predictable. It doesn’t help that I’ve gotten probably at least one spoiler for each book, but that didn’t make the reading of it any less fun. Percy and Annabeth’s relationship is progressing a bit, and I love to see it. They trust each other a bit more in each book.

One thing I really loved about this book is that it was only 280 pages 😆 I needed a short read tonight that I could wrap up before I went to bed, and this delivered! I’m chomping at the bit to read the next book, but alas, it’s still on hold at the library. I’ll get my hands on it soon enough…

Destroy the Day - Brigid Kenmerer

January 29th, ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This book was everything and more I wanted out of a final book in this series…I mean…COME ON! For one, I LOVE Harristan, and we got a whole lot more of him in this book. I was eating those chapters UP!

Corrick and Lochlan had a lovely bonding in this book after being at odds with each other for the entire series, so that was nice! I really appreciate that they were able to get over their hatred for each other eventually and become really close friends 😭 the last chapter with them at the end is so near and dear to my heart, you don’t understand.

I won’t get into the nitty gritty of this plot because that was on the back burner in this story. What I LOVED about this book was the romance Harristan got. He and the person he ended up with were two characters I had been hoping something would happen between for a while and then out of nowhere - it happened! I squealed when they kissed for the first time. I’m so glad they got their happily ever after because that is truly all I ever wanted for them <3

I love this book. Read this series, I promise it’s good.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Looking for a Place to Happen

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), age gap, general stupidity.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: We’re starting Sam’s installment but this weekend I’ll probably only be catching up on my headcanons and drabbles because I’ve been a lazy bitch and I’m sorry to those who have been waiting.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 1: I've got a job, I explore

💀💀💀

The sleepy town of Birch was awake. 

In those last weeks, the arrival of outsiders had roused the attention of many once passive residents of the timeless territory. Those brick buildings unchanged by the tick of the clock inlaid into the old tower above the library that chimed every hour on the hour. They still stood with only chips in the mortar but the air tasted different. The frost was more bitter and the sky more grim. An omen of something no one could predict.

It was the perfect setting for a screenplay. The isolated town with its unsavoury secrets and the visitors who threatened to bring them to the surface. It was inspiring to you, to imagine what was hidden behind the stern wrinkled faces of the town elders and under the jackets of those men who wore the cut of the local club. The bikers ruled the town covertly but everyone knew that Bucky Barnes’ palm was lined with the map of Birch.

As a bystander, an unnoticed observer, just another ant in the hill, you watched from the side and amused yourself with the drama of others. It was like a soap opera or another HBO hype machine. Those things you aspired to when you could be free of this ho-hum town.

The snows added to the natural gloom of the place. The deep heaps smothered the noise and harkened back to those days of colonial settlement. Forgotten, desolate, fearful. 

You ventured down in your heavy boots that stretched to your knees and pushed your chin down into your scarf. As a child, you ran and jumped in those piles, now you were out of breath just trying to walk past them.

You stopped in the bakery that doubled as the only café, a place where the owner, Babs, tried to to intimidate the last caffeinated trends. She was always a few seasons behind but you didn’t mind so much. 

You ordered the salted caramel mocha and waited patiently as the quiet woman fought with the steaming machines. She was older than you but you’d work with her for one summer during high school, only five years ago. She had the eyes of a child still, but there was something worn in her. As if she’d been exposed to far too much in her three or so decades in that place. She was a harbinger of what you didn’t want to become.

You thanked her for your drink and set out once more into the billowing winds. Birch winters were never kind but this one was crueler than most. Your teeth chattered as you blew the steam away from the lid and hugged it with your mittened hands.

You stopped short as you heard the familiar ding of the diner door across the street. You recognised the mechanic who kept to herself and once growled at you in the grocery store. She stormed across the street, followed closely and quickly by a black-haired man you’d only seen once before. He was one of those outsiders who came to deal with the club men.

You sped up as you sensed chaos brewing and pulled out your phone as you balanced your paper cup in your other hand. You flicked your camera on just as you got to the front of the shop and the man grabbed the mechanic. You let out an ‘oop’ as she turned on him and you aimed the lens at the couple as they fell into the snow, the man’s shoes giving little traction to his steps. 

You moved closer, stunned by the scene, and kept your cell phone rolling as you found a better angle around the snowy walks. As she choked him on the ground he elbowed her and she coughed as she rolled away. She snarled as he clamoured to his feet, slipping and sliding as he marched away.

You killed the recording and watched the man cross the street again, nearly wiping out as he did and when you looked back to the mechanic, she was gone behind the clattering door. You chuckled to yourself and tucked away your cell. It was prime footage for TikTok; with a bit of editing, it would be comedy gold.

💀

You stomped up the steps of your grandmother’s house, this time through the front door as you heard her chair rocking in the front room. You usually took the stairs in the back as you paid her to live on the upper floor of the duplex. You checked in with her daily, she didn’t get out much more than the occasional trip to the grocery store when you couldn’t or you dragged her out to join you for a tea at Babs’.

“You’re late,” she grumbled as you set your cup down and unzipped your coat.

“For what?” you scoffed.

“It’s after noon and you don’t even come down to say hello? A ‘good morning, nan’,” she harrumphed.

You chuckled and hung your coat before shoving your boots over on the mat. You grabbed your mocha and leaned on the doorway as you watched her crocheting in her chair, reruns of some court show playing from the boxy television.

“I was working,” you said, “sent in some stuff for review. Hopefully not much work to be done.”

“I don’t know how you make money on that interweb,” she bemoaned, “I don’t trust it.”

“Maybe you’d trust it more if you used the Netflix subscription I got you,” you crossed your arms, “then you wouldn’t have to watch trash daytime TV.”

She shrugged and muttered under her breath. She could be crotchety but you liked her sense of humour. Your aunts and uncles never came around because they just took it as spite. You were the only one who knew how to handle the jaded old lady.

“Maybe you coulda looked out the window,” you snickered, “quite a show going on in town.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” she stilled her needles and reached for her tea stained cup.

“Just a fight. You wouldn’t believe it, that lady mechanic beat the shit--”

“Language,” she huffed.

“Anyway, she had this guy in a chokehold. It was awesome.”

“What guy?” she squinted at you over her glasses.

“I dunno. Some out of towner. Remember I told you about that burly dude hanging around the library?”

“There’s more?” she sucked on her teeth, “those bikers have never been good news and now they’re bringing in more.”

“Yeah, well, what’re you gonna do?” you sniffed as you took out your phone and rewatched the scuffle with the volume down. You shook your head and opened up your TikTok. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always on your dang phone,” your grandmother pestered.

“I’m not always on my phone,” you smiled at her smugly, “there are those time when I’m listening to you prattle on or you know, making you tea, oh, and cooking you dinner. What was it I did last week? Oh that’s right, I got Pippin out of the crawlspace.”

“I’m too old to be chasin’ that cat all around,” she huffed, “where is he anyway?”

“He’s your cat, I don’t know? Last time I saw him, I sent him back out the window for shredding my charger.”

“He knows you need to give it a rest,” she laughed to herself, “got your nose to that screen too much.”

“And what do you do, old lady? Crocheting doilies to put where exactly?”

She gave you that dry smile, the one that said watch it but carried a hint of humour still. You hit post and put your phone away as you waved off her irritation.

“Well, you know what, I sit all day at my computer, doing who knows what and you know what it got me?” you taunted, “a large mocha!” you sipped as you sat on the sofa and grabbed the remote, “and it’s paying my rent and putting bullet points on my resume.”

“Mhmm,” she scowled, “just remember, real life ain’t online. Those videos you’re always laughing at like hyena, that’s not reality. You forget it and it’ll come back and bit you. ‘Specially with those bikers.”

“Oh, nan, you know too well, don’t you? Didn’t you have a fling with one back in your hippie phase?”

“Two, actually,” she raised her brows, “I was young and stupid. Not like you, but still.”

“I love you too,” you chirped and sipped from your cup, flicking the station to Jerry Springer, “that’s more like it.”

💀

Your usual TikToks were sarcastic and dull complaints about your small town life. The response was less than pleasing but it gave you an outlet to vent. You liked to goof around and document the very specific type of weirdos that resided in Birch. But the video of the fight in the snow blew up your phone and made it difficult to ignore the buzzing as you went back up to your room to eke out the last of your captions for the ad agency.

When at last you could call your day hard-earned, you logged off and sent in your hours to the agency. Social media promotion was easy enough but the working gigs for a thousand different companies was tedious. You hoped you could build your portfolio enough to manage a single corporate page as you continued to chip away at your creative outlets.

You picked up your phone as you waited for Netflix to load on your tiny smart tv and flopped onto your bed, not two feet from your desk. You hit the icon in the upper panel of your phone and scrolled through the notifications, pausing to turn on another episode of the cable sitcom from ten years before. You snorted as you read each comment but the number under the video made your eyes round. The thing was bound to go viral.

As usual, you went down to help with supper. Pippin, the orange tabby, returned to cry at his dish and you fed him too. Your nan peered through her glasses at a crossword as she tasted the tangy pasta sauce. 

“More basil,” she snipped.

“Well, I asked if you wanted to help,” you muttered, “I think it’s good.”

“Hmmp, I need milk,” she jutted her chin out, “for my after-dinner tea.”

“You couldn’t say something like three hours ago?” you blinked.

“I could have but I didn’t,” she snickered. You rolled your eyes and she took another forkful of penne and filled in another line on her puzzle, “ah, no hurry, girlie, you know I’m patient.”

“Patient? You?” you chuckled as you took your plate and shoved it in the microwave to keep it warm. The ancient thing had a dial and the door stuck, “I’ll just go get it over with.”

“Don’t forget your mitts,” she called after you as you tramped into the front room, “it’s cold.”

You pulled on your knitted cap and matching mitts. You zipped up your parka and shoved your feet into the deep boots. You grabbed your wallet and buried it in the spacious pocket. You bounced out the front door and down the steps as the sky sent down another coat of powder for the night.

You went up White Forge Street and through the short path behind the diner that led to the main road. You glanced over at The Asp, the beacon of the dull town, and turned towards the grocer. Like anywhere in Birch, the store was outdated and stuffy. It felt like stepping into another time with the paper bags and chunky tills.

You went down the center aisle and stopped at the fridge to search through the frosted glass. Your nan only drank whole milk and the last time you carelessly grabbed skim, she whined that even Pippin wouldn’t drink it. She was particular but that was just her nature. You couldn’t say you were any less fussy in some instances.

You grabbed a jug and the door slapped closed against the worn rubber seal. You headed up the candy aisle and brushed your woolly thumb over your chin as you considered gummy bears or Reeses’ Pieces.

“Hard choice?” The deep voice jolted you.

You snatched the box of chocolate and looked over at the man in leather, his chin tucked down behind the collar as snow dusted his shoulders.

“Sure,” you said as you brushed past him.

The cut of the leather told you he was better not entertained. While you thought the men amusing, you weren’t stupid enough to engage with them. You rarely listened to your grandmother but she was wise in her own way. 

You knew a girl in highschool, she was fucking around with one of the club men in her junior year, she ended up with a baby and no support. You didn’t think he was into you that way but he could hardly have innocent intentions.

“How’s the old lady?” Clayton asked as he rung in your order at the end of the belt, you moved along with the groceries and pulled out your wallet.

“The usual, you know? She’s tryna quit again. Don’t know how long it’ll last.”

“Oh yeah? I’ll keep a carton aside for her,” he kidded as you felt your phone vibing in your back pocket.

“Don’t encourage her,” you swiped your card and punched in your pin, “although I don’t know what’s worse; the smoke or her sucking on those mints all the time.”

“Oh, it’s not the bitchin’?” he laughed.

“That, too,” you scooped up the paper bag and put your wallet away, “have a good one.”

As you came to the end of the first counter, you were nearly cut off by the club member as he swept around from till two. His own purchase of a car magazine and jerky was tucked under his arm.

“Ah, sorry,” he smiled, a sparkling smile, almost charming.

“No worries,” you continued on and he followed close behind.

“Those mitts look real warm. ‘Specially in this weather,” he said as you pushed open the door.

“Uh huh,” you kept on as your boots crunched out into the snow.

“You know where I can get a pair. Leather isn’t exactly thermal, you know?”

“These? My nan made ‘em. I’m sure Clayton got some hung up back there,” you looked across the street as you stepped up onto the ledge of snow between the sidewalk and the road.

“Am I bothering you?” he asked.

You looked at him dumbly and almost laughed in his face. You glanced back across the street then down towards The Asp.

“Sorta,” you answered.

“Make you a deal. Leave ya alone for your name.”

You eyed him. He was older than you like many of the Commandos. At least a decade, likely more than that. You chewed on your hesitation and cradled the bag more firmly against your side. His eyes strayed as he tried to see through the thick layer of your coat.

“Nah, I’m not s’posed to talk to strangers,” you said and hopped off onto the road.

You heard him behind you as he struggled to follow and as you came up to the other side, he came parallel with you and kept stride with you easily.

“I know you’re young but you’re not a kid,” he intoned, “what’s the harm in a name?”

“It’s a small town,” you stopped short of the end of White Forge, “I think I know enough about you to avoid you.”

“Oh ho, is that it? Well, I’m Sam, I’m not a stranger now, am I?”

“Not interested, Sam. Sure there’s women your own age over at the bar,” you nodded behind him.

“You wanna come see? Maybe have a drink?” he gave a crooked grin.

“You don’t give up, do you?” you shook your head, put off by his forwardness.

“Well?”

“Not tonight, Sam,” you turned around and headed down White Forge.

“Then what night?” he asked but you didn’t answer and he didn’t follow.

You turned down onto your street and refused to look back in case. It would be best not to mention the run-in to your nan, she was paranoid enough as it was. Besides, you’d forget about it by the end of next week.

[ilyrafe]

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈: 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑩 ✧ 𝒘. 𝒎.

pairing: ex-husband!walter marshall x ex-wife!reader

warnings: brief mentions of suicide attempts, mourning, fluff?

word count: 1.1k

read part A first

“i would leave me too, god knows how many times i’ve tried.” she promises him, but the explicit confession of her various suicide attempts makes him uncomfortable, and a pang of bitterness gnaws at his mouth. “i don’t blame you, walter. i don’t resent you for leaving. you did the right thing. you always do.”

it’s like the whole weight of his guilt has crumbled and it’s suddenly easier to breathe. it is possible to breathe.

god only knows how relieved he is that she’s there, alive and healthy, and only he knows how difficult it has been to carry the guilt of leaving at the most crucial moment of their lives.

it’s as if, out of survival instinct, he’s forced himself to leave, and as much as she’s saying he did the right thing, he wishes he hadn’t. it was unfair, and he knows that many will not understand why he did it. not even he really understands.

the last thing he wanted was to get a divorce, but he was scared. walter had never been so afraid of losing her, that situation never felt real before. y/n was not being herself, in full control of her mental faculties, and how could she? she had tragically lost their daughter, she was completely hostage to her own sadness and disbelief, and walter, as usual, assumed the position of being her stronghold for as long as it took, and with that, he deprived himself of feeling sad for his loss too. he had lost his baby, and he was losing his wife little by little, who was dying before his eyes, not eating, not getting out of bed, not even drinking water. it had been long months trying to get her to just get out of bed, but it was difficult, and often impossible. walter didn’t have time to mourn, he felt compelled to look strong so that y/n could cry in peace without any concerns about anyone else.

he doesn’t regret putting his own grieving aside for y/n, but he still finds it difficult to process quinn’s death and the end of his marriage. he blames himself for not taking it any longer. he blames himself for not being more persistent. for five years walter lost his sleep blaming himself for thinking he was a horrible husband who abandoned his wife at the most critical moment of their lives, so hearing from her that she doesn’t hate or resent him is a huge relief.

“if i could do it differently, i would. but i think that... deep down, i knew you would get back on your feet better without me, and it makes me happy to know that you’re okay.”

he had been mentally preparing for years to get the message that the worst had happened, and luckily, it never came, and he hopes it never does. y/n is still a sensitive topic for walter. as a homicide captain, he’s always been close to death, analyzing it, investigating it, unraveling it to put an end to mysteries, and giving a little fresh air to the families of those who departed unfairly and criminally, but since death approached him and his family in the most serene and quick way possible, he sees death with new eyes. rather, he was not afraid and did not see death as a sentimental element but as a crime or a natural event in life. quinn’s death was silent and calm, he didn’t have a culprit - no matter how much y/n insisted she was guilty. he felt groundless because he had no one to blame, no one to arrest.

despite having all the answers he needs, there is still an emptiness and a question mark in his life that he knows will never be erased. it is as if in a book, the most important chapter had no words, the pages were blank.

the fact is, their marriage didn’t end because it lacked love or trust, no. it ended because they needed to grieve in peace, apart from each other. being apart was surprisingly the best outcome for the both of them. he didn’t grow resentful of her for her lack of support, and she understood his reasons for leaving. they needed to heal themselves as individuals first, and in order for that to happen, they needed to let each other go.

it’s so odd - they both seem like distant friends, but they had a life together, and there will always be something that will unite them for the rest of their lives, even though that bond isn’t there anymore.

“i should’ve been kinder to you.” she laments. “i should’ve been more considerate.”

walter reaches for her hand and brings it closer to his lips. he presses a kiss on the back of her hand. the smell of her hand cream is unmistakable. small details like that make him question himself, if the feelings have really gone away. the past five years have been terribly lonely for both of them, because the marriage ended out of force majeure rather than lack of love.

“don’t worry about it.” he says. “seeing you well is all i need to move on in peace.”

there is a multitude of guilt between them, not just about quinn, but about the end of their marriage, about how they could have done differently. regret is an interesting, bittersweet emotion, it makes you daydream of what could be if you hadn’t done something in such a way.

“do you think this lump in my throat will ever go away?” she asks, genuinely hoping that walter gives her an answer, because he seems to know a lot about a lot of things. he’s the smartest person she knows, even though he won’t agree with her.

“i don’t know,” he confesses. “mine haven’t gone away yet.”

“oh…”

“i know i left, but i’ve been worried about you all these years. maybe things will be better for me after today. i hope they get better for you, too. we don’t deserve to be held hostage by grief, we need to get on with our lives.”

“i feel guilty for wanting to go on with my life, ‘cause it seems that i want to forget about her, and i don’t.”

“i know. but you also know how you feel. we deserve to stop grieving, y/n. we deserve to feel happy again. we’re not betraying quinn, we’re just making do without her.”

the smile on her lips translates her satisfaction and relief to hear him say those things. it makes so much sense. it’s controversial for some, and it’s understandable. what matters is that things are changing, actions are being taken. now all that remains is to give time to time. the healing will come.

[ladybugout-au]

Dear. GOD. After seeing Furious Fu, I would honestly love to see LBO!Marinette just chewing out Su-Han for all his canon-to-fic BULLSHIT. Like, I know you’ve already got a plan to incorporate Feast into LBO, which I’m super excited for, so this asshole showing up with all his nonsense after the new Team Miraculous is set, hell maybe even after they’ve already retrieved the Butterfly and the Peacock, and watching Marinette (and possibly Fu since he has the memories to stand up for himself) tear this dude a new one would really be the cherry on top of an already awesome fic. Sorry to rant in your inbox lol but the new episode just made me so. ANGRY.

In the lounge room of the Liberty, everyone jumped as they heard a noise from up above deck, as if something heavy had fallen or been dropped. Marinette briefly pulled away from Luka’s hold, staring up at the ceiling and wondering aloud, “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Juleka admitted, exchanging concerned looks with Rose.

“That definitely wasn’t Mom,” Luka noted with a tilt of his head.

Pounding footsteps followed, making it clear that a person had clearly gotten on the houseboat without the gangplank being there.

Nino jolted on alert, turning to Duusu with a hushed whisper. “Hide!”

“All of you,” Kagami began, standing up and looking around vaguely at every kwami. “get out of sight.”

The kwami, breaking out of their trance after the brief scare, scattered in every direction to find their own individual hiding places, some choosing to hide with their respective holder and others preferring to hide behind or inside objects. Ivan went into his usual protective mode, wrapping an arm around Mylene while she clung to him.

Marinette stood up, rushing over to the table and picking up the Miracle Box to stow it away. She looked around, then dashed for the microwave and stored the box inside.

She shut the door just in time for the intruder to descend from the staircase: an old man, dressed in Chinese garb and carrying a strange mystical-looking staff. He had a stern expression, his brows knitted together as he scanned the room like none of them were even there. He raised his staff, his gaze eventually locking on the microwave the Marinette was standing near.

Without a word, he pushed Marinette aside, earning an offended, “Excuse me—hey!” from her as he grabbed the microwave door and tugged it. When that did little more than jostle the microwave itself, he tried blindly tampering with the buttons to no avail.

Marinette slapped his wrist away, standing with all her pride as guardian as she asked, “What do you think you’re doing?!”

He glared at her in response. “Young lady, I demand you open your magical sealing chamber and return what’s rightfully mine!”

She blanked, the words catching her completely off-guard. This guy thought their microwave was a magical sealing chamber?

In response, Marinette gave a brief glance to the others, who were all looking back at her with equally puzzled expressions, any tension from before completely gone.

An unspoken question echoed throughout the room: Is he for real?

Before Marinette could ask any further, Tikki emerged from her hiding spot, flying over and explaining, “Marinette, I know who this is! This is great master Su-Han, the guardian of the Miracle Box!”

Marinette raised a brow skeptically. “But I’m the guardian?”

“He was responsible for the box before the incident that Master Fu caused,” she corrected.

Su-Han looked down at Marinette condescendingly. “So you are the current holder of the box.”

“That’s right,” she confirmed unapologetically. She gave a side-glance to Luka and the others, seeing that they were prepared to stand up and fight for her, but she gave a subtle gesture to let them know that it wasn’t necessary. Resolving to deal with Su-Han herself, she faced him again. “How did you find us?”

He held out his staff, the jewel on it mere centimeters from her face. “Guardian scepters are equipped with compasses that can find their Miracle Box at any given time.”

“In case you lose it?” Marinette blurted out, but didn’t apologize or try to take it back.

“Insolent!” Su-Han gasped. “You are not even a proper guardian. I can tell that this box hasn’t even been properly passed down to you!”

“Because Master Fu gave it to me,” she explained, “and we agreed that he should keep his memories.”

“Fu?” Su-Han echoed. “You mean Wang Fu? Chicken legs?”

Is this guy five? Marinette wondered.

Orikko popped out from their hiding place, waving a paw at Su-Han as if in warning. “I take offense to that!”

Su-Han glared at Orikko at the comment, and Orikko quickly ducked back down. Turning his attention back to Marinette, he continued, “Wang Fu is a student who wasn’t even able to fast for a day, nor do a thousand finger-pushups. He was never a rightful guardian, and he failed to fulfill the hope we’d seen in him.”

“Master Fu may have made mistakes, but he’s done his best to make up for all of them!” she argued. “He protected the box for over one hundred years and it’s because of his choices that our team was able to defeat Hawk Moth!”

“Team?” Su-Han asked, his face scrunching up as if he were piecing something together.

“Yes!”

Marinette gestured to her boyfriend and friends for emphasis. Luka, Ivan, Kagami, and Juleka stood while Rose and Nino pinched and stretched their shirts to show off their respective miraculouses.

“Children?” Su-Han gaped. Glaring at Marinette, as if she had personally given out the miraculouses herself, he declared, “Children are never meant to hold miraculouses, especially from the first and most powerful Miracle Box! Kwami are extremely powerful, cosmic creatures!”

A voice piped up from across the room. “Y-you say that, but—!”

Marinette and Su-Han turned to look at Nooroo, who had peeked out from behind Rose’s shoulder. He breathed up, seeming to gain some confidence, then floated out to the center of the room.

“They saved me and Duusu from the hands of evil! We would still be in Gabriel’s clutches if not for them!”

“What?” Su-Han asked. Just when Marinette thought they might be getting somewhere, he turned back to her and accused, “The peacock and butterfly were lost?!”

“Fu lost them when he was escaping the temple,” Marinette explained, a mixture between unphased and annoyed at the man’s outbursts, “but we got them back and everything’s okay now.”

Luka chimed in from his place near the couch, “Marinette has been an incredible leader, as both Ladybug and the guardian.”

She smiled at him in thanks, but Su-Han was clearly focused on anything but the positives.

“Ladybug? You’re even wearing a miraculous?! Guardians aren’t meant to hold miraculouses!” he said, throwing his arms out for effect.

“What—why?” she asked, genuinely confused.

Instead of answering her, Su-Han pulled out a book, shoving it pointedly towards her with the cover facing downwards in his palm. “Let me remind you of a few important rules you’ve violated.” He flipped through a few pages, then pointed at one of them. “Rule fourteen: Kwami must not live outside of the box.” He flipped through a few more. “Rule fifty-two: Guardians must never lose a miraculous. “He flipped to a page near the end. “Rule one hundred and thirty-three: Guardians must never, under any circumstances, wear a miraculous.”

“Master Fu wore a miraculous,” she argued, having never heard of any such rule from him.

“And that proves exactly what I’m talking about!” Su-Han retorted. “Neither you nor Fu are capable guardians because neither of you have respected the rules of the order!”

“...”

When Marinette initially imagined the Order of the Guardians and the people who ran it, this was not what she’d pictured. She had pictured zen and calm, not belligerent and immovable. She was reminded vaguely of her grandfather when she first met him, and that wasn’t a good thing.

She tossed another gaze at everyone, who gave her the same look and nod in response: let him have it.

“Young lady, I’ll repeat myself once,” Su-Han warned. “Return the Miracle Box and the miraculouses to me before--”

Marinette grabbed the book out of his hand, shut it with a satisfying “clap,” then set it back in his hand. “No.“

“What did you say?” he asked, aghast that she would speak to him that way.

“I said no.” Marinette advanced on him, the sheer force of her presence making him take a step back. “Now let me remind you about everything you must’ve missed this whole time.”

She raised a finger at him, raising additional fingers as she went on. “One: You intruded on my boyfriend’s house without any sort of permission. If you’d actually called out to us, we might’ve actually been willing to come out and listen to what you had to say. Two: You wouldn’t have even been able to be here in the first place if not for me using Miraculous Ladybug after our team took down Feast, which you weren’t able to do. Three: We aren’t children, we’re teenagers, and the fact that you can’t tell the difference or bother learning what technology is shows that I shouldn’t trust you with the Miracle Box even if you had a right to it. Four: You didn’t bother to listen and blamed me for losing miraculouses when it was you and your order who didn’t keep an eye on a poor boy who didn’t want to be there. Five, last but not least: I say the kwami are allowed out of the Miracle Box because I am the guardian. You and your order have been gone for over one hundred years and you can’t go making demands after I brought you back. You told me rules I didn’t even know about and didn’t explain why you have those rules in the first place. The kwami are my friends and they have feelings and I’m not going to shut them in a box because you told me to.”

Silence filled the room, no one saying a word and Su-Han’s face contorting between shock and outrage.

Marinette took a step back, standing at the ready and gesturing to herself. “So if you want the Miracle Box, you’re going to have to go through us first.”

She tossed a look at her team, all of them doing a synchronized, confrontational motion to face Su-Han.

“Tikki!”

“Plagg!”

“Wayzz!”

“Pollen!”

“Trixx!”

“Nooroo!”

“Duusu!”

They then shouted in unison, “Transform me!”

Several individual flashes meshed together, overtaking the room and then fading to leave several heroes behind, their weapons equipped for battle.

Su-Han looked amongst them, a flicker in his eyes that hinted that he knew he would be outmatched, but also wasn’t willing to admit it. He retreated a few steps back, hands out to show that he was prepared to defend himself.

It was at that moment that Ladybug heard and noticed movement from behind him, realization striking and a smile overtaking her face. Pulling back from her fighting pose, she placed a hand on her hip and stated confidently, “Captain Anarka will escort you out.”

He looked confused, and he was only able to let out a, “What—?” before a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

Su-Han wasn’t even able to turn around before he was pulled backward, a jewelry-adorned fist decking him in the face and sending him flying into the staircase. His scepter fell to the floor and he could only gape at the woman standing there, cracking her knuckles while he was sprawled out on the stairs with all air having been knocked out of him.

“A trespasser on my ship, eh?” Anarka asked, a grin on her face but her eyes glinting with malice. “I don’t take kindly to ship rats who threaten my crew and think they’re too good to walk the plank.”

Su-Han hurried to get up, only for Anarka to grab him by his shirt and haul him up the stairs, a rapid shuffling noise following as Ladybug went over and shut the door.

A few seconds passed and the atmosphere shifted to peace, everyone mutually releasing their transformations and relaxing. Marinette smiled reassuringly at everyone, letting them know that things were okay, but then jumped as she heard a resounding, “Marinette!”

The kwami all emerged from their hiding places, Marinette having no time to react as they all charged at her, their tiny bodies clinging affectionately to whatever they could grab of her.

“You’re amazing!”

“Thank you so much!”

“You stood up for us!”

“You’re the best guardian ever!”

Marinette gasped, finding it hard to move without disturbing any of them. Trying hard not to laugh, she protested, “Aha—hey! Stop, you’re all tickling me!”

She blushed, looking over at her teammates who were only staring at her with pride, which just made the pink on her cheeks turn red. “This is so embarrassing!”

Once the kwami had their fill of thanking her, they finally obeyed and flew away, each giving her smiles of approval. She covered her face with a hand, waiting for the shyness to die down, then noticed the guardian scepter out of the corner of her eye, still lying on the ground.

She approached, touching the scepter at first to make sure it was safe, then properly picking it up and letting it stand next to her. She tapped the gem on top, eyeing the compass that Su-Han had been talking to her about, then followed its direction back to the microwave. She walked over, opening it up, then took out the Miracle Box and held it in her free hand.

Looking back and forth between the two clearly ancient objects, she couldn’t help chuckling. “They don’t really suit me.”

Her friends giggled in response, Luka in particular shooting her a warm smile and approaching. One of his hands went to the scepter and the other went to rest on the Miracle Box.

“I think you make them work, actually,” he replied.

Marinette beamed at him, thoroughly warmed by the compliment. It didn’t feel like that long ago when her support was lacking and defeating Hawk Moth seemed like a pipe dream.

Now, holding the Miracle Box and scepter in her hands, she didn’t know why she’d ever doubted herself.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Then, looking at the Su-Han-less room, she gave a shrug and walked back with Luka to the couch. “So, where were we?”

[starks-hero]

Right a Wrong || Part Two

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: You help Bucky make amends and things start to look up for the both of you.

Word Count: 2,800

Warnings: angst, fluff, tfatws spoilers! 1×06

a/n: A few people were interested in a second part to Right a Wrong and the finale gave me a little inspiration so ta da! :) This fic can be read as a stand alone but I'll link part one for anyone that's interested. A little rushed so all mistakes are my own. Spoilers below!

|| Part One ||

*gif not mine*

Bucky didn't sleep on the floor anymore, or the couch. Since being with you, falling asleep in a bed had become his new normal. But it was strange. It was soft and warm and comfortable. In a way, it felt wrong. Bucky didn't deserve something this homely or domestic. When he lay down on the silk sheets he felt like they were going to swallow him whole. Or that he'd sink right through the mattress and into the cold floor. It had been so long since he'd slept in a bed his body was completely unaccustomed to the soft, plush bedding beneath him, his back had long since grown used to the stiffness of the floorboards.

In fact, the night you both left the Wilson's and stayed in a somewhat decent hotel together was the first night Bucky had slept in a bed in months. Longer than he cared to admit. But amidst the strangeness of it all, there was you.

His discomfort at the foreign feeling of laying in a soft bed dispersed the moment you crawled in next to him. He'd pulled you to his chest, arms wrapping around you whilst you clung to his side, hands laying lazily across his stomach. And for the first time in years, Bucky fell asleep peacefully. It was the best night of sleep he'd gotten since before the war.

And he owed it all to you.

Buckys feelings for you had only grown stronger since that day you agreed to go with him. Since then he'd sworn that he'd never met anyone as loving or caring as you in his lifetime.

You didn't run, you didn't leave him. When the nightmares came you stayed. You would gently coax him awake and calm his waking mind with soft words of comfort when the night terrors left him terrified and confused. You held him, gently running your hands down his body and through his hair, not showing any disdain for where man met metal. And when you gently kissed the side of his head Bucky swore he was prepared to forgive everyone that had ever wronged him if they had played a part in bringing him to you.

His nightmares had also declined in the time that you two were together, as did most of his self deprecating thoughts. Of course, they didn't go away entirely. But you helped him where you could and understood when you couldn't. You knew that despite how much you wanted to, you couldn't love his demons away. And Bucky loved you all the more for accepting that.

Over the course of a few weeks, when the dust had finally settled after the Flag Smashers attack on the GRC HQ in New York, both you and Bucky focused on the names in the book that Bucky could now recite in order without even glancing at the page. When you'd asked him where he wanted to start, one name immediately leapt to the forefront of his mind. And that name is exactly what had led you both to the quaint apartment block tucked away in the corner of New York City.

"I can't do this." Bucky's voice was timid as you both stood outside the apartment complex. He swallowed and turned to you helplessly.

"Yes, you can." You gently took his hand in yours.

This was it. The first name on Bucky's list. Yori Nakajima. You were both aware that the first was going to be the hardest. But now that you were actually here, standing in front of the home of the elderly man who'd lost his son at the hands of the winter soldier, it suddenly seemed all too real and just a little bit impossible. Bucky's stomach tied itself in a knot.

"No, I can't. I can't." He said through laboured breaths. He shook his head as he paced in front of you. "I can't tell him. I can't watch what that will do to him. I can't-" Bucky's breathing began to grow erratic.

"Hey." You quickly stepped in, stopping his relentless pacing and holding his face in your hands. "It's okay, you're okay." You softly shushed him. "Bucky, you can do this. You have to."

He sighed, calming slightly beneath your touch. "I'm guessing I have to do it alone, too. Don't I?" He asked and you nodded sympathetically. Your thumb caressed his cheek, tracing the stubble along his jaw. As much as you wanted to be there with him you knew he had to do this part alone.

"You can do this."

Bucky smiled softly at your words despite the growing fear in his eyes. He gently caught your wrist and moved your hand to his mouth, placing a tender kiss to your palm.

"Okay," he said quietly and turned to glance at the door of the building. He exhaled slowly.

"I'll be waiting right here," you comforted and he acknowledged you with a curt nod. His hand slipped from yours as he headed inside and you watched him go, your heart in your throat.

Time seemed to drag on forever as you waited, nervously toying with your hands. Bucky had been gone for a little under forty minutes and you couldn't tell if that was a good or bad sign. You tried to convince yourself that everything was fine but your mind kept reminding you of the worst possible scenario and what that might mean for Bucky.

You bit down on your lip as you impatiently shuffled your feet. You watched the crowds pass as you stood out of the way of the busy street, leaning against the wall of the alley next to the apartments.

After a few more painfully long moments you saw him amongst the crowd. Bucky's expression was unreadable as he stopped in front of you and you couldn't tell if things had gone well or not. He almost seemed to be in a state of shock.

"Bucky," you tried timidly and he looked up at you. There were tears building in his eyes.

"He forgave me." He managed hoarsely. The frenzy of emotions he was experiencing was evident in his expression. It was almost as if he didn't know whether to laugh with joy or cry. You wordlessly pulled him to you and he welcomed your embrace.

"You did it, Buck," you muttered as you comfortingly ran your hands along his back and he clung to you like a lifeline. "You did it."

He pulled away to look at you, still slightly teary-eyed but features now flooded with relief. The weight of the world seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders and a small smile found its way to his lips as he looked at you in disbelief

You pulled the small red book from your pocket, where it had been stowed away for safekeeping, and Bucky nodded. You were the only one Bucky trusted enough to share it with. You handed the tattered notebook to him and he turned the pages in a flimsy, disorganised motion, his fingers shaking slightly. Pulling a pencil from his pocket, Bucky's smile widened as he drew a line through 'Nakajima'.

He traced the faded name with his thumb one last time before glaring at the multiple other names and initials jot down on the paper.

"What now?" He asked as he glanced down at the open book in his hand.

You shrugged. "One down."

Bucky huffed, shoving the book back into his pocket with a surprising level of caution. "Only a dozen more to go."

"Still, it's a start." You smiled, gently placing your hand against his shoulder and dragging it down his arm.

He smirked, catching your waist and pulling you into him. He captured your lips in a kiss, ignoring the fact that the street was still bustling with people a few feet away from you both. Bucky wasn't always the biggest fan of PDA, mostly because it wasn't exactly encouraged to be all that affectionate in public back in the forties. But this was different. This was you and him and in light of what had just happened, he didn't care who saw. He was going to kiss you as much as he damn wanted to.

"Thank you," he muttered against your lips, slipping his hand into yours as you both stepped out onto the busy street.

"You've got to stop saying that." You shook your head and Buckys hand only tightened around your own.

"Why?" He tilted his head with a bemused smirk.

"Because I told you," you grinned, pulling him closer to you so your shoulders brushed. "You don't have to say thank you, not to me."

Bucky didn't answer, truth was he was at a complete loss for words. He just offered you a loving smile as he wondered how he got so damn lucky.

It had been a few weeks since the final name had been crossed off the list. Some had taken their toll on Bucky more than others, but now it was finally complete and Bucky once again experienced that wonderful feeling of being freed. This time not from trigger words, but from burdens he'd been forced to carry.

Things were finally looking up for you both. You'd managed to carve out your own unique sense of normality. And as both you and Bucky worked in the kitchen of your shared apartment on a particular Saturday afternoon, your new normal seemed to include watching the worlds most deadly ex-assassin baking a cake.

"And you're sure we couldn't have just bought one?" You asked, trying and failing to hide a smirk as you glanced at Bucky's handiwork. The cake was lopsided and the icing Bucky was currently covering it in seemed to be its only saving grace.

"Of course not, doll. Where's the fun in that." Bucky stated plainly. However, given your earlier attempt at cake baking, it would turn out that Buckys idea of fun involved throwing flour and eggs at each other and then making out on the tabletop whilst the cake overcooked in the oven.

But you didn't complain. You were just glad to see him so happy and carefree after everything.

He plastered a finishing layer of cream over the cake, looking awfully pleased with himself as he held it up for you to see with a proud smirk.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stifle your laughter.

"Get cleaned up." You ordered, motioning to his flour-covered henley. "Sam told us to be there by five o'clock. We're going to be late."

Bucky nodded dismissively as he sucked the stray icing from his fingers, making a point to keep eye contact with you as he did so. He smirked knowingly. Purposely pissing you off just to get a reaction out of you was just too much fun, he couldn't resist it.

"Problem, doll?" He asked and you wordlessly crossed the room and kissed his stupid smirk right off his stupid mouth. His mischievous grin only widened as he moaned against you. The sweet taste of icing lingered on his lips.

"Nope, no problem." You swiped your thumb across the corner of his mouth once you pulled back, wiping away the last of the icing. "You just had a little something on your lips."

He grinned down at you, heart full. You were going to be the death of him but god would he die a happy man if that were the case.

It took every ounce of control and willpower he possessed but he masterfully with-held the urge to shove you against the nearest surface and instead did as he was told, heading upstairs to change with one last peck to your cheek.

Ten minutes later and you were both on the road, cake securely strapped into the back seat of the car. The apartment you and Bucky were staying in was only a short drive away from the Wilson's and Sam was right, the people in the town really were the most welcoming in the world. You and Bucky had never felt more at home.

As Bucky parked the car on the dock, Cass and AJ were the first to greet you, ambushing Bucky. You smiled fondly as you watched him goof around with the boys before greeting everyone already at the cookout. Both boys then turned their attention to you, almost tackling you to the ground with the strength of their hugs. You couldn't quite put it into words, but there was something about how AJ rambled on so fondly about how Uncle Sam had set a place for you and Bucky at their table that made you feel more at home than ever before. Dinner itself was filled with laughter and shared stories. You did sit with the Wilson's, Bucky and Cass sitting to your left and right with Sam, Sarah and AJ sitting across from you. It was perfect. Between the bad jokes and the arguments over things as simple as the salt and pepper, it all blended together into the perfect mess of domestic bliss.

You glanced at Bucky who was smiling widely and laughing as he told a story to both boys who looked to him as if he were explaining the secrets of the universe. He was relaxed, unburdened and above all else, happy. He looked like he had finally found a home, a family.

As the meals were finished and things quietened down, you helped Sarah and Sam clean everything up. Then once everything was done, you simply sat and enjoyed the atmosphere. There was music being played, people dancing, and a little off to your left you could see Bucky. AJ and another kid were comedically hanging from his metal arm. Playful smiles were adorning all their faces. Who knew the worlds deadliest assassin had no issue with being a jungle gym if it meant making kids smile?

"I told you. Didn't I tell you?"

You turned and found Sam grinning behind you. He motioned to you and then Bucky.

"I've never seen him like this, so happy. Feels like I'm looking at the old Bucky Steve use to talk about." He said and you beamed.

"Yeah. He's come so far, crossed off every name in his book. I guess he finally feels like he can move on now."

Sam's elated expression softened as he glanced between you and Bucky again.

"I guess we've got you to thank for that, huh?" He playfully elbowed you in the side but his voice was nothing short of genuine. You laughed and shook your head, pushing back into him.

"I didn't do anything, it was all him. I just stood by."

"That's exactly why it's you I should thank." Sam smiled. Both of your gazes fell back on Bucky who seemed to have started a rather competitive game of tag among the kids he was surrounded by. "You stood by him no matter how bad it got. Not a lot of people would do that. Hell, not a lot of people have done that for him. I don't want to think about what could have happened if he didn't have you."

You nodded solemnly, eyes not leaving Bucky.

"Well, I'm not going anywhere so you don't have to worry about that."

Sam nodded with a grin, clasping a hand down on your shoulder. "Glad to hear it. But we should probably stop staring at him now, it's getting creepy, people are going to start asking questions."

You laughed at Sam's comment, muttering a quiet 'Copy that, Cap' as he headed back over to Sarah. As the sun began to set beneath the waves, most of the guests began to take their leave and head home. However, you and Bucky strayed away from the main party for a little time alone. You stood on the dock overlooking the water, Bucky behind you with his arm around your waist and planting kiss after kiss to your neck.

You couldn't explain the warmth that spread within you as you both watched the sun go down. But this was all you'd ever wanted. Bucky pulled you closer against him, opting to use his new vantage point to gingerly kiss your cheek.

"I love you," he sighed, resting his chin against your shoulder. "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

You grasped his hand and laid back against him, counting your lucky stars that you'd both made it to where you were at that moment.

"I love you too."

He grinned at your words and held you close as he looked out over the golden waves and setting sun. He was finally home.

tag list: @bakerstreethound​ @doozywoozy​ @miraclesoflove​ @the-queer-dungeoneer​ @kealohilani-tepise

[burnedbyshoto]

hawks_littledove.mp3

— You’re an avid listener to NSFW ASMR artist Hawks. It’s just your luck that he’s offered to have phone sex with you.

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pairing: takami keigo (hawks) x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+, slight abuse of power/influence, phone sex, masturbation, degradation, praise, nsfw asmr artist!hawks

word count: 5,018

a/n: my keyboard is broken and i could actually cry. but hey, hawks do be sexy even tho I would never trust him with my life. also LOL this might be a call out to a lot of us, do not be offended or I will cry.

kinktober day 14 main kink: phone sex | kinktober masterlist

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Fantasizing about being in relationships with fictional characters was entirely healthy and normal.

That was something you believed to the core. It was fictional; thus, no one but you were to be hurt at the end of the day. The character, being fake, could never have an opinion because you must be real in order to have an opinion. So when you were between boyfriends, you discovered a new anime, and before you could stop yourself, you fell hard for a character.

It started as a mild obsession.

You had looked up fanart via google images, your heart warming when you saw the plethora of different fanart. The anime itself had been in circulation for a few years now, the manga for much longer, so the content was endless. Then google images wasn’t enough, and you began crossing into Twitter and Tumblr.

The fanart became better, more engrossing, and definitely much more NSFW. And then, one night during your endless rabbit hole down Tumblr after your daily search on Twitter, you stilled when seeing a new type of content.

⇒ grey fullbuster x reader

The obsession grew worse.

So much so that you had followed nearly five hundred self insert writers and artists on Tumblr, and maybe seven hundred artists, meta writers, and thread makers on twitter. But three months into consuming all the content you could find, you came across a new name that made you tilt your head.

Hawks Fierce Wings

It was a name that was being repeated and heavily talked about on both sites. It was an ASMR artist, apparently, and you frowned at the thought. You didn’t have anything against ASMR videos, but you weren’t exactly sure how to handle an anime ASMR artist. Were they cosplaying while making all those weird ASMR sounds? You really didn’t have any idea, but due to the immense boredom of your lazy day in, you decided to hell with it and tried out his most popular video.

It was simply entitled: Hawks is Jealous.

Did you have any idea as to who Hawks was? God, no, you didn’t. But if it was just some random cosplay he was going to do, you didn’t think it was going to matter. So as the only slightly educated ASMR listener, you never truly became invested when it was a thing; you slipped on your earbuds and pressed play.

The introduction screen faded into an illustrated picture of a slightly handsome man, and some calming yet tense music played in the background. You shifted, eyebrows drew as you waited for the ASMR session to begin, and when it did, you were not ready.

“I saw you walking around with that asshole today,” a voice practically growled in your ear, and you froze.

Oh, no.

Oh, no.

Oh, no!

For almost an entire hour, you sat glued to your sofa, your fingers digging into your lap as the jealous, spiteful words of this man named Hawks poured bitterly in your ear. His words were a near aggravated assault on you and definitely something you were beyond uncomfortable hearing from a stranger, but there was something about his voice that kept you there. Maybe it was the tenor of his tone or the way there was this sly, cunning scent to his words that he seemed to hide deep within his throat, but there was something that kept you there.

The second the passionate, heated kissing noises and heavy moans began to spill from his lips, you screeched, slamming your laptop closed as your cheeks pounded heavily.

Oh my god?!

It took a bit, but eventually, you were able to finish the audio and quickly figured out why he was an NSFW artist. You had never, ever heard a man eat a pussy fake or real as eagerly or vigorously as he did. Your hands were gripping the pants of your leggings, and your chest heaved.

Oh, motherfucking shit.

Finding out there were almost seventy other videos for you to still experience sent you scrambling for more, and eventually, you had to confess you were obsessed. Despite the anime fandoms you had discovered him for, Hawks seemed to be more famous for the content he created as himself. His real name was unknown by the looks of it, and he was only addressed as Hawks by his audience, something you caught on to quickly. So only after creating a new profile for his Youtube account, you made quick work of liking and commenting on every single of his already published seventy-eight nearly one hour and thirty-minute videos. 

Each one was different.

Each one filled with various roadmaps on how Hawks' scenarios would play out for you — the listener. When he used his own persona, he called the listener his little dove or his chicken nugget, sometimes his KFC thigh, or his shish kabob. 

You were glad at the very least he didn’t call you by any of those nicknames when pretending to fuck you at a speed only a “porn-is-my-only-education-on-porn” virgin teenage boy. You knew it wasn’t ideal, usually, but for some reason, it just worked. You commented on everything, read his summaries and thoughts on each video. Eventually, when you found yourself on his final, most recent video, you were ready to go a step further.

The Patreon app on your phone seemed jarringly out of place as you opened the app and subscribed yourself to Hawks' highest tiered option for the price of twenty USD.

And when you got your access to his page, you were immersed in more heavier, better content.

It was a goldmine in a sea of fools gold, and you absolutely went insane.

You weren’t sure if you were insane, needy, or just straight-up idiotic for scrolling to the very first Patreon post and indulging in the content Hawks created. 

There was a stark difference between the warnings alone between the Youtube videos and the Patreon posts. While the porn was readily accessible on Youtube, the kinkiest thing that ever happened in a video was a slight implication that Hawks had left the listener on a vibrator and fuckmachine as he went to go talk to the visiting neighbors.

It was a slight, tiny zone out and miss a detail, but one you had clung onto like an obsessed psycho and even commented on in your comment on the post. Of course, Hawks hadn’t responded, not that you had ever expected him to because all things considered, a video that was eight months old and hadn’t done that well, to begin with, didn’t seem like anything he would remember: notifications and all. 

But Patreon? Oh good, sweet, ravishing Patreon.

The very first video was of the following:

Stepbrother!Hawks fucks Stepsister!Listener in the stairwell during Christmas Dinner.

After praying and swearing to all the deities of the world that you were merely a person with a voice kink for this man and not, in fact, a perverted pseudo-incest worshiper, you clicked on it and began. It was downright sinful.

There were active voices whispered in the background as Hawks laughed about how fucking slutty you were for letting your brother fuck you like this. In the hallway, like a dog, where anyone in your joint family could walk out into. He laughed that you probably wanted it, how your wet ass pussy was greedily sucking him in, so how could you even begin to deny your lust for your brother.

You had to take a break five times during that audio.

Eventually, you do end up catching up.

Each video he had ever posted to your disposal, and most likely due to the different tier levels, you always commented on the videos. Even if it made you feel awkward for lusting over things months old, even if there were no other comments on the videos, which was much more common than you thought, you always commented and liked. It wasn’t anything ever crazy, you had seen the rarest comments bring a whole essay of analysis on why they loved it or the hating words, but you kept it simple.

Just something to keep Hawks spirits high without draining you even further of energy.

A simple: holy shit, that was hot as fucking hell!!!! you never disappoint me!!!

You never expected anything out of it; as a matter of fact, you had merely thought that you were doing the least by merely appreciating his creations when, one night, a few hours after you had gotten home. Your phone chimed with an alert.

Your mouth formed an ‘o’ in surprise; you hadn’t realized there was going to be a new release after he had just updated four days ago. Still, you popped in your earbuds and began the audio with a simple title.

i fuk ur stupid lil pus until u cri

He wasn’t precisely putting much effort into his titles these days, but his tags were definitely accurate and entirely explicit in what was to come. And in this newest video, the prominent tag was degradation.

You weren’t entirely into degradation, but still, you did what you had to do because you weren’t turned off by it. With the beginning sounds of the music playing in the background, you warped into the situation Hawks carefully carved.

But, oh?

Your face simmered with heat as Hawks dirty words dripped from the earbuds, the wet, squelching noise of your cunt and throat being fucked like some inanimate object made you soak through your panties as his disparaging words burned against your spine like a hot brand. After the thirty-minute audio was finished. Your body trembling with the aftershocks of an orgasm that had come despite the lack of actual stimulation of your clit, and you panted on your bed.

Opening your phone once again, you quickly liked the new audio and typed out your comment.

listen, i know i always comment about how fucking hot this shit is, but i have /never/ fucking soaked through my panties… you just did that and i expect a full refund for these panties 💦

You pressed send and, without so much of a second thought, continued your night. You had dinner, talked with friends, and ended the night curled back on the couch with a wine glass in your hand and a simple sit-com playing on the TV. The familiar sound of the Patreon alert rang in your ear, and you frowned, confused.

Grabbing your phone, you opened up the device and nearly shrieked at the sight of the information the notification that said:

Hawks F.W.: lets see those panties before i refund anything

A chill ran down your spine as you quickly put together the indications of this message, and you smirked, despite your quivering hands. 

Me: I have a seven inch dick requirement before seeing any of the goods — yes, that includes my panties

And from that very moment, you began a strange arrangement between you and the NSFW ASMR artist Hawks.

.

..

.

Working was the worst part of your life, you would say.

At work, you would sit in your small 4x4 cubicle, your shelves stacked with plenty of papers and items you needed, not to mention the computer that took up the majority of your desk. You weren’t quite sure what your job here was, you sort of sat at your desk and did meaningless assignments when assigned, but you did nothing for the most part. 

Before becoming an active Hawks stan, you would spend your time doing nothing playing video games. You had somehow managed to install a VPN onto your hard drive so that your employers wouldn’t be able to see what was on your screen outside of the home screen. They couldn’t trace what you did all day, but they could care less, given you got all your work completed on time and done in an over exceptional way.

But lately, since you had dropped into this… engrossed whore like relationship with Hawks, things changed. 

To be honest, it still shocks you to no end when he tells you that he had always been aware of you. Well, with your consistent, ever appearing comments on his posts and overall enthusiasm for everything he posted, it was hard to not be aware. The mental image of your soaked through panties after a long day at his own work had sent him over the edge, and he finally messaged you.

Through the DM’s in Patreon, the two of you grew to become quite the friends with benefits. He would send you countless personalized audio files because you had quickly confessed to your voice kink and how his voice sent your stomach into hormonal knots. In return, you’d send the picture of an occasional soaked panty, and if he was lucky, an audio clip of your pathetic whines back to his audios.

You couldn’t complain about this arrangement.

But as the number of his patrons doubled, and he wanted to entice his subscribers with paying him even more money, Hawks began to offer a bimonthly personalized five minute audios for his $20 tier. The fans poured into that spot, and Hawks and proudly sent you the new number of adoring fans he was getting. On account of growing platforms such as Tiktok, the number of new listeners he got was nearly exponential, as he currently passed one million followers last week. 

The cheeky bastard was also making enough money to stop working his regular work hours anymore. Choosing to transition slowly into his Patreon career while recording.

Hawks, however, seemed to have other ideas for your eventual personalized voice audio.

Hawks had simply asked if, by any chance, you were going to be working tomorrow the night before. Groaning loudly in recognition of your work schedule, you had texted him back that you were going to be working. Snidely including the fact that you weren’t rich like him, you needed the tedious old nine to five job.

Hawks: how utterly boring anyway u can b free around 2?

Me: Eh… probably not. Busy girl w busy schedule, ill be back from lunch so no break Why?

Hawks: well, u knw tht uve been amzing & th bst follower so i wanted 2 give u smthing better then the personalized audio

Me: Oh? Well, what is it?’

Hawks: pick up tmrw n find out

He had changed the subject immediately afterward by dodging all of your questions with ease. So you dropped it, and the two of you resumed a night of flirting. But now, sitting in your small cubicle, your eyes flashing to the clock that read 1:57 p.m., sweat began to build on your palm.

You peered down to your phone as you waited for something, anything from Hawks to show up. The fucker was too cheeky, evasive, and quick for his own good. You felt like pouting as you glared at the phone, waiting for the screen to light up.

And you stilled when finally, at precisely 1:59 p.m., your phone gleamed with light. You couldn’t abandon your computer mouse quicker than you did as you grabbed your phone, unlocking it, and reading the message from Hawks.

Hawks: do u have earbuds?

Me: Yes?

Hawks: good put them on n pick up

The moment you had read the first message, you were already pulling out your earbuds, synching them up to your phone, and placing them into your ear. But your jaw dropped when, for the first time, the call feature highlighted onto the screen, the time immediately changing to that of 2:00 p.m. The decline or accept button had never looked as daunting as it did right now.

Despite the call trying to go through, you still saw his follow up.

Hawks: if u dont pick up u wont get shit

[Accept]

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as both fear, apprehension, and excitement boiled through your veins, the hammering blood pounding in your ears as you waited for some sort of noise on the opposite side of the line.

“Little dove?” Hawks' voices filled your ears, and despite yourself, you smiled softly. The naturalness of his voice sends warm thumps down your spine.

“Hi, Hawks,” you whisper breathlessly, your head already checking to make sure your neighboring cubicle mates didn’t try to look over the divisions to stare at you. For the most part, the office building was quiet except for the phone calls, the clanking of computer keys, and the monotonous music playing softly on the speaker's head. 

“Whatcha doing?” he drawled, and you felt your skin heat up when you heard the all too familiar sound of his shoes hitting the top of his desk, the soft whine of his chair as he leaned back onto it. “Are you really at work?”

“What do you mean, am I really at work?” you squeaked, half horrified at the way the lazy, warm heat of lust was infiltrating your body at the sound of his voice, and the annoyance that he thought you had been lying? “Of course I am; it’s two p.m. on a Wednesday!”

“Ah, so little dove-chan is a raging pervert who engages in phone sex to bypass her long hours at work?” Hawks sighed his tone that of understanding and dismissal. You splutter. “You never fail to surprise me.”

“I do not do… that!” you stammer, your face feeling like hot cinders, your fingers and eyes double-checking to make sure that the audio was going to your earbuds and your earbuds only. You also couldn’t help the way your eyes swept around you, trying to make sure you hadn’t accidentally invited unwanted attention. “I said I was busy!”

“But, you picked up my call?”

“You said, or else!”

“Mmm, okay, I think I see,” Hawks tutted, and although you had never seen what you supposed to be his handsome face, you could imagine a lazy, toothy smirk on his face. “Don’t worry, I don’t mind using your little cubicle to talk you into fucking yourself good for me.”

Your jaw drops.

It hits the desk, and the muffled shriek of utter humiliation is only silenced because you bit onto your tongue like a rabid animal.

“Aw, you sound so excited for me already, little dove. I bet you want to know what I’m going to do to you, don’t you? I just know that I’m going to make you feel so... good…”

“Hawks!” you plea in a hushed whisper, your heart hammering where you sat frozen like a deer in headlights. Sure, you had definitely played his audios before to pass the time, but never before in your existence had you had actual phone sex. This was riskier than just listening to his audios; his audios always had a pattern, a way to escape from the madness of his voice when people were closer than you’d like. But this? No, there was no escape. “I’m at work! I c-can’t!”

“But, fuck, I want you so bad,” Hawks' voice dipped into a gravely tone, his voice just perfectly scratchy enough that your shoulders trembled in unspoken, untouched want. “I want to feel your cunt around my cock, baby, your pussy is so hot and I want to be the fucking lucky bastard that gets to fuck you through your bed.”

“O-Oh my god…”

“I’ve been thinking of what your tits look like,” Hawks continues on, his voice continuing in the style you liked the most. It was raw, heavy, and deep. No character impersonations, just him, pure Hawks. “I hope they bounce the way they do when I imagine you riding me. I want to see you moan when I kiss the underside of your tit, I want to see your face when you realize that you’re my girl, nobody's else's, but mine.”

Heat floods your panties at his words, your shallow breaths making him chuckle on the other end. 

“You’d be so lucky to be just mine, wouldn’t you, little dove?” Hawks snaps, his voice demanding a response, and you heave.

You look around, no one is near, and you croak out: “I’d be so lucky.”

“Louder.”

“I’d be so lucky.”

“Mm, there we go,” Hawks laughs, and your ears prickle for any noise that may indicate that someone was listening in. “What? Are you getting nervous that your needy ass will be heard by your coworkers right now? Answer me.”

“Mhmm,” you hum loudly, your cunt pulsing with more incredible heat and your hands shaking with a slight fear of being caught.

“Aww, don’t worry, little dove. I’m sure your boss will understand that you’re my newest fucktoy and will let me continue. Maybe they’ll want to join in?”

You whimper softly, shifting in your seat at that thought. You didn’t really want your boss coming anywhere near you, he was old and gross for one, and nothing could take the place of this beautiful man's voice in your ear right now.

“Oh, was that a no? You don’t want other people fucking you, do you, y/n? I bet you only want to have my cock in your tight little pussy, bet you want to watch the way that greedy little thing sucks me in, begging for my seed. Would you want me to cum deep inside you? You would like that little dove; you’d like to be full of my cum.”

“H-Hawks,” you keen as quietly as you can, your hips shifting uncomfortably in your seat, your heart hammering in your throat. The pressing heat in your cunt is growing, your panties growing with wet slick as Hawks' voice whispers down your ear, filling every empty and void space in your brain until you were having trouble focusing on the very much public spot you were in.

Hawks let out a soft, guttural moan, and you froze, face entirely combusting into an inferno as the familiar slick slapping of his fapping cock filled your ear. Immediately, you forgot everything.

“A-Are you—?!” you splutter, unable to find the words or the energy to come up with a way to ask if he was masturbating right now. Your eyes spun, your mind in a complete haze as soft, raunchy moans spilled from his lips, striking against your nerves and soul with each successive sound.

“I’m only trying to help you out here, dove,” Hawks growled, undoubtedly in effect to a rather loud smack of his fist colliding with his thrusting hip. “You’re the little office slut who picked up a phone call to entice in phone sex. I bet you knew exactly what I was going to do, and your pathetic, needy whore self caved to my instructions.”

Your fingers curled into the armrest of your chair.

“I bet this makes your boring ass job tolerable, the perfect distraction to a shit job, then imagining a few minutes of fucking yourself against my hard cock.”

“That’s not true!”

“No?” Hawks laughed, not believing you any more than you did. “So you wouldn’t hate it if I showed up and fucked you into the wall of your cubicle? You wouldn’t mind if I claimed your sweet-smelling pussy against your desk for everyone to hear? I know you can scream like a bitch in heat. I know that pretty little cunt of yours would milk my cock dry. Oh, I just know you would look so fucking sexy with your back arched, eyes closed, and you begging for hours just to cum. You wouldn’t cum without my permission, right?”

You gasped, heart fluttering, hammering in your chest as you shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak.

“I need a verbal answer, little dove.”

The heat in your core was blistering, your thighs shaking with your unadulterated lust and need as you ground into the cushion of your chair. All logic and moral long gone as he snarled and moaned your name in your ear, the slick of his fapping cock echoing like a great bell in your ear. You wanted to hear him cum, wanted to listen to the pithering sound of his echoing moans as he spilled the contents of his balls onto his hand — and how you wished it was your womb.

“I won’t cum w-without your permission!” you whispered, your skin shivering with your fear of being caught. 

“God, you sound like such a dirty fucking bitch. I bet your pussy is fucking soaked already. Bet you really want to run that slutty embarrassed finger against your clit but don’t want to be caught by your perverted coworkers,” Hawks hissed, his breaths turning into steady, heavy hot pants. You mewl softly, confirming his spoken thoughts, and he huffs out a laugh. “How many fingers do you normally shove up that pretty cunt of yours, little dove?”

“T-Three!” you gasp, your forehead pressing to the cool of your desk, your eyes glazed over and looking at the entrance of your cubicle, fervently wishing that no one tries to check on you as you grind against your stable chair. “O-Only three fit.”

“Fuck, you really do have a tight cunt, don’t you,” Hawks snaps, the wet sounds of his fisting hand around his cock a beautiful melody in your ear that makes you whine at the back of your throat. “Bet you can’t even fit cocks up your cunt without lube, huh. You gotta stay on top, or else you’ll get hurt with how thick and long my cock will be up that baby pussy of yours.”

“H-Hawks!” you grit out, the friction of grinding on the seat no longer working.

“Go to the bathroom, now,” Hawks commands, the small gasps on his voice from his approaching orgasm more than enough ammo for you to do as told.

You sprint to the bathroom, the slick of your cunt hot, and evident to you as you sped to the bathroom. Your phone clenched in your hand as you locked the door behind you, glad the room was empty. Barely managing to get yourself into the stall, the toilet paper placed on the seat as you raised your legs up, already prepared. The skirt you wore was bunched above your ass, and the panties you wore, stretching out around your knees.

“Sounds like you’re ready to start fucking that pussy for me,” Hawks laughs, but there's no humor, just bite. “Put in three fingers, now.”

Without even arguing or caring, three fingers slip into your cunt, and you cry at the feeling of your fingers completely stretching you out. The smell of sex and slick filling your nose as your fingers slick up, fucking your tight cunt as you moan louder and louder for Hawks. 

“God, your fucking pussy is so fucking wet, I can hear it from here!” Hawks moans, the frantic sound of his drilling hips gaining speed and momentum. 

“I want it to be you!” you moan, your face burning in your humiliation. “I want it to be you fucking my pussy, claiming me in this bathroom. I need you, Hawks, I want your cock so badly!”

“Fuck,” Hawks gasps, something tumbling in the background. “Such sweet words for a fucking dirty ass cumslut,” he growls, and your legs shake, your clit and cunt thrumming with your increasing arousal and pit of tightness in your core. 

“HAWKS, FUCK!” you sob as your hips try to start a merciless speed against your fingers, your body trying to match the speed in which Hawks was fucking his own hand.

“Keep screaming my name, whore.” Hawks gasps, his noises of pleasure beginning to grow louder and louder, your eyes crossing in satisfaction. “Screaming my name like the fucking slutty mess you are. All this shit just to get me to fuck you? God, you’re so fucking pathetic y/n. Begging for me, begging for more? I think you’re my favorite little dove ever, gonna make you mine whenever I get to fuck that pussy.”

“Hawks!” you wail his name again, your arms and pussy throbbing with the energy it takes to keep up with his inhumane speeds. Your vision seeing stars as you tremble more and more, your legs slipping from the toilet seat, yet. “I am your whore, your little dove. Please let me come, please! You fuck me so well, fucking hell, please, I needa cum, I needa cum!”

“Cum with me,” he snaps, his voice so deep, so dangerously smooth. It was precisely what you needed, the voice kink you had for his tenor exactly fulfilled entirely with that simple, last command. And just like that, your jaw slackens, head slamming backward, and pleasurable waves crash through you.

Your fingers still rock at your clit, and your vice gripped walls, your toes curling within your shoes as you soundlessly scream. Hawks, on the other end, is practically snarling, voice deep and altogether dangerous as grunt after grunt leaves him, and you can imagine the milk-white cum splattered all over his chest and hand. A beautiful, perfect sight that you wish you could see for yourself.

Exhaustion settles in your bones as you sit on the toilet, still entirely exhausted as you heave for air. 

“I think that was the best fucking orgasm I ever had,” you mumble, your eyes closed, not ready to stand up and move. “Thank you.”

“I’m good at what I… at what I do,” Hawks stumbles, husky exhaustion ringing in his own voice. “Now, little dove, finish up work, and I promise there’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you’re done.”

Not entirely agreeing, but not disagreeing with his command to go finish you last… two and a half hours at work, you begrudgingly said goodbye to Hawks before washing your hands and exiting the bathroom.

When five o’clock came, you watched as your phone screen lit up, and your face flushed as you read the DM from Hawks.

Hawks: this is my fav audio now ↳ hawks_littledove.mp3 but you surprised me today, so in case u ever want to have more fun sometime  call me 03-9183-2495 ;)

[randomshyperson]

The Scarlet Witch Prophecy - Chapter 18 - Part XVII - Agatha's Memories (Part One)

Gif is not mine, but Pinterest would let me give credits to the gif maker, so bless you wherever you are friend.

Summary: As the youngest daughter of Howard Stark, you have ordinary expectations for your years at Hogwarts. Little do you know what adventures await you when your destiny is intertwined with the legendary Scarlet Witch.

Warnings: +16. Adaptation of the Harry Potter Saga, Magical Thematic, Prophecies, Mentions of Violence, Torture and dark magic, Language (swearing and minor/major offenses), manipulation of will, Underage kissing, insinuation of smut with minors, Smut (overage), descriptions of death, aggression, obscurity, angst, fluffy, soulmates analogies. || Chapter Warnings: mentions of violence, manipulation of will and consent.

Series Masterlist ||  Read on AO3 || All Works Masterlist

Chapter 18 - Part XVII - Agatha's Memories (Part One)

You thought you were going to fall asleep for a long time.

But as soon as your eyes closed, you felt the urge to open them again, as if being pulled out of your rest. The same feeling of being woken up in the middle of a dream.

“Wanda?” You called as soon as you saw around, and she was already next to you, her hand on your face, smiling gently as she helped you stand still. “Where are we?”

“Agatha’s memories I think.” She said and you followed her eyes, only now realizing it was Hogwarts where you two were. You recognize the corridor from the seventh floor, because of the positions of the towers outside. “We should go this way, follow the fire.”

You notice that only the candles in that direction were on, so you nod, Wanda kept her hand on yours all the way to the small door ajar at the end of the wall.

Inside, it was not empty. Wanda got in first, as if checking if anything would happen if she interrupted it, but it was just a memory, and it continued to happen as if you two were not there.

“Dad.” You whisper in shock as you step in. Your father was sitting in one of the chairs, a ravenclaw tie loosened in his neck, a curious look on his face. He was about your age.

But the grip on your hand tightens, and you then realize the other wizards inside as well.

Erik, covered in soot just like your dad, had his wand in hands, and Agatha in the front of the room.

The witch stood with her arms crossed, a disapproving look on her face. And you noticed that the boys were crestfallen, and understood that they had just been caught.

"Sorry for the delay, Agatha, I came as soon as I got your note." Said a male voice behind you, and you held your breath as you looked.

It was Mephisto, but he looked nothing like the scary man in the long cape and red eyes you are familiar with. He was just an adult with dark brown eyes, a stern look, and a tired face. He wore the clothes of his time, but on his necktie he had a hydra's brooch.

"No problem, Faustus." Agatha assured with a smile as the man walked in and closed the door. "Mr. Stark and Mr. Lehnsherr didn't mind waiting."

"What happened to your robes, boys?" Mephisto asked them curiously, and Erik, who was cleaning his wand on his cloak, replied first.

"A little accident, sir." He answered almost shyly. It was strange to see him like that, so young. "Howie and I are very sorry for the mess."

"Apologies are not enough, Mr. Lehnsherr." Agatha warns seriously. "If I hadn't interrupted the experiment, you guys would have blown up the whole floor."

"But we are sorry, Mrs. Harkness." Repeated your father, but he didn't seem to be really upset.

"When I gave you permission to continue with your research after what happened in the fourth year, I trusted that you would never again risk the safety of your colleagues, gentlemen." Agatha continued firmly. "I am beginning to rethink my decision."

"No!" Erik and Howard exclaimed together, which caused Agatha to raise her eyebrow. Your father cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Please, Headmistress. It was just this once, and it was for a good reason!" He declares looking suddenly excited. "We found something!"

Your father hurried to reach the back of the room, and only now did you notice the molten metal studded in the wall, as if something had exploded there a few minutes ago.

"The map, Miss Harkness, did not show this part of the castle." He told with a smile, touching the wall. "Erik and I wanted to find out why. But we couldn't break the wall with spells, so we tried using a machine."

Agatha sighed, massaging her temple as Mephisto smiled at the whole scene. "You two and your antics with metal." He commented casually, and you were almost startled by the whole thing. The greatest dark wizard of all time, smiling tenderly at two students.

"What did you find, boys?" He asked curiously, and your father hurried to pull the metal out of the wall, and with some effort, a large hole was exposed in the concrete.

"I don't know what's in there, but it's not an empty room." Howard says. "And every time we peek in it seems to turn into something else."

"What are you waiting for?" Mephisto asks excitedly. "Let's go in."

Whatever your father had built was destroyed by a powerful spell, and melted against the wall. So Agatha and Mephisto recited some incantations together against the wall, and the hole opened up into a door.

And you widened your eyes.

"Wanda, is that the...?"

"Room of Requirement" She concluded as shocked as you were, walking to keep up with the wizards who were hurrying into the place.

And unlike the living room you knew, or the dueling room Wanda was familiar with from the order, the room of requirement was completely different. It was dark, and crowded. Piles and piles of the most diverse objects scattered around, like a magical garbage dump. But it wasn't junk at all.

It was books, shiny objects, all sorts of things. You think you even saw a chest of gold before you turned your attention to the group in front of you, stunned by such a discovery.

" Impressive, boys." Agatha commented almost proudly, and then assumed a serious expression. "Go back to your dormitories now".

"But, Professor-" They started together but Agatha looked at them with repression, gesturing.

"We don't know the origin of the items in that place, gentlemen." She clarified. "The teachers will ascertain that there is nothing here that could injure them. If there is no danger, you, as well as the rest of the school, will be allowed to be here. But for now, back to your dorms, or you will receive a month's detention."

The boys were upset, and you swallowed dryly at the image of your father sulking like a kid. Or better yet, he really was. Just a kid.

Your gaze followed him as he walked out beside Erik, the two of them whispering softly, and you sighed, feeling your eyes fill with tears watching him go. Wanda wiped away the tear that ran down, looking at you tenderly.

"Hey, are you alright?" She asked but you just nodded, grateful for her touch. Your father is dead, and this is no time to try to cling to another witch's memories of him.

"Yes, let's keep going." You said kissing her palm on your cheek before intertwining your hands, turning your attention back to the memory.

Without the boys, you noticed that Mephisto's posture changed.

He looked nervous, or perhaps almost fascinated by everything around him, as if he didn't know what to touch first.

"Faustus, where do we start?" Agatha asked next, as impressed as he was, looking around at the piles.

Mephisto seemed almost surprised at her speech. "I thought you were going to call the rest of the faculty, Agatha."

The witch laughed lightly. "And risk them agreeing to censor this place? No way. You and I will take a peek first. Collect anything that has the appearance of something the ministry of magic could ban."

You jumped in fright when someone tapped your shoulder, instinctively covering Wanda, but it was only Agatha. The real one, with a friendly posture.

"That was my mistake, children." She says nostalgically, watching the memory as well. "I should have called the teachers."

"What did you find here, Agatha?" Wanda asked a moment later, when you stood back upright as you recovered from your fright.

"Everything."

The memory around you trembled, as if Agatha decided to change it to hurry things. Soon, you find yourself staring at the image of her and Mephisto sitting in front of a table, in what you reckon was his office.

“It’s strange, Agatha.” The man said. “All pages are blank, but I can sense the magic.”

“Tried any remove concealment spells?” Agatha asked as Mephisto agreed, looking frustrated as both of them gazed at the open book at the table.

Agatha leaned over to reach an inkwell, knocking over the paper. She smiled as the ink vanished.

“See, it’s absorbing it.” She says. “So you just gonna give something in return for him to provide your answers.”

Mephisto laughs lightly, commenting that Agatha always found a way to surprise him. You wanted to throw up.

He took his wand from his jacket, and held it out to his own hand, cutting it as he leaned toward the book.

As his blood dripped onto the pages, the paper filled with ink, and the sorcerers let out contented exclamations.

"The book of the damned." Mephisto read it carefully, and then smiled at Agatha. "Sounds promising."

"I'll bet you three galleons it's ritualistic magic." The witch retorted, making the other laugh.

"Five galleons that it's alchemy." He replied smiling before turning his attention back to the book.

Before you could comment on your indignation at seeing them bet on something so absurd, the memory changed again.

You and Wanda had watched the flashes of the two sorcerers studying in that room, reading the darkhold, and other books as well. Sometimes they would leave, probably to teach their classes, but would return to their reading. You saw the moon appear several times in the window, and counted at least fourteen nights before the memory stabilized in front of you again.

Agatha looked nervous, crossing her arms as she stared at Mephisto.

"I just think there's something strange going on, Faustus!" She spoke up, but only received a bored expression. "The dead unicorns in the forest, the blood moon! I'm worried about the students."

"You are just scared, Agatha!" He sneered cruelly. "We finally found something worthwhile in this castle! We can't stop now."

But Agatha frowned, "Hogwarts has always been worthwhile to me, Faustus. I made it clear to you when we started this, that I wasn't going to do anything that would put the school at risk."

"It's only a castle, Agatha!" He retorts impatiently. "Old stones piled up. Stop acting like it's the holiest place in the world. What we find here, what's in that book, in those chests, is more than any other sorcerer has ever found. It is something from the ancients, things that Merlin would doubt."

"Merlin is dead, Faustus." Agatha retorted, looking at her friend with a neutral expression. "And I don't intend to have the same fate. I want to live. Like Morgana did."

Mephisto rolled his eyes. "Death doesn't have to be the end, old friend."

Agatha frowned in confusion, and Mephisto moved to reach the darkhold on the highest shelf. "We both won the bet after all. But I found more. Here look, Agatha. It's necromancy."

The witch stared wide-eyed, taking a step back as soon as Mephisto held out the item to her.

"I don't study this kind of thing, Faustus." She said in shock, which made Mephisto laugh incredulously.

"Don't give me puritism, now, Agatha." He retorted still with the book open in his arm. "How many rituals have you performed? Necromancy is the exact same with a little more power."

Agatha shook her head. "Crossing the line of death condemns the witch to-"

"To eternal suffering?" He interrupted in mockery. "What is that, Agatha? Pagan Christianity? You're hanging out too much with those mudbloods."

The principal clenched her jaw. "Don't forget I'm a half-blood, Faustus."

But the wizard only rolled his eyes. "Muggles talk about hell, and heaven like they know any shit about magic. Fools. They and all witches who bow to myths like those. I do not need to fear any punishment if I never die."

"Everything that lives must die, Faustus." Agatha retorted seriously. "You can't change that, no matter how hard you try. And you are not the first to do so."

Mephisto rolled his eyes, and assumed a defensive posture. "I'll be the first to succeed then, Agatha."

"Fau-"

But they are interrupted by a knock on the door, and Mephisto quickly hides the book behind his body.

You are surprised to see Thor's father, and your former Astronomy teacher, Odin, enter. And he looked disturbed.

"Headmistress, professor, sorry for the intrusion." He speaks hurriedly. "We need help downstairs, it's the Lehnsherr girl."

Your frown, and the memory changed just as the teachers rushed to leave the room.

When the image stabilized again, you felt Wanda squeeze your hand to get your attention.

"Y/N, it's my Aunt Raven." She spoke over the girl lying on the ward bed in front of you two.

"What happened to her?" Agatha asks the group around you. You are startled when you notice your father standing right next to you.

"I don't know, professor." It is Erik who answers with desperation. "We were playing Quiddicht, and Ray dived in to get the snitch. But her eyes started glowing and she fell."

An orange-eyed black woman you didn't know approached, and you imagined she was the healer of that time. Agatha turned to her immediately.

“Katherine, do you know what’s wrong?” Agatha asked worried but the woman shook her head, moving quickly to put the basin of hot water on the headboard beside Raven's bed, and wet a towel she placed on the girl's forehead, making you understand that she must have had a fever.

"It's dark magic, principal, that I'm sure of." The nurse replied. "The girl has marks on her back, but the boys couldn't tell if she messed with something she shouldn't have."

You noticed the look Erik exchanged with Agatha, but neither he nor the principal said anything.

"What kind of enchantment is it?" Mephisto asked, but unlike Agatha's worried tone, he seemed almost in a hurry to get out of there right away.

"I don't know, professor-"

"What kind of healer are you, Fury?" he interjected angrily, shocking those present for a brief second, before Agatha pulled him by the forearm away, almost at the door in the infirmary.

"Don't you dare talk to my employees like that, Faustus." She warns between teeth, but the man looks impatient.

"She needs to find out what's wrong here, Agatha." He retorts without caring about her previous words. "If the girl goes to St.Mungus, it will raise questions. And I know you don't want the ministry going through your drawers."

Agatha squinted her eyes at him, being quiet for a moment.

"Miss Lehnsherr is part of your potions club, Faustus." She begins. " Do you have any idea if she has tried some potion she shouldn't have?"

The man clenches his jaw, but his pallor betrays him, and both you and Wanda and Agatha realize this.

"Don't be ridiculous." He says offended, but keeps his tone low so as not to be heard by the others. "I have nothing to do with it."

"I think that better be true, Faustus." It is Agatha's last warning before she turns back to Raven, and the memory changes again.

You almost lost your balance this time, as you appeared on a staircase, but Wanda held you by the waist, and you shyly turned to her.

Pushing away any thoughts inappropriate for the moment, you turned your attention to the boy a few feet away, who was climbing the steps, but stopped when Agatha called out to him.

"Yes, Professor?" Erik asked, sounding troubled.

"It's about your sister, Mr. Lehnsherr." Agatha says, and lowers her tone as she leans in. "I need to ask you something, and you need to be honest."

Erik nods frantically, a mixture of curiosity and concern in his gaze.

"Kat-Mrs. Fury." Agatha corrected herself before continuing. "She investigated the marks on Raven's back. They are claw marks, Erik. Werewolf claws."

Erik clenched his jaw, and looked down at the floor.

"Professor I-"

"Don't lie, Erik." She asks seriously. "I'll know if you do. What I need to find out is how there is a werewolf inside the castle."

"It wasn't a werewolf, Professor." He says and then takes a deep breath, looking up at the top of the school, as if checking to see if they really were alone. "It was a big wolf, but not a werewolf. It was an animagus."

Agatha frowns, and Erik continues. "Please, professor, apologize to me in advance, I shouldn't have agreed to this whole story." He starts nervously. "B-but Howey thought we wouldn't have any problems if we did everything right, but then Professor Faustus found out and told us our secret was safe and-"

"What are you talking about, Erik?"

Wanda's father swallowed dryly, but looked at Agatha. "Howey and I thought it was unfair for you to forbid us to continue studying wizard mechanics in the castle after we found the treasure room for you. So we decided to continue studying elsewhere."

Agatha clenched her jaw, but Erik kept talking.

"We tried the forbidden forest, but Howey pissed off the acromantulas." He counters with a guilty look. "Professor Faustus was in the forest, and he saved our asses. He said he would keep our secret if we kept his."

"What is Faustus' secret?" Agatha asked immediately, and Erik looked away to the ground.

"I don't judge, and I didn't understand why, but the professor was drinking unicorn blood." He counters. "I found him on top of the poor animal, it looked like a vampire. He told us he was sick."

Agatha sighs, closing her eyes for a moment.

“What else, Erik?”

“He said that you knew the castle too much, you knew every creature.” The boy continues. “Professor Faustus suggested we learn how to hide inside the forest. But we didn’t know any spells like this, so he taught us about animagi.”

Agatha bited her lip thoughtfully, waiting for Erik to continue.

“He helped us with everything, the spells, the potions.” He added. “And my sister joined us as well, and honestly, Ray is way better at this than us. When we finally did it, professor Faustus was impressed but he kind of kept us apart, and only seemed interested in talking to Ray about it, probably because she can turn into any animal she wants now.”

The professor widened her eyes to this. “Really?” She asks impressed, but quickly converts to a more impassive expression. “What about you and Mister Stark?”

“Just one.” He says and you realize that he doesn’t want to actually share what animal he and your dad can turn into so Agatha won’t know. And the headmistress doesn't ask further either.

She just takes a deep breath, and straightens her posture. “I decided to ban the experiments because the safety of your colleagues has been compromised, Erik. And clearly I was right.”

Erik seemed really embarrassed as he had thick tears in his eyes. “We didn’t mean any harm, professor.”

“Intentions don’t really matter now, do they, mister Lehnsherr?” She accuse with sarcasm, but she sighs, returning to a more friendly posture. “How did Raven get the marks?”

“We were playing quidditch in the florest, professor.” The boy tells with hesitation. “But Howey and I were trying different things, new enchantments to make the game more fun. A faster golden snitch and a bludger that can part into three when hitted correctly. Stuff we could sell once we leave Hogwarts.” He clarifies.

“As if Quidditch is not dangerous enough.” Wanda mutters to you, making you smile.

“But we lost the snitch in the woods.” Erik continues. “And of course we couldn't leave it there, it was our first prototype. So we turned into animals, but something got wrong. With me.”

“What Erik?”

“He lost his consciousness.” It was not Erik who answered but your dad, coming from the stair behind you. He looked upset, his eyes matched yours and you felt your heart race, even though you knew he was just seing Erik. “Good afternoon, professor.”

“Howey-”

“It’s okay, Erik.” Your dad says with a smile. “It is also your secret to share, and maybe we took this too far.”

“I expected you two to clarify this soon before I expelled you both.” Agatha cuts the conversation quickly, looking impatily. Your dad takes another step.

“It was the blood moon, professor.” He said. “It messed with our heads. I got nauseous, almost passed out when I transfigured myself. But Erik lost his mind entirely. Ray was better at this than us, but she also got a bit slow, I think. That’s how Erik got to her.”

“We fought, professor.” Erik clarified, almost disgusted with himself. “I attacked her like an animal.”

“And then?”

“We didn’t know what to do! It was a secret, so I ran straight to professor Faustus' office.” Erik says. “He came back to the forest, and when he saw Ray he said he would help. I don’t know how he did it, but she was fine for weeks. Until today, we’re playing and this happened.” He explains. “I was going to tell you everything back there. B-but professor Fastus whispered in my head to be quiet about the animagi.”

Agatha sighs, massaging her temples. “Great, fucking great.” She whispered to herself, then turned back to the boys. "That 's all?”

As they both nod, Agatha climbs the steps. "Go back to your dorms, I appreciate your honesty."

While the memory faded, you turned as you heard someone move next to you. It was Agatha, the real one.

“Please tell me you fired him after that.” You say to her but she just smirks, gesturing with her head for you and Wanda to look forward.

This time, it’s not Hogwarts. But a bar you have only been to once, the Hog’s Head Inn.

“Our interests are at odds, my friend." Agatha says in a warning tone to the wizard sitting across from her. "Faustus, don't make things harder for us, think of our friendship."

You notice that Mephisto now looks more like the wizard you know. His longer hair and scruffy beard give him a more grim-faced appearance, the dark marks under his eye and the bumps of his bones in his cheeks give him an anemic and sickly look. You deduce that it is the excess consumption of the darkhold.

He gives the teacher a humorless laugh, coughing lightly, and Agatha raises her eyebrow. "We were never friends, Harkness." He retorts. "We had an academic arrangement. And I'm just a professor in your fairy-tale castle."

"That's not true, Faustus." Agatha tries, but Mephisto just runs his hand across his face, throwing his hair back, and you notice the dark marks on his neck, his veins.

"He was dying." Wanda whispers beside you, noticing as well. "The book was killing him, Y/N."

"Exactly, Miss Maximoff." The real Agatha speaks next to you, the memory muffled as if you were underwater, the conversation no longer audible. "And so close to death, people begin to despair."

“I told you I was sorry about hiding the animagi issue, Agatha. Please do not bring up this subject again.” He says. Agatha reaches for his head over the table.

“Do not hurt my students again, Faustus.” She seriously tells him, and Mephisto looks even more tense. "Because if you do, we won't have any conversation at all."

Agatha looked ahead, and the memory changed again.

"I finally figured it out, Agatha!" You were startled when the image of Mephisto appeared so close, taking a step away.

It was a living room where you were now, and the witch had just opened the front door for the man, soaked from head to toe due to the storm outside.

You had never seen Agatha's house before, and were surprised to find that she had one, and did not live in the castle as you had assumed all these years. But these were not important questions, so you turned your attention to the memories going on around you.

"It's late, Faustus." Agatha complained, but made room for him to come in, using her wand to dry the water he brought on the floor and his clothes as well. "And it's summer. Can't this wait until we get back to Hogwarts?"

Mephisto shook his head in despair, and moved to the table in the center of the room. There, he deposited a necklace.

"It was there the whole time, Agatha." He recounted with fascination, laughing at such happiness. "I was reading, I felt feverish, but I knew I just needed some water. I tripped over the bookcase on the way, and that old hat fell off. And then the locket was at my feet." He narrates, taking the object between his fingers and placing it in the woman's field of vision. "It's his, Agatha. It belonged to Salazar Slytherin! Look at the serpent. I finally found it."

"That's..." Agatha began, touching the medallion with her fingers. "Impressive, I admit. But still, it's just a necklace, Faustus. You didn't have to come in this storm-"

"You don't understand!" He cuts in despair. "It's a worthy object, Agatha! Strong enough to guard my soul."

At that, Agatha's eyes widened in shock. " I beg your pardon?"

But Mephisto merely picked up the locket, smiling to himself, his eyes shining. "I learned how to avoid death, my friend. To conceal my soul into eternal parts, trapped in objects on this earth. I have been in search of the objects that might be strong enough to carry."

"Merlin...." Agatha whispered in horror, but Mephisto didn't even seem to be listening.

"The necklace will guard the first part." He continued. "I need to do it once to know exactly what price to pay. There are so few records about it. If the magic is not strong enough, I will repeat the spell as many times as ne-

The speech was interrupted by a loud sound. Agatha slapped him hard across the face, and the man blinked in shock for long seconds.

"You often forget who you are talking to, Faustus." Agatha says with a fury in her eyes that you have never seen before. And Mephisto clenches his jaw, but seems so in shock at the aggression that he says nothing. "You forget who I am, where I learned my magic from. I only realize now that you really don't have any respect for it."

The man assumes an almost apologetic expression, but Agatha speaks again before he can say anything.

"You think I don't know the art of necromancy?" She questions angrily. "That I have never seen a witch come back from the world of the dead? I dueled with the Inferi of Kang in the Independence of the Romanis Witches, while you were just an infant!" She squirms and Mephisto swallows dryly, looking almost ashamed. "Do you think I don't know the soul splitting spell? The atrocity that must be done? I know the price, you fool."

And then Mephisto's posture changes. He looks curious, and looks at Agatha as if he is begging.

"Tell me the price, old friend." He asks. "The book didn't tell me. I don't know how to complete the spell. Please, I need-"

The next slap seems harder than the first. But Mephisto just laughs, brushing his hair out of his face as Agatha looks at him angrily.

"I would never teach another sorcerer that magic." She declares. "Least of all to one I have once called friend."

Agatha takes a step to the side, signaling for Mephisto to leave, the door magically opens.

The wizard gives a humorless laugh, the medallion dangling from his fingers.

"You are just like everyone else, Agatha." He says as he looks at her again, but then shakes his head slightly. "Actually, I think it's even worse. Because the fools in the ministry are really stupid, but you know the magic spells. And you choose to keep them to yourself."

"If you follow through with that, I will make your words my own." Agatha says. "We won't be friends anymore, Faustus. Truly, you will be alone. And a necromancer is not welcome at Hogwarts."

"I have nothing to go on with if you won't help me." He sneers, taking a step to leave. In the rain, he turns to the witch again, with a sly smile. "But alone I always have been. That never stopped me before."

You watch him appear, and Agatha closes the door. Everything is muffled again, and you turn to the real witch who sat in one of the chairs, the sounds muted around you.

"What happened after that?" Wanda asks Agatha, who seems shaken by the memories, thoughtful. She doesn't look at the two of you, just moves her fingers.

And the sound of someone screaming makes your whole body shiver.

It is a child. She looks directly at you with a horrified look, and it takes a second for you to remember that she must be looking at something behind you.

Wanda turns around first, and the way she shakes your hand almost makes you give up looking as well.

There is the man on the ground, and you stumble away as you see the blood running near your feet, forgetting that it wasn't really going to touch you, that it was just a memory.

"This is T'Chaka, father of your herbology teacher." Agatha counters, sitting on a rock wall. You look around, but don't recognize the place.

"Where are we Agatha?" You ask, and then it occurs to you that you haven't seen the teacher anywhere.

"He used to be one of the most powerful wizards in Merlin's order." She continues, ignoring your question. "But he was gone in the snap of a finger."

You swallow dryly as you notice a man approach the body, wand in hand.

"Where are you at?" Wanda asks Agatha in confusion, and the teacher gives a sad smile.

"That memory is not mine, Miss Maximoff." She clarifies, finally standing up, and pointing in the opposite direction of the wizards, toward the village, but between the walls of the houses. "It's from the girl hiding among the bushes."

You and Wanda exchange shocked glances.

And the memory blurs around you. Agatha has her hand raised in the air. "I don't want you to put out what is in your stomachs with what he did here. Creating a horcrux is the greatest magical atrocity a wizard can commit." She says, and the memory begins to shift again. "Just know that he did it. Faustus made his first horcrux with the death of that man, almost twenty years ago in Godric's Hollow."

When everything stabilized around you again, you gasped as you recognized your garden.

“What the hell were you doing in my house Agatha?” You asked but the real one was no longer there. You were facing your front door with the memory one.

It was your grandfather who opened the door, and you felt your heart race a bit. You haven’t seen him since you’re six, maybe younger.

“Agatha!” He greeted excitedly, moving to hug the witch. “Finally, we were starting to worry you got lost, my friend!”

Your grandfather pulled her in, and you and Wanda followed the clue. The Stark mansion was all decorated with a Christmas theme, and there were at least twenty other people inside.

“I’m sorry for being late, I had a few things with the minister.” Agatha clarifies. “All those weird things going on in Scotland, he wanted a second opinion before involving the aurors. You know how mystery department employees are weird, Jöhann wanted to make sure it was the last option. Muggles get suspicious with the way they work."

The memory blurs a bit as your grandfather agrees, as if Agatha was speeding things up, and you and Wanda are able to watch the people move around, talking and partying for a minute before everything is estable again.

You both watch Agatha at the corner of the room, surrounded by three wizards you don’t know and your grandfather as well, talking so low that you suppose you’re only able to listen because Agatha was.

“They say it is a group of wizards, six of them, maybe seven.” You blink, only now realizing you do know this man. It’s Fury, but he’s different. Young, long hair. Both eyes. You think it is the cape that was covering him that made it difficult to see his face correctly. “I told the minister we should do things quietly, to avoid drawing attention, but now he’s involving the aurors, soon the rest of our community will hear about it.”

“He wanted my opinion on this, Fury.” Agatha said. “I agreed with his actions. We don’t know who is causing the murderings, and it could be a magical anomaly. The mystery departament will know what to do.”

But Fury shocked his head, leaning even more into the circle, as if about to tell a secret very important.

“It was no beast, or anomaly, my friends.” He whispers. “I had a field job with the red skulls. Despicable people if you ask me. But what matters is that they have privileges, free pass to the minister's files. They know it's a man who leads this group, there's no trace of the Imperius curse. They're there willingly, and if they're killing it's to prove something.”

“This is absurd, Fury.” It was your grandfather who said it, his tone was almost angry but the laugh on his face made Nick take a step back, as if being called a liar. “No one would dare to challenge the red skulls. I know we have our disagreements regarding our government, but what we all can agree that since the skull were formed, criminality has decreased to almost nothing. No one challenges Schmidt's aurors, either out of fear or respect. Let's not believe fairy tales about groups of evil villains killing for fun, this is not the middle ages."

But Nick Fury crossed his arms, looking at your grandfather seriously.

"It might be surprising to a man who stays locked up in his mansion to hear that crime has not decreased at all, Stark." He retorted, a tension growing in the group. "Life may have gotten better for the millionaire purebloods, but it has only gotten worse for the vast majority of wizard society, which in case you forget, is largely composed of half-bloods and muggle-born of limited money."

Your grandfather looked slightly embarrassed, but he didn't shy away, laughing ungraciously as he patted Fury on the shoulder.

"Come on, buddy, let's not spoil the party with such an unpleasant subject!" He says. "Here's what we'll do. Monday morning, I'll talk to some colleagues at the ministry. Maybe the Parkers know something. A private investigation, to avoid rumors like this. We can't let people think that both the minister and Merlin's order is losing influence, can we?"

Your grandfather, and the other witches you didn't know, left first, returning to the party, but Agatha stood next to Fury, and leaned toward him.

"Nick, ignore them." She asked in a low tone. " Is there something else you've found out?"

Fury sighed lightly. "Not yet, Agatha. But whatever is going on, it's important. I've never seen Schmidt so nervous. He can't track these wizards, and so he can't figure out what they're trying to do. And if that thing escalates, it could cause a panic."

Agatha stands thoughtfully for a moment, until she turns completely to Nick, her gaze wary. "Do you think it could be someone we know?"

Nick looks surprised, frowns a little. "Why Agatha, do you have any suspicions?"

"No, none." She says, and you know she is lying. But Nick doesn't seem to notice. "I just wanted to ask, because I think we should keep our eyes open now."

The man nodded, and you think he was going to say something else, but he turned his face to something behind you, and then you were looking.

The party became a complete awkward silence when a young man staggered in, completely drunk. It was your father, and he was not alone.

"That was so embarrassing." The real Agatha sneers beside you as you and Wanda watch your dads, stumble drunkenly to the center, your grandfather catching up with them with a murderous expression on his face.

"What is the meaning of this absurd, Howard?" He asked angrily, but keeping his tone low as if to avoid a bigger scene.

"Man of the year, London!" His father exclaimed ironically.

"Not so good father, but I think a great businessman should do it!"

Your father's speech caused some buzz to circulate around, but your grandfather just got his ears red with anger, and stepped forward.

"Leave immediately, take this filthy mudblood you call a friend with you." Says the man, and you feel your stomach turn. But your father steps forward, pushing your grandfather by the shoulders away, who is astonished.

"Don't call Erik that!" He shouts, and his speech turns into a groan of pain as your grandfather slaps him across the face, a look of disapproval as the whole room watches.

"Now, Howard." He warns. "And don't you ever dare raise your hand to your father again."

But Howard laughed humorlessly, raising his head again, his eyes full of tears.

"I'm leaving this place for good, dad." He warns, causing your grandfather to raise his eyebrow. "I'm going to live in New York."

"And with what money do you intend to do that, boy?" the man ironizes, "With mine that won't be."

"I'm going to work." Your father says and your grandfather's laugh makes you and everyone in the room shiver.

"You've never worked a day in your life, you intend to do what? Wash dishes? Have you forgotten that we have elves for that?"

"I'm going to live with the muggles." And that does cause a reaction. Your grandfather gives an incredulous laugh.

"Over my dead body you will."

But your father doesn't hesitate, and slips his arm around Erik's shoulders, who seemed suddenly sobered and embarrassed by the whole thing. "I'm going to New York with my best friend, and we're going to marry the first muggle girls we meet, and have as many more half-bloods as they want to give us. And you're going to die alone in this old mansion."

When your grandfather advanced to attack him, he took a step back, and apparated with his friend. The room went completely silent, and it took a couple of seconds for your grandfather to put a smile on his face and open his arms.

"Children." He commented loudly with irony. "You know how they are, folks! Howey loves a good firewhiskey, I'm sure he was just causing a Christmas prank. Come on, you can get on with it. The elves will serve you well!"

Everyone seemed too uncomfortable to disagree, and the room gradually returned to noises.

You felt embarrassed, because of your grandfather's attitude. But Wanda just stroked your hand with her thumb, whispering in your ear if you were all right, and you just nodded. The real Agatha turned to you.

"I think I'm rambling." She declares. "Your parents graduated from Hogwarts that year, and went to New York. And things here got worse. Let's see one last thing before we go back, you guys shouldn't stay in this spell that long, and we need to move."

While the memory was fading, you spoke.

“What happened to my grandfather while my dad was in New York?”

Agatha sighs thoughtfully. "Well, you know how sorcerers love a little gossip. The Daily Prophet ignored a potential war to talk about the prodigal son who ran away from home, front page story for a couple of weeks. And in the meantime muggle borns were disappearing all around the country, and even beyond."

You felt bad, wanting to apologize for your grandfather's actions, even though you were not at all to blame. Agatha gave a little smile.

"In a way, your grandfather's ruination delayed Faustus." She says. "Without the Starks' financial support, the minister became even more tense. He gave the red skulls a free pass to kill. And anyone who looked suspicious of plotting against the government was in the crosshairs."

"That doesn't sound like help, Agatha." You mutter but the witch isn't even paying attention anymore, the memory coming back into focus around you.

It was Hogwarts again, the courtyard. The students were all scattered among the pylons, looking curiously at the center.

Mephisto stood with his bags on his feet, a worn jacket, and his hair disheveled. Skinny, and very pale, he seemed to have difficulty standing.

"Is this your thanks for my work, old friend?" He sneered armagically, the crowd witnessing the scene with a mixture of fear and shock. "All I've done for this country and this school!"

"Putting my students in danger is not exactly exemplary service, Faustus." Agatha retorts standing in front of him.

It was the day of his resignation, you understand.

"Go away at once. There is no more place for you at Hogwarts."

But Mephisto became enraged, kicked his own bag, raised his wand, and Agatha did the same, but neither of them attacked. The students held their breath.

"Give it back and I will leave." He warns the woman.

"It is the property of Hogwarts castle, under my protection." Agatha retorts. "You are no longer part of the faculty, and you have no right to the study materials under surveillance of that school."

Mephisto clenched his jaw, his wand trembling in his hands. "It's mine! It's my book, give it back, damn you!"

"Leave now, Faustus."

"I cursed you, Agatha Harkness." Retorts the man with hatred. "You will pay for putting yourself between me and my destiny!"

The memory jolted as Mephisto put away his wand, and you felt like you were waking up.

"No, wait!" You turned indignantly. “How did you manage to fire him? How did it come to that? What happened to Professor Fury? "

But Agatha just shook her head, squinting slightly.

"We need to leave, you've been here too long." She says. "Let's continue at the next stop."

Everything turned blurry around you before you could protest.

//-//-//-//-//

Tag list> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia || @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @helloalycia // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm // @sxfwap // @table57 // @madamevirgo // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo // @emptysince18x // @xastrydx || @yuhloversxx || @ymzki-haruki || @wouldirunofftheworldsomeday || @lostandsearching || @lezzzbehonesthere || @musicinourlips || @chaekhan || @diaryoflife || @nervoustrack || @aquamarinescarlet || @cristin-rjd || @idamaemann || @fortunatelynerdylight || @iliketozoneout || @blackwow34 // @tiny–freak || @spongebobtentacles || @cyberbonesworld ||

[lustbile]

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

[nev3rfound]

someone i once knew : b.b - p.6

now that your memories are resurfacing, it’s finally time for bucky to get the answers to his questions and to see you, the real you once more. (4.1k)

oh my goodness, this is it?! a quick non soppy thank you for reading, but seriously all of your comments, feedback and excitement have made writing this series so joyful for me, so thank you and i hope you like the last part!

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX (THE ENDING)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

WARNINGS: mentions of hospitals, references to bucky’s ‘death’ in CATFA, blood, angst - i think that’s it!

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(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

Bucky ignored everyone as he stormed through the compound once he got off the jet. He didn’t care about the warnings being yelled at him, all he could hear were the words you uttered before you were taken away. ‘I remember.’

“Buck, wait,” Steve grabs Bucky by the shoulder, forcing him to a halt as he stares at Steve coldly. “she’s still fragile, Fury needs to see us, now.” Steve states, watching as the rage in Bucky’s gaze melt into sadness.

“I need to see her, Steve.” Bucky pleads as Steve lowers his hand from his friend.

“I know,” Steve sighs. “but she’s in good hands, the sooner we speak with Fury, the sooner you can see her.”

*

Opening your eyes, you blink rapidly as a series of faces greet you, all wearing bright smiles. “Hello, Y/n.” Someone steps forward, dressed in all black and with an eye patch covering one eye.

“I-”

“No no, don’t try and talk just yet.” The man states as he glances over his shoulder to the woman with a device in hand, tapping away at it whilst you watch in confusion. “I’m sorry to say it has been longer than it should’ve been since your last check-in.” He explains as you furrow your brows, remaining quiet. “We are aware that they are supposed to be every few years, but there was an accident involving Howard Stark.”

Your heart drops into your stomach, Howard, your dear friend who has helped you through all of this. “Is he?” You mutter, your voice is hoarse as the man simply nods.

“Due to Stark’s demise, it has taken us years to have access to your chamber.” He continues to explain, stepping away and past a group of people, strangers from those you knew whilst you remain inside your chamber.

“Years?” You ask, still tied up inside the chamber. Usually, once your eyes opened you would be released, allowed to walk with Howard and Peggy if she was available; but this feels wrong, somethings changed. “How long?”

The man pauses as he turns back to face you. “The year is 2011.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you look over at all of the people before you. “No, no that’s not possible.” You breathe out, feeling your chest tighten as you fight in the restraints keeping you inside the chamber. “It was 1989!” You state, but the man simply turns away from you. “It was 1989.” You repeat under your breath as three men approach you, one with a needle in hand and without warning, plunges it into your forearm.

“You’ll be safe, Y/n.” The man tells you as your vision blurs once more until your head rolls forward.

*

“Take a seat, Sargent, Captain.” Fury directs them both into the room, seeing Tony already sat, waiting for them.

Sitting down apprehensively, Bucky remains perched on the edge of his seat, hearing the plates in his metal arm whir loudly as he clenches his fist. The action doesn’t go unnoticed by Fury who spares a glance at Maria, watching her close the door to the conference room.

“Are you finally going to explain what you know about my assistant and what the hell is going on here?” Tony asks, leaning back in his chair as he rests his feet on the table.

“Yes, we will.” Fury starts and Maria hands out a file from SHIELD, dated back to the late 40′s.

Taking the file in his grasp, Bucky eyes it carefully, noticing your name etched into the cover.

“What is this?” Steve questions whilst Tony and Bucky open their files, a photograph of you clipped onto the front page.

Running his thumb over the image, Bucky remembers being there for that photo. You had just gotten your summer dress, and he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. A photographer captured your smile as you walked into the hall for the weekend dance, Bucky right behind you, just out of shot.

“This is Subject 359 from Project Revive.” Fury presses a button on the tablet in front of him, revealing a projection of photos, showing you stood alongside Howard Stark and Peggy Carter, images causing heartache for the three men. “Miss Y/l/n volunteered herself after the war for an initiative to suspend life.”

“She went into cryo?” Bucky speaks up, sadness etches his tone as he focuses on your bright smile in the photo of you in between Howard and Peggy.

“She did, Sargent.” Fury states. “Y/l/n was Howard’s first subject to succeed in the trials, and was put into the induced state for organised periods of time and then awoken to ensure she was still healthy in all respects.”

More images flash up, showing both Peggy and Howard getting older, but you remaining youthful between the two.

Steve can’t help but feel his heart sinking at the sight of Peggy, the years he’ll never have with her, the forgotten time as a golden band remains on her ring finger.

“So how come she doesn’t remember anything?” Tony breaks his silence, tearing his eyes from the images of his dear old Dad to focus on Fury whose frown only deepens.

The projection disappears as Fury rises to his feet before pointing to Bucky. “The winter soldier happened.”

Bucky lowers the file from his grip as he watches Fury carefully. He remains quiet, too afraid of what will be said next.

“After the winter soldier executed Howard and Maria Stark, access to the chamber Y/l/n was held in was restricted.” Fury explains, now looking over to Tony who lowers his feet from the table and sits upright.

“That’s why you needed me.” Tony can’t help but scoff. “You took my DNA.”

“Howard was a smart man, but he knew his systems could easily be overridden by someone more intelligent in the future. So he ensured the only way the chamber holding Y/n could be accessed was by his own bloodline.”

Tony laughs quietly under his breath. “Tony,” Steve starts, but Tony carries on.

“God, Dad truly had a reason for everything didn’t he?” Tony remarks. “Too bad he wasn’t alive to see what a car crash he created.” He jokes, leaning forward to glare at Bucky whose head remains buried in his hands.

“It’s all my fault.” Bucky mutters. “Everything, after all this time.” He slowly sits upright as all eyes remain locked on him like a target.

“Not necessarily, Sargent.” Maria speaks up from the sidelines. “You see, Y/n had been left in cryo for just over two decades when we finally got to her. She was disorientated, and had missed an entire segment of history, the turn of the century, evolution of technology and much more.”

“So, we did what was written according to Howard, which Y/n had agreed upon if the time came.” Fury adds. “We took her to Wakanda, and suppressed her memories.”

Bucky shakes his head, throwing your file aside as he stands up. “No, she would never do that!” He yells, slamming his metal fist into the table causing it to split.

Remaining unphased, Fury carries on. “She did, Sargent. Look in her file and see for yourself.”

Bending down, Bucky picks the file up and skims through the various pages, past your health reports and to a legal document where your signature remains inked on the bottom of the page.

“Y/n Y/l/n was a broken woman after the loss of her best friend and fiance. She trusted those that were left behind and put herself into their hands, knowing she would be making a difference and aid the future of science and medicine.” A fraction of a smile forms on Fury’s face. “But bringing her into the twenty-first century meant changes had to be made in her mind. Memories had to be rewritten and others to be permanently hidden.”

“So how come she’s now remembering?” Tony asks. “And how come she ended up here, as my assistant of all people?” He huffs loudly.

Fury spares a glance to Hill who nods, before exiting the room. “Y/n was always going to have a job of some descript within SHIELD.” Fury paces around the room as the three pairs of eyes burn into his every move. “However, when Y/n returned from her time in Wakanda, after her memories had been rewritten we got in touch offering her a job opportunity which would lead to being Tony's assistant. What we didn’t expect during that time were two super soldiers to resurface from the dead.” Fury motions to both Steve and Bucky.

“So they triggered it?” Tony pieces the details together, pointing the blame to Bucky who tenses under Fury’s cold gaze.

“It seems that way. But now that she’s remembering, the details of the life she has supposedly had all these years are fading away. She’ll be confused for a while, but the memories implanted can be removed.”

“She can forget about that life?” Bucky questions quietly, having heard you briefly discuss memories of the life you never truly lived with such vividness. “She’ll only remember the life she lived with us?”

“Yes, Sargent.” Fury states. “Y/n Y/l/n will be the same girl you left in the 40′s, give or take some level of trauma.”

“Can I see her then?” The question leaves his lips instantly, barely allowing Fury to take a breath.

Yet, Bucky watches the glances exchanged between the other men, the uncertainty in their expressions whilst Bucky remains still.

Steve slowly stands up and pats Bucky’s arm, giving him a knowing smile before heading toward the door, Tony right behind him who doesn’t spare Bucky a glance.

Now alone with Fury, Bucky can feel his body tensing under Fury’s scrutiny. “Is there something else I’m supposed to know?” Bucky tries to remain composed as his leg bounces beneath the table, his foot repeatedly hitting the floor.

“Y/n will be unconscious, in a comatose state for the next week or so.” Fury explains, watching as Bucky sinks into his seat. “It’ll take time, Sargent, for her to recover from this.”

“But she’ll be Y/n.” Bucky comments, watching Steve and Tony walk in separate directions past the glass screens of the conference room without looking back.

Fury reaches down beside him, lifting up a metal briefcase. “Before you go, Barnes,” Fury unlocks the latches on the case, lifting the lid up. “there’s something you might like back.”

Bucky raises a brow as Fury reaches inside the case, taking something out and places it on the table.

Feeling his breath hitch in his throat, Bucky doesn’t trust his legs to work properly as he eyes the small box. “I, I never thought I’d see that again.” Bucky admits, a tired chuckle following.

“We kept it as per Y/n’s wishes.” Fury remarks, sliding the box across the table as Bucky grasps it in his flesh hand, opening the lid to reveal his prized possession, unable to forget the memories laced around the diamond ring.

Smiling at the jewel, Bucky closes the lid to the velvet box and places it into his pocket. “Thank you.” Bucky mutters. “For looking after her.”

“Y/n has been SHIELDS best-kept secret for almost 6 decades, Barnes.” Fury comments. “It’s about time she’s allowed another chance at living, don’t you think?”

Nodding to himself, Bucky pushes his chair back, hearing it scrape along the wooden floorboards.

“One more thing,” Fury interrupts as Bucky reaches for the door handle. “none of it was your fault, Bucky.”

Sparing a glance over his shoulder, Bucky focuses on Fury as he remains straight-faced, but reaches forward, bringing the projection back up of you, Howard and Peggy.

“I hope she knows that too.” Bucky thinks aloud as he opens the door, closing it behind him before he can hear Fury’s response.

Watching the former soldier walk down the corridor, Fury sighs deeply as he removes the projection. “I’m sure she will.” He closes the empty briefcase, knowing that this is the end of Project Revive, once and for all.

Hanging from the railing, Bucky could hear Steve screaming his name, his arm outstretched for him to grab.

The wind was hurtling at his body full speed as his fingers began to slip from the rails, but he knew he had to make it, he couldn’t leave you for the second time and not come home.

Steve began to climb down from the train, moving across the broken frame toward Bucky, stretching his arm. “Just hang on!” Steve yells, fear rising through his tone as the bolts of the railing Bucky is grasping onto begin to creak, pulling away from the metal lining of the wall.

“Steve, I,” Bucky calls out, moving along the rail closer to his friend.

“Grab my hand, come on!” Steve cries out, knowing he can save him, he has to save his best friend. “Come on, Buck.” He mutters, thinking back to the morning before they left, seeing you in Bucky’s arms with the ring on your finger, a whole future for you both awaiting to be lived.

Looking up in desperation, Bucky cannot stop the scream leaving his lips as the railing breaks as his body becomes weightless, his arm still outstretched as he falls.

Steve screams as Bucky cries, falling through the air toward the ground at full speed.

The train carries on, turning a corner leaving Bucky truly alone as Steve breathes heavily, his heart has broken into pieces as his best friend is gone.

Lying in the snow, Bucky can feel his breaths slowing, life draining from his body as the white ice surrounding him is turning crimson. “Y/n,” He breathes out, looking up at the bare branches reaching for one another from different trees. “I’m sorry.” He whispers as his eyes begin to dip, just as several men appear above him.

Panting heavily, Bucky looks over to the clock on his bedside table. 7 in the morning, again.

He buries his face into his hand, feeling guilt course through his body knowing you’re awake and he has yet to see you. Part of him was nervous to see who you’ve become and whether you’re still the same girl he loved and lost all those years ago. Or if you’re this new version that he knew as Tony’s assistant, one who views him as the former winter soldier, not James Barnes.

Playing with the ring in his fingertips, Bucky walks toward the medical wing within the compound, already hearing laughter sounding from the room causing his heart rate to spike.

“She was amazing, truly.” You tell Steve, resting your hand over his as he tries to stop tears falling from his eyes. “And she was happy in the end, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve mutters, wiping his eyes. “but she seriously punched Howard for not taking Maria on a date sooner?” He asks again as you nod, gentle laughs sounding from you both as Bucky hovers behind the entrance, a wall of apprehension stopping him from entering.

“Do, do you think he’ll visit?” It’s almost whispered as you look down at your marked hands, scratches and dark bruises now littering your skin.

Hearing faint movements from the doorway adjacent to your bed, Steve smiles to himself for a split second. “Why’d you think he wouldn’t?”

Bucky leans closer against the doorway, his heart hanging together by a mere thread as you shakily sigh. “I just, what if I’m not who he remembers or even wants in his life?”

Ever since your memories flooded your mind, you couldn’t stop thinking about him, wondering what he’d think of you.

“I’ve been awake for two days, Steve,” You add, doubt clouding your mind as Steve silently prays for Bucky to just walk in. “and, and he hasn’t been yet I just, I,” You stumble over your words, eyes locked on the sheets covering your body as you remain unaware of Bucky turning the corner, walking toward you.

“Hey, doll,” Bucky quietly calls out, standing still in the entranceway with the box now in his pocket, out of sight as he clasps both hands together, flesh into metal.

Your hand slips from Steve’s as you force yourself further up the bed, itching to climb out.

“I wouldn’t do that, you know what Bruce said.” Steve reminds you, yet you tear the sheets from your body and uneasily rise to your feet.

“Since when did that stop me, huh?” You joke back, Bucky unable to stop himself from smiling at your playful antics with Steve, giving him a glimpse of what he once knew.

Moving closer to one another, you both can’t help but note the changes. Your gaze hovers to his metal arm, the black plates etched with gold leading to his shoulder, his long hair and stubble lining his jaw. But he still had the same loving blue eyes, even if you could see the pain lingering behind them.

Yet, Bucky could still see it’s you. Despite the bruising and cuts across your skin, you hadn’t changed one bit.

“James?” You speak up, too afraid to reach out as your hands remain by your sides.

“Y/n.” Bucky responds softly, taking a step closer as Steve watches from the sidelines, having never anticipated seeing this moment happen after he saw Bucky fall from the train all those years ago.

“It’s really you, isn’t it?” You ask sadly as tears begin to fall across your cheeks.

Taking another step toward you, Bucky lifts his arm up to brush the tears from your face. His hand shakes as he takes a deep breath, allowing himself to cup your cheek in his hand.

Closing your eyes, you rest your hand over his as he holds back the sob in his throat. “It’s me, doll.” Bucky whispers as you squeeze his hand, not wanting to let go. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He breathes out, knowing no words can truly describe the past sixty years, not yet at least.

“I’ve missed you so much, James.” You try to compose yourself, knowing it’s no use as you look up at him, the man you’ve loved. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Chuckling sadly, Bucky nods in agreement. “I thought the same until I heard you playing the piano the other week.”

“Wake and dream medley.” You remember it, having danced many a time with him at his Mother’s house, twirling around the living room whilst Rebecca laughed with you as Bucky dipped you and dropped you by accident. “I, I,” Stumbling over your words, Bucky glances over to Steve.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Steve speaks up. “But it’s good to see you both, together after all this time.” He adds sincerely before stepping out of the room whilst Bucky guides you back toward the hospital bed, knowing you still need your rest even if you deny it.

“You’ve read my file, Y/n,” Bucky sighs. “I, I’m not the same man you knew.” He looks away, still cautious of himself, of his own mind. “There are things that I’ve done that I’m afraid of you learning about.”

Unable to take your eyes off him, you take hold of his metal arm with both your hands, gliding your fingertips over the cool metal as the plates whir into place.

And then the last thing Bucky anticipates hearing causes his ears to perk up. You giggle, a smile growing across your lips as you shuffle closer into Bucky’s embrace.

“I know James,” You tell him, lifting his arm to rest around you as you lean against his chest, inhaling the scent that was a foreign memory intertwined with old pillows after he left for war. “but I want you to know, I’ll love you, whoever you are or whoever you turn out to be. Nothing, and I mean nothing will change that.” You assure him, feeling his heart beating rapidly against his ribcage.

“You still love me?” He breathes out, trying to disguise the evident surprise in his tone, but you quickly move from his embrace, staring at him with sorrow in your gaze as your brows furrow together.

“You think I could ever have stopped?” You retort.

“Doll,” Bucky starts, but you shake your head.

“Why would you think I would’ve stopped, or possible could?” A scoff sounds from you as Bucky lowers his gaze to the marble tiles on the floor, shame overcoming his mind.

“James, for years I mourned you, I strove for a better future, dealing with losing you and Steve. My parents were gone, I had no one left besides myself.” You explain, fighting through your emotions that have been suppressed with your memories for so long. “In all that time, not once did I ever stop loving you, even if you were gone.”

“I was never very good at loving you though, Y/n.” Bucky admits. “We both know that I, I left you, twice. Both times with the promise of coming home.”

“And you did.” You comment, resting your hand on his stubbled cheek as Bucky glances up, seeing a shy smile form on your face. “You’re here now, we both are.” You chuckle in disbelief. “By some means, we’re both here, in the twenty first century, alive.”

“Never thought I’d live to see the turn of the century, let alone live in it completely.” Bucky jokes, hearing you laugh quietly. “Will, will you still have me then, Y/n?” He asks softly as he reaches into his pocket, revealing the small velvet box.

Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of it. “They gave it back to you?” You ask in disbelief, feeling the corners of your lips bury further into your cheeks whilst Bucky nods.

“And now I’m giving it back to you, its rightful owner.” Bucky states, lifting the lid revealing the ring, your ring. “That is, if you’d still like it, doll?” He apprehensively asks.

Yet, you roll your eyes, unable to stop yourself from huffing in response. “Are you seriously asking me that?” You remark, and Bucky blinks for a moment. “And like this? Come on, Buck, at least give it a little class.” You joke, only ever calling him ‘Buck’ in times of relief.

Moving from off of the bed, Bucky grunts as he kneels down in front of you on one knee. “Y/n Y/n, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife, my doll and my best friend forevermore?” His words mirror those he uttered decades ago in that old dance hall, and yet they still roll off his tongue with the same ease.

Following his action, you lower yourself from the bed, Bucky reaches out to support your waist as you kneel in front of him. “Yes,” You smile. “and I guess this time, forever means forever, huh?”

“You’re stuck with me doll,” Bucky jokes as you lean closer, your lips ghosting his.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, James.” You whisper, closing the distance between you both as you kiss him, the sensation of coming home after all this time hitting you like a ton of bricks as you wrap your arms around him, wishing to never let him go.

“Close your eyes.” Bucky whispers, and you oblige. “Think of him, think about any details that you have relived, any conversations or scenery you noticed.” Bucky suggests, trying his hardest to not reach out and take your hand in his.

Keeping your eyes closed, you try to focus on his face, hear his voice, but it’s all too much of a blur. “It’s no use.” You sigh, burying your face in your hands. “I just, I know if I ever saw him again or met him somehow, I’d know who he was.” You mumble into your palms, unaware of Bucky tearing his eyes from you, the ropes pulling his heart snapping for good, now beyond repair.

“You’ll find him, Y/n.” Bucky pats your back, hearing you sniffle.

“You think?” You ask, lifting your head back up as you half-smile to Bucky who nods.

“I’m sure of it.” He forces a smile, but you can tell it’s not reaching his eyes.

And after all this time, Bucky was right, you had found him; only to discover he’d been there all along.

T H E  E N D 

(thank you to the following for all the love on the series - i couldn’t have done it without your support :) ) 

@mellmellmell12@theofficialzivadavid @fandom-princess-forevermore @lokilovefoever @vivalakatee @chgevorgian @captainwinterwriter @carliewinchester @spn-obession @buckysquad @shower-me-with-roses @basicgukk @yasminwashere @sunfouler @feminist-fan-girl @stealapizzamyheart @soccer-100000   @sunflowerbunny2   @kickingn-ames @choerriesmotion @why-thats-just-delightful @officialfictionalwreck @romanoff-nataliaalianovna @hersilencedscreams @b-r-stark @dezzxmx @thearcher-temis @i-lost-my-shoe-down-a-drain @girl-obsessed-with-things @loitsurohto @shawnie--jo @alainabooks143 @dorothea-hwldr @bakugouswh0r3 @chloe-skywalker @btsiguess-kpop @austynparksandpizza @tomisagod @22-frozen-memories @peachy-aisha @emilytheukuleleplayer @pass-me-jeez-it @yuukiahim 

[robinofinashiro]

@megumitodoroki: “headcannons (maybe a drabble if you want??) for yan tamaki and yan kirishima with a pregnant darling? ( i saw the hawks and bakugo one, i really liked!!!)” 

characters: yandere kirishima ejirou, tamaki amajiki x fem! reader

request status: OPENED / all fandoms I write for are pinned to the top of my page as well as my rules! feel free to request as you’d like! just please be respectful of my rules and if you have any questions, personally message me!

kirishima ejirou: 

oooh, fuck, really? you got pregnant with HIS baby? fuck. i mean, kirishima is a great husband, for the MOST part. his issue 99.9999% of the time is that he’s too fucking clingy and it shows. even if he isn’t laying it on thick, everyone can see the way he is around you. 

lets say you weren’t home when he found out. you went through the five stages of grief when you found out. the stick was in your hand as you stared at the wall in panic. you were in no mindset to be carrying a child and you knew there would be consequences the longer you waited to tell him. 

at first, you planned to end it all and just put you and the fetus out of misery but then you realized.....kiri locked all the knifes, sharp objects, and anything you could think of hurting yourself with away. you knew regardless of what you were thinking, you were going to have his kid whether you wanted too or not. 

when kiri came home, you were still in the same position in the bathroom and holding onto the stick in your hand. when he realized what it was, he let out a high pitched scream. you’re pregnant !! like this wasn’t something he was expecting to happen just yet but here you were !! pregnant with his kid. 

the first thing he did was make an appointment for you. he needed to know how far along you were and when your projected birth date was. the doctor hadn’t been able to pinpoint what the sex was yet but he didn’t care !! his child was going to be the next red riot !! he was going to make sure of it !! 

months into the pregnancy, he started to fix up the nursery. while you were still miserable in the fact that you were pregnant, you knew you got nothing out of loathing from the news and tried to look at the silver linings in all of it. maybe kiri would lay off the rules and give you some freedom. he was already acting different. 

when you were in pain, he would be at your call. when he was at work, he made sure someone was there with you. what if something went wrong? he couldn’t trust you on your own. when your mood swings were bad, he would listen to you for once and keep his distance when you asked. when you were starving, he would get whatever it is you wanted. 

the nursery was red riot themed. little linings of red everywhere with black incorporated along with it. he had small figures of himself in the crib and on small shelfs around the room. kiri made sure to put pics of the two of you in the room so the kid could see the love you both had for each other. he even went out of his way to make mini outfits of his hero uniform that fit every time he assumed the kid would have a growth spurt. 

lets say you end up finding out that you were having not only a boy, they were going to be twin boys, kiri fucking fainted. he doubled everything in the nursery and even built an extra room for the second baby. kiri was ecstatic to say the least. he never thought he’d get twins !! you on the other hand went through another phase of grief knowing that you were carrying twins and that meant that kiri was going to be home more than you wanted him to be. 

when you finally go into labor, kiri dropped everything he was doing and fucking SPEED RAN to the hospital. when he got there, you were already under epidural and trying to calm yourself down. the pain was unbearable, even with the epidural. he could see the pain on your face and wanted to cry right along with you. you were even holding onto him, hoping that he did something right for once and tried to calm you down. 

when you finally gave birth, kiri bawled like a child. they were both out within a few minutes and while you held one baby, kiri held the other. they had his black hair and your skin tone. he had never seen three beautiful people in his life and here you were, his wife and kids. his life was complete. 

tamaki amajiki: 

okay cool, tamaki is not horrible yandere so you’re relatively safe for the most part. the thing with tamaki that makes it unbearable to live with is that you can’t do shit. he’s terrified of you even breathing the wrong way tbh. he won’t let you leave the house bc he’s afraid something will happen to you. 

the day you found out you were pregnant with his baby, it was bittersweet. you were excited bc although he had abducted and was holding you hostage in his home, tamaki as a person was not a horrible person. he wasn’t mirio and he def wasn’t nejire. you had been feeling sick for a while and every morning you woke up you ran to the bathroom vomiting your guts out. 

you refused to tell tamaki bc you knew he would go into full panic if you did. you just had told mirio in secret to bring you a test and drop it off. when he did, you quickly ran to the bathroom and took the test. you were clawing the counter in a bout of anxiety and as soon as the clear blue test rang up positive, you felt dizzy in the head and fell on top of mirio who had offered to stay. 

he quickly fanned you as he basically screamed to tamaki to get his ass home. tamaki had dropped everything he was doing and ran to his house. he had no idea why mirio was there and bc the emergency was abt you, he booked it even faster. when he finally got there, you were chugging back a hydroflask full of water and murmured to him the news. 

tamaki basically passed out three different times hearing the news. it took mirio, a call to nejire, and yourself to get him out of it. when he finally stopped fainting and realized what you had said, he gave you a long hug, murmuring that finally it happened. he had been wanting kids for so long, as weird as it sounds. he was nervous wreck almost all the time but he wanted to continue his family line with you and hopefully they ended up with your personality. 

he scheduled your first doctor appointment a few weeks later and at that appointment, the two of you had found out the exact date and gender. you were having a baby girl !! tamaki was dumbfounded. he was expecting a boy but he wasn’t complaining. he was getting a mini you !! another to love and take care of. that meant that no hero course for his baby girl. nope !! business or support course at the very least. 

her nursery consisted of small sun eater figures and outfits. every now and again, he would had lemillion and nejire-chan themed things. your daughter would have mini outfits of all three of them and would have plushies of the three of them in the crib. hell, even the crib set was the big three themed. he and mirio had painted a mural for her and added photos of all four of you to make sure that even if his daughter didn’t have anyone to be her friend, the four of you would always be there. 

he didn’t take your change in moods well. frankly, he was terrified of you. there would be days where you would unleash your anger like never before and other days, you’d be sobbing to him. the food you did make though was AMAZING. it was a weird combination that always turned out amazing at the end. 

fat gum and kirishima were surprised but excited to hear the news. they bought her a bunch of red riot and fat gum themed clothes as well and fat gum would even bring you food when he was in the area. you were so important to tamaki and he knew that so he had to make sure that you were also important to him too. tamaki upon telling mirio and nejire that you were pregnant told them they were the god parents so they were almost just as protective over you like tamaki was. 

the day you gave birth, tamaki was home with you. you were just laying in bed when your water broke and he drove you to the hospital like he was in fast and furious. you were taken back by his actions but he practically screamed at the nurses as soon as you arrived to help you. he made sure to scream to them to give you epidural the minute you asked and if any of them even slipped up once, tamaki would have blood on his hands a few days later, making sure he took care of those useless nurses and doctors. tamaki in this setting was not one to mess with, that’s to say the least. 

when you finally gave birth, he cried a bit but not as much as you expected. the time he did cry was when he held his daughter and looked at the two of you. his life was perfect. you had a healthy daughter and you were relatively okay yourself post-birth. the only other time he cried was when he made the three-way call to mirio, fat gum, and nejire to tell them you had finally given birth and all of you were okay. 

[nopefun]

Interview #494: Ryan Frigillana

Ryan Frigillana is a Philippine-born lens-based artist living and working in New York. His work focuses on the fluidity of memory, intimacy, family identity, and visual culture, largely filtered through the lens of race and immigration. Embracing its plasticity, Frigillana explores photography’s relationship to context as a catalyst for thematic dialogue.

His first monograph, Visions of Eden, was published as two editions in 2020, and is held in the library collections of the MoMA, Getty Research Institute, and Smithsonian among others.

We spoke to find out more about Visions of Eden, his love for photobooks, and photography as a medium for introspection.

Lee Chang Ming Ryan Frigillana

Thanks for agreeing to do this! As we’ve just arrived into the new year, I want to start by asking: how did you arrive at photography and how has your practice evolved so far? Your earlier work was anything from still life to street photography, but your recent work seems to deal with more personal themes.

It’s my pleasure; thank you for having this conversation with me! Wow, looking back at how I’ve arrived at this point makes me feel so grateful for this medium, and excited to think of where it will lead me from here. I came to photography somewhat late. I was initially studying to become a nurse and was set to start a career in that field, but I found myself unhappy with where I was going. My mother was a nurse and I know what goes into being one; it’s not an easy job, and I respect those who do it, but my heart wasn’t in it. I found photography as a creative outlet during that stage of my life, and I’ve clung onto it ever since.

My first exposure to photography (no pun intended) came in the form of street and photojournalism. I would borrow books from the library a lot, consuming works by Magnum and other photographers working in that tradition. At the time, it was all I knew so that’s what I tried to emulate. Even early on in my undergrad career, these modes of creation were reinforced by curriculum and by what I saw from my own peers. My still-life work branches off of that same sentiment: the only names that were ever thrown around by professors were Penn and Mapplethorpe, so that’s who I studied. Thankfully over the years, I’ve been able to broaden that perspective through my own research. Though I don’t necessarily pursue street or constructed still-lifes anymore for my personal work, I’d like to think my technical skills (in regard to timing, composition, light) owe a debt to those past experiences.

I suppose now I’m starting to explore how photography can be used as language, to communicate ideas and internal conflicts. I’m thinking more about the power of imagery, its authorship, its implications, and how photographs have shaped, and continue to shape, our reality. That’s where my work is headed at the moment.

I liked how you mentioned photography as a language, which calls into question who we are speaking to when we make images and what kind of narrative we construct by putting photographs together.

In your work “Visions of Eden”, you trace your family’s journey as first-generation Filipino immigrants in America. I was quite struck by how you managed to link together original photography, archived materials and video stills. To me, with the original photography there was a sense of calm and clarity, perhaps in the composition. But with the archived material it was like peering through tinted glass, and the video stills felt like an unsteady memory. What was the editing process like for you and how did you decide what to include or exclude?

For me, editing is the hardest part about photography. Shooting is the enjoyable part of course because it can feel so cathartic. Sometimes when I shoot it feels almost like muscle memory in the sense that you see the world and you just react to it in a trained way. But with editing, it’s more of a cerebral exercise. More thought is involved when you have to deal with visual relationships, sequence, rhythm, and spacing, etc. The real creation of my work takes place in the editing process. That’s where the ingredients come together to form an identity.

When creating this identity, I not only have to think about what I want to say, but also how I want to say it. It’s like speaking; there are numerous ways you can communicate a single sentence. How are images placed in relation to one another? How large are they printed, or how much white space surrounds it? Are the images repeated? What’s on the following page? The preceding page? Is there text? How are they positioned on the spread? All of these little choices impact the tone of your work. And that’s not even mentioning tactile factors like paper stock or cover material. I think that’s why I have such a deep love for photobooks because 1) they’re physical objects and 2) someone has obsessed over every aspect of that object.

I’m aware that my photographs lately have a quiet, detached, somewhat stripped-down quality to them. I think that’s just a subconscious rejection of my earlier days shooting a lot of street where I was constantly seeking crowded frames and complexity in my compositions. As I’ve grown older, I realize less is more and if I can do more by saying less, that’s even better. Now, the complexity I seek lies in the work as a whole and how all these little parts can form something fluid and layered, and not easily definable.

For Visions of Eden, I wanted the work to feel somewhat syncopated and wandering in thought. That meant finding a balance between my quiet static photographs and the movement and energy of the video stills, or balancing the coldness of the illustrations with the warmth of the family snapshots. The work needed to be cohesive but have enough ambiguity for it to take life in someone else’s imagination. Peoples’ lived experiences in regard to immigration and religion are so complex that they can’t be narrated in any one definitive way. Visions of Eden, hopefully, is a rejection of that singularity.

Yes, there’s definitely something special and intimate about flipping through a photobook! For your monograph, you recently released a second edition which is different from your first (redesigned, added images, etc.). Why did you decide to make it different? Was the editing mainly a solitary process?

The first edition was a partially hand-made object. Illustrations were printed on translucent vellum paper and then tipped into the gutter of the book. When you flip through the pages, those vellum sheets would overlap over certain images, creating a collage-like effect. That was my original concept for this book. Doing this, however, was so laborious and time consuming, and not to mention expensive! Regretfully, I wound up making only twenty copies of that first edition. I wanted the work shared with a wider audience so that’s why I decided to publish a second run.

The latest edition is more of a straight-forward production without the vellum paper. With this change in design, I had to reconfigure the layout. I took liberties in swapping out some images or adding new ones altogether. Also, a beautiful afterword was contributed by my friend, artist, writer, and curator Efrem Zelony-Mindell. I still feel so fortunate and grateful to have had my work seen and elevated by their words in my book.

For the most part, yes editing is quite a solitary process for me. But there does come a point when I feel it’s ready, where I share the work with a few trusted people. It’s always nice to have that outer support system. Much of Visions of Eden was created during my time in undergrad school so I had all sorts of feedback from peers and professors which I’m grateful for. But in the end, as the author, you ultimately have the final say in your work.

Given that Eden is a starting point and metaphor in the work, I was thinking about ideas of gardens, (forbidden) fruit, and movement of people.

How do you view yourself in relation to your place of birth? In your series, I see the most direct links in the letters, old photos where tropical foliage is present in the background, and the photo of the jackfruit (perhaps the only tropical fruit in this series).

I came to America when I was very young, about five years old. For my family and for many other families still living in the Philippines, America is seen as a sort of ideological Eden: a land of milk and honey, of wealth and excess. We all know that’s far from the truth. Every Eden has a caveat, a forbidden tree. Which leads me to ask: as an immigrant living in this country, what fruits were never intended for me?

I honestly don’t remember much about my childhood in the Philippines aside from fleeting memories of my relatives, the sounds of animals, the smell of rain and earth, the taste of my grandmother’s cooking. The identity that I carry with me now as a Filipino is not so much tied to the physical geography of a place but rather it is derived from a way of life, from shared stories, in the values we hold dear, passed on from generation to generation. This is a warm flame that lives on in me to this day as I write these words thousands of miles away from where I came.

Photographs have a way of shaping our memory and our relationship to the past, which in turn affects how we engage with the present. The family photographs and letters used in my book act as anchors in a meandering journey. They serve as landmarks that I can return to whenever I feel lost or need assurance so far away from “home”. They give me the comfort and affirmation that I need to navigate a space where I never really felt I belonged. The spread in my book­­ that you mentioned—the jackfruit on one side, and the Saran-wrapped apple on the preceding page—was a reference to my duality as both Filipino and American. It’s a reminder and an acknowledgment that I am a sum of many things, of many people who have shaped me. If I flourish in life, it’s because my roots were nourished by love.

I like how you mentioned photos as anchors or landmarks. Isn’t that why we create and photograph? To mark certain points in our lives and to envision possible futures, like a cartographer mapping an inner journey. Do you feel like you and your relationships with those you photographed changed through the process of making your works?

When my parents took pictures of our family, it wasn’t done solely in the name of remembrance; it also served as an affirmation of ourselves and our journey—a celebration. Every birthday, vacation, school ceremony, or even the seemingly insignificant events of daily life were all photographed or video-taped as a way of saying to ourselves, “Here we are. Look how far we’ve come. Look at the life we’ve made. And here’s the proof”.

Now, holding a camera and photographing my family through my own lens still carries all of that celebratory joy, but with so much more possibility. Before I really took photography seriously, I never realized its potential as a medium for introspection, but that’s ultimately what it has become for me. In taking pictures of my family, I not only clarify my own feelings about them, but the act of photography itself informs and builds on my relationship with each person. The camera is not a mere recording device, but a tool for understanding, processing, and even expressing love...or resentment. Though I may not be visible in my pictures, my presence is there: in my proximity, my gaze, my focus.

Does all of this impact my relationships? Absolutely. Photographing another person willingly always demands some degree of trust and vulnerability from both sides. There’s a silent dialogue that occurs which feels like an exchange of secrets. I think that’s why I often don’t feel comfortable photographing other people unless we’re very close. Usually my family is open enough to reveal themselves to me, other times what they give can feel quite guarded. That’s a constant negotiation. After the photograph is made though, nobody ever emerges the same person because each of us has relinquished something, no matter how small.

Being self-reflexive in photography is so important. I agree it should be a constant negotiation, but it’s something that bothers me these days – the power dynamic between the photographer and photograph, particularly for personal and documentary projects. More significantly, after the photograph has been made, who is really benefiting. But I guess if we are sensitive to that then perhaps we can navigate that tricky path and find a balance. 

Right, finding that balance is key and sometimes there are no clear-cut answers. That power dynamic is something I always have to be mindful of. As the photographer, you are exercising a certain role and position. At the end of the day, you’re the one essentially “taking” what you need and walking away. There’s an inherent violence or aggression in the act of taking someone’s picture, no matter how well-intended it may be. This aggression carries even greater weight when working, as you say, in a genre like documentary where representation is everything.

I remember an undergrad professor of mine, Nadia Sablin, introducing me to the work of Shelby Lee Adams—particularly his Appalachian Legacy series. Adams spent twenty-five years documenting the disadvantaged Appalachian communities in his home state of Kentucky, visiting the same families over a long period of time. Though the photographs are beautifully crafted, they pose many questions in regard to exploitation, representation, and the aestheticization of suffering. He is or was, after all, an artist thriving and profiting off of these photographs. Salgado is another that comes to mind. This was the first time I really stopped to think about the ethics of image-making. Who is benefitting from it all?

I think the search for this balance is something each photographer has to reckon with personally. Though each situation may vary with different factors that have to be weighed, and context that must be applied, you can always ask yourself these same ever-pertinent questions: am I representing people in a dignified way, and what are my intentions with these images? Communication (listening), building relationships, acknowledging your power, and respecting the people you photograph are all foundational things to consider when exercising your privilege with the camera.

Well said! The process of making photographs can be tricky to navigate yet rewarding. Any upcoming projects or ideas? What’s keeping you busy these days?

Oh, let’s just say I’m constantly juggling 3-4 ideas in my head at any given time, but ninety percent of the time they don’t ever lead to anything finished haha. This past year has been tough on everyone I’m sure. I’ve been dealing a lot with personal loss and grief and the compounded isolation brought on by the pandemic, so for months I’ve been making photographs organically as a subconscious response to these internal struggles. It’s more of an exploration of grief itself as a natural phenomenon and force—like time or gravity. Grief is something everyone will experience in life and each of us deals with it differently, but in the end we have to let it run its course. I see these photographs as a potential body of work that could materialize as a zine or book one day, so we’ll see where that goes.

Other than that, I’ve been working on an upcoming collaboration project with Cumulus Photo. Speaking of which, I saw your photograph featured in their latest zine, running to the edge of the world. Congrats on that! It’s beautiful. But yeah, just trying my best to keep busy and sane, and improving myself any way I can.

Thanks! Looking forward to your upcoming projects! Last question: any music to recommend?

I feel like my answer to this question can vary by the week. I go through phases where I exhaust whole albums on repeat until I get tired of them. So I’ll leave you with the two currently on my rotation: Angles by The Strokes, and Screamadelica by Primal Scream.

Thank you for your time!

Thank you for a lovely discourse. I had a lot of fun!

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[queenshelby]

The Nanny – Part Two

Featuring: Cillian Murphy x Virgin!Reader

Words: 5798

Warning: Smut, Age Gap

Tag List: 

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A Small Surprise

Another week had passed since your encounter with Cillian at the theatre and you missed interacting with him, especially now that you broke up with Darcy once again.

Once again, Darcy had become verbally abusive towards you and you were devastated and upset about his behaviour. You became to realise that, most probably, he won’t ever change. You often thought about Cillian’s words. You were too young to be wasting your time on someone like this.

But, despite your breakup, Darcy called you at least ten times a day, trying to apologise. You ignored his calls, but, unfortunately for you, you still had to interact with him at theatre practice and art school.

At least, Anita was there for you and tried her best to prevent you and Darcy from having arguments while dealing with each other in a professional capacity. But it wasn’t easy.

Since your latest and hopefully final break up, Anita had also tried to hook you up with her brother, but you really weren’t interested in dating anyone after what you have encountered with Darcy.

Despite your disinterest in dating, you struggled to get one man out of your head and this was Cillian.

Since you became to know what he was doing for a living, you could evermore so understand his reluctance to get involved with someone your age. It would almost be cliché for an actor to date someone half his age. The backlash would almost be ridiculous.

In the same vein, you were really not keen on dating an actor. The ridiculous filming schedules, the gossip and the fact that people would look at you differently would certainly upset you and make you uncomfortable.

Yet, you couldn’t forget about him and the kiss you shared. The kiss he initially returned and which felt so amazingly good.

There was something about him that you hadn’t found in any man before. It was almost like you had known him for years and yet, you barely knew him at all. You felt comfortable in his presence and it felt natural to be around him.

With these thoughts on your mind, it was easy for you to let go of Darcy this time around eve though you knew that you could never have Cillian. Or could you?

It was a Sunday afternoon that Craig came home after spending some time at the pub celebrating a friend’s birthday.

He looked somewhat tipsy when he walked inside and Ella became rather frustrated with him. It was almost too funny to watch.

You noticed him carrying a paper back.

‘Y/N, this is for you’ Craig said as he handed the bag to you.

‘Uhm, thank you’ you said, surprised by his gesture.

‘Oh, don’t thank me. Cillian asked me to give this to you so thank him’ Craig said, unsure about what was in the bag. He believed Cillian’s gesture to be odd but didn’t dare to question it.

You walked into your room, curious about what was in the bag.

Unsurprisingly, it was a book entitled ‘The History of Irish Theatre’.

You and Cillian had talked about this book following your little incident at his house.

He thought that it was very educational for anyone who is interested in Irish literature and play writes and he said that, when he goes back to his house, he would get it for you so that you could read it.

You opened the book, very keen to read it.

To your surprise, Cillian had left you a note inside which, amongst other things, contained his mobile phone number and an offer to help you with rehearsing the play if you needed it and wanted an outsider’s opinion.

He also was kind to tag the pages relevant to your play in the 350 page book.

You took out your phone and saved his number before texting him to say thank you.

He responded almost immediately. His response was short but that is what you would have expected from a man in his 40s.

About an hour later, you received another text message from him.

‘I have four tickets to a play at the Abbey which I think you might like. You could go with some friends from your theatre group and your boyfriend. Unfortunately, it’s for a Sunday night though’ he texted.

You responded by thanking Cillian for the offer and telling Cillian that you had broken up with Darcy before taking the courage to ask him whether he would be interested to come with you to see the play.

An hour after your text, you still hadn’t received a response and you regretted asking him. After what happened between you, you thought that you must have taken it too far.

Another twenty minutes later, as you were in the shower, the phone rang.

You quickly jumped out of the shower and answered your phone while the water was still running in the background.

‘Hi, Cillian’ you said shyly as you shivered, still being wet from the shower.

‘Am I calling you at a bad time?’ Cillian asked, observing the background noise through the phone.

‘No no, not at all’ you said.

‘What’s that noise?’ he asked.

‘Uhm, I was just having a shower’ you said and, just after you said this, you realised how inappropriate your comment was once again. There was an awkward silence on Cillian’s end following your comment.

‘Right’ he said before taking a pause.

‘About Sunday, I have seen the play already with some friends but I am happy to take you if you want’ he said before taking another pause. ‘As a friend that is’ he added, qualifying his offer.

‘Of course, yes’ you said shyly.

‘I think that, if we go together, I should probably invite Craig and Ella and suggest that you come with them’ Cillian suggested, being mindful that, otherwise, this might awkward.

‘Yes, sounds good’ you said.

‘Great, I will let you get back to your shower then’ Cillian said with a laugh.

‘Alright…and thanks’ you said.

‘You are welcome’ Cillian responded before hanging up.

To your surprise, a day later, Cillian told you that Craig and Ella weren’t interested in the play but had no problem with you going to see it with Cillian and some other friends.

You felt somewhat awkward about Craig and Ella knowing that you were going to see a play with their mutual friend. But Cillian assured you that they didn’t think anything of it. In Ireland, everyone was friendly and welcoming and interactions like this weren’t suspicious. In fact, Cillian had even told Craig that he had offered to help you with your theatre project and that he believed that the play you were going to see would really help you with your perspective on contemporary Irish theatre. With Cillian being double your age, Craig simply thought that it was a nice gesture and Craig also knew that Cillian could do with some friendly company after yet another fight with his fiancée.

Instead of Craig and Ella, Cillian ended up inviting his youngest sister Janet and her husband John. They both enjoyed theatre and had recently returned to live in Dublin after spending five years together in London.

You met Cillian and his sister and her husband at the theatre and they were very welcoming. You thought it was going to be strange, meeting Cillian’s family, but it wasn’t at all. His sister was in her late twenties and you could relate to her.

You talked about many things before the play started and she was surprised when she learned that you were only 20 years old. According to her, you appeared very mature for your age.

Change of Mind

‘You know she’s nice, smart and very pretty’ Janet said to Cillian about you after you excused yourself to go to the bathroom right before the play started.

‘And she is 20 years old and I am still in a relationship’ Cillian chuckled in response to her comment.

‘And here you are, choosing to attend this play with her instead of your fiancée’ Janet giggled.

‘Because my fiancée and I are taking a break and Y/N is just a friend’ Cillian chuckled.

‘I think you already made up your mind about your fiancée. I know you brother. I am not blind either. I can see the way you look at Y/N. You like her a lot’ Janet said.

‘Janet, she is 20. Now can we change the topic please’ Cillian said firmly.

‘So what if she is 20?...I like her. She seems nice’ Janet said before her husband John had to comment just like a man would.

‘Just count yourself lucky Cillian. Not every man your age has a shot with a young woman like her. Also, you wouldn’t be the first actor who goes there trust me’ John said, causing Cillian to chuckle.

‘Enough now, please’ Cillian said just as you returned from the bathroom.

When you returned to the table where Cillian, Janet and John were standing, you finally heard the theatre bell. Cillian seemed somewhat relieved that the play was about to start and you made your way inside, taking your seats.

Just as you sat down, you saw Darcy with his parents and brother. Your heart sunk and you hoped that he would not see you. But he did, almost immediately.

The situation had officially become awkward and, just as Darcy saw you, his father spotted you and Cillian as well.

He came over to greet you and Cillian which, instantly, raised a lot of questions.

Cillian explained to Darcy’s father that you were a friend and, just as he did, the bell rang again, telling everyone to take their seat.

This was lucky, preventing Darcy’s father from asking more questions.

Darcy’s father excused himself and, luckily for you, Darcy was at his best behaviour with his parents being around.

During the interval, Darcy greeted you politely and that was it. He didn’t acknowledge Cillian, Janet and John and there weren’t any further interactions from his side.

After the play had finished, Janet suggested that you all go to Cillian’s house for a drink and some pizza. After all, you hadn’t had dinner yet.

You agreed and picked up some Pizza and a couple of bottles of wine on the way.

To your surprise however, Janet excused herself pretty much straight after dinner and a glass of wine.

‘Well, John and I have to get up very early tomorrow’ Janet said.

‘We do?’ John asked.

‘Yes darling, don’t you remember the thing at your work?’ Janet asked, giving John a nudge.

‘The thing at my work?....Oh right, the thing at my work. I forgot’ John said.

‘Well, we will be going, but you two should really finish this bottle of wine’ Janet said and you observed her winking at Cillian.

Cillian sighed before giving his sister a kiss on the cheek and saying goodbye.

‘Uhm that was strange’ you giggled just as Janet and John left. ‘I just finish this and will call a taxi’ you said, pointing to your full glass of wine.

‘Yes, my sister is strange indeed’ Cillian chuckled, knowing exactly what his sister had in mind.

‘So how did you like the book?’ Cillian went on to ask to change the topic.

‘It’s fantastic. In particular the actor’s notes on the scenes. Although, there is one thing no one really talks about and I have been trying hard to find material on it’ you said.

‘And what is that?’ Cillian asked curiously.

‘How do you act a scene where you have to kiss someone. I mean, do you actually kiss them on stage? How about on screen? I mean, you would have the answer to this wouldn’t you?’ you said.

‘I do’ Cillian laughed.

‘Well then please enlighten me. I am curious’ you said.

‘On screen, depending on the angle of the camara, you most often don’t get around kissing. Your lips touch. It’s as simple as that’ Cillian said.

‘But is it different from a normal kiss?’ you asked.

‘Not really’ Cillian said. ‘But, in saying this, for theatre, no one from the audience will be close enough to see what you are doing so just give the guy a peck if you feel too uncomfortable to kiss him’ Cillian laughed, knowing that the play you were doing included a scene just like this.

‘I am glad you can laugh about it’ you said sheepishly.

‘Well, I know for a fact that you’ve kissed a man before so I think you will be fine. Just don’t think about it as a kiss. Think about it as an act. I guarantee you that, when you are in character with a complex script like yours, it will just come naturally’ Cillian said.

‘I suppose you are right. I mean, at least it’s not Darcy who I have to kiss on stage’ you laughed.

‘Well, there you go’ Cillian said just as an awkward silence erupted between you again.

‘Speaking of which, I have actually been thinking about our kiss more often than I should have’ you said shyly.

‘Y/N, we agreed that we would forget about what happened that morning’ Cillian said.

‘We did. But I can’t’ you said before taking a pause. ‘Can you?’ you asked.

‘I’ve been trying’ he chuckled, causing you to smile.

‘Perhaps you should stop trying and kiss me again. Just once more and I will never mention it again’ you said as you walked over towards him.

‘I am twice your age Y/N. You do realise that, right?’ Cillian said as you took his hands suggestively, indicating that you wanted him to stand up.

‘Yes, I do and I like it’ you giggled before biting your lip. Your comment made Cillian raise his eye brows and laugh.

‘You could be with someone your own age Y/N. I am sure you get plenty of offers. So why me?’ he asked as he stood up in front of you, running his hand over your cheek and moving part of your hair away from your face and behind your ear.

‘Because you are intelligent, kind and not afraid to be yourself. I like that. Despite, I also think that you are incredibly attractive’ you whispered shyly.

‘But, if you don’t like me then just tell me and I accept that’ you added after Cillian didn’t respond to your comment.

‘I like you alright. But I know that it would be a very bad idea if were to get involved with each other’ Cillian said quietly.

‘Maybe. Maybe not’ you said and, just like this, Cillian leaned forward and pressed his lips on to yours.

The kiss was gentle and Cillian caressed your face with his warm hands while his soft lips explored yours. Your lips moved in sync with his for a moment until he pulled away slightly.

‘We should not be doing this’ Cillian said and, just after he did, you decided that, this time, he wouldn’t get away that easily and you crashed your lips back onto his.

He accepted the kiss, giving into you for what felt like an eternity until he pulled away again.

‘Are you sure this is what you want? Because there will be implications if…’ he said and, before he could finish his sentence, you interrupted.

‘I know and I am prepared to deal with these implications as they arise’ you said before pressing your lips back onto his. You knew that, most likely, you would have to keep your interactions with Cillian a secret at least for a little while and you knew that, later down the track, this might cause issues with Craig and Ella.

Despite these intrusive thoughts, you managed to switch off and get lost in the moment and kiss between you soon became heated as Cillian gently slipped his tongue in between the opening of your lips.

You gave in and let his tongue dance with yours as if it was the most natural thing to do. He was such a good kisser. Gentle and passionate.

‘Now do you want me to stay for the night or call a taxi?’ you asked as, after at least ten minutes, your lips drifted apart.

‘If you were to stay, what would you be telling Craig and Ella?’ Cillian asked.

‘That I had some drinks after the theatre and ended up staying at a friend’s house’ you said, causing Cillian to laugh.

‘I guess you are staying then’ he said as he ran his hand over your cheek again before giving you another kiss.

‘Alright’ you said shyly. ‘I will go and have a shower then’ you said nervously.

It felt different this time around and you didn’t know how far he wanted to go. You had never had sex before and intimacy didn’t come naturally to you.

After you both had showers, separately, you met in bed just like the last time when you stayed at Cillian’s house.

Just this time, neither of you bothered getting dressed for the occasion.

Bed Time

Cillian was lying there, under the doona, wearing nothing but his black Calvin Klein briefs as you walked into the bedroom.

You, on the other hand, wore even less. A black thong. That was it and you could see the appreciation on Cillian’s face as you walked into the bedroom.

But, in addition to your naked body, your tattoos and piercings, he could also see the nervousness on your face as you climbed into bed next to him.

‘You are beautiful’ he said as you got under the doona.

‘If you say so’ you smiled shyly before giving him a kiss.

It wasn’t long until he gently pulled you closer towards him and began running his masculine hands over your body, including your breasts and all the way down to your naked ass.

His lips never left yours and you enjoyed the warmth of his body pressed against yours. The little amount of his chest hair brushed against your breasts and, as he held you close, you could feel his erection grow beneath his breaths.

You knew he wanted you, all of you and, whilst you wanted to be with him, you weren’t quite ready to take this step yet.

‘Cillian, I am…I never had…’ you said and, before you could finish your sentence Cillian withdraw his hand from you.

‘You are a virgin?’ he asked somewhat surprised, causing you to nod. Whilst you hinted on this previously when you talked with him about Darcy being pushy when it came to your relationship, you never actually told him that you never had sex. It all made more sense to him now and made him dislike how Darcy had treated you even more.

‘I am sorry. I didn’t realise’ Cillian said.

‘Are you disappointed?’ you asked, noticing Cillian’s reluctance to touch you again the same way he was before you told him.

‘Why would I be disappointed?’ he asked, running his hand over your cheek.

‘Not sure. Perhaps you expected something else tonight?’ you said shyly.

‘Well, the truth is that I didn’t expect anything tonight. Not kissing you, not lying next to you or getting to touch your beautiful body. So, I am getting way more than I had bargained for’ Cillian said.

‘You are so kind Cillian. What I meant was that, once you got a woman into bed, you probably didn’t expect this’ you said somewhat embarrassed.

‘At my age, probably not’ Cillian laughed. ‘But, I am not disappointed Y/N. We will just take things slow, move at your pace, alright? Despite, there are so many things other than sex in the conventional way that are enjoyable and I am just happy to lie here with you and kiss you all night’ Cillian said before pressing his lips back on to yours.

‘Things other than sex in the conventional way?’ you asked curiously after your lips drifted apart.

‘Yeah, you know, like other things’ Cillian chuckled. He clearly was out of your comfort zone having to give you a sex ed lesson.

‘Hmm, like what?’ you said cheekily. ‘Can you show me?’ you asked nervously. Whilst you weren’t quite ready to take things all the way, you felt an overwhelming desire for this man and you trusted him and you certainly wanted him to continue to touch you.

Cillian chuckled at your comment but reluctantly agreed. After all, he just promised you to take things slow and what he was about to do didn’t exactly fall into the category of taking things slow.

‘Alright, but you are in charge. Promise me that you will tell me if you want me to stop, ok?’ Cillian said reassuringly.

‘I promise’ you said before he leaned in and gave you another kiss before guiding your back down on to the mattress.

After you lied down comfortably, Cillian kissed you once again before his lips began trailing down your neck, kissing all over it, while his hands wandered over your naked breasts.

In this moment, you felt somewhat vulnerable. You weren’t exactly blessed with a large bust but Cillian seemed to like what he saw as he kissed down your beautiful body, his lips and tongue exploring and enjoying the sweetness of your flesh.

Eventually, his lips found their way to your perky breasts and lingered at a taut, pierced nipple, the tip of his tongue rolling around it, over the tiny bumps on your areola. He drew it into his mouth, eliciting a soft sigh from you as he sucked.

It felt amazing, much unlike what anyone else had ever done to you before and you could feel an unexpected tension build up in between your legs. The moisture within you was building and you trusted Cillian even once his lips began to trail further down your body.

His lips soon found the swell of your belly, and he showered it with soft kisses. His tongue played a moment in your pierced belly button before he continued his downward journey.

Then, suddenly, his lips touched the top of your lace panties causing you to let out a surprisingly loud moan.

No man had ever been this close to your mound before with anything else but their fingers.

With his fingers, he hooked into the ream of your lace panties before sliding them down all the way past your knees and then down over your feet before letting them drop over the bed.

There you were, completely naked, in front of the man you were so desperate for.

With his head moving back in between your legs, you felt vulnerable and excited at the same time.

The scent of your hot sex was now filling his nostrils, making him crave the taste of you.

His lips first touched the inside of your thighs, sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. Again, you couldn’t help it but moan unexpectantly loud at the sensation.

Your reaction made Cillian smile against your thighs and he moved his head slightly inwards.

You could feel his warm breath on your vulva just before his lips touched your naked mound for the first time.

‘Oh god’ you inhaled sharply, making him smile again. He clearly was doing all the right things and took it slow, much slower than he would usually take it.

After kissing your most intimate body part a couple of time, he finally let his tongue lightly trace down the folds of your flesh.

It felt insane and you moaned loudly before you started to squirm when his tongue ran through your folds for the second time.

Cillian soon felt your fingertips caress his hair as he teased you.

He ran his tongue up and down those lips, enjoying the wetness between them.

‘Oh god Cillian’ you moaned just as you gripped his hair tighter as he pushed his tongue inward in between your lips, savouring the sweet taste of you.

By this point you were dripping wet as his tongue went as deep as it could, his face awash with your warm juices.

Then, Cillian pulled back slightly, moving his tongue up and down, side to side, not wanting to leave any part of your sex untouched.

At the top, he found that sensitive nub of flesh, now fully extended. As his tongue flicked against it, he felt you give a little shiver of pleasure. His tongue swirled around and around, and then his lips engulfed it, sucking it gently as you began to moan even louder.

‘Cillian, fuck’ you moaned as you let your body take in the fullest extend of this sensation and closed your eyes.

Just as you closed your eyes, you could feel one of Cillian’s fingers run over your wet slit while his tongue continued to swirl around your clit.

You took in a deep breath but tried to relax as much as possible, thinking about what he might be doing next.

And, just like this, he carefully slipped a finger into you, watching your cues closely for any pain.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned again at the sensation. To your surprise, it felt nice, very nice.

After your body relaxed again Cillian began moving his finger in and out in a slow, steady rhythm as his tongue played a staccato on your pulsing clit.

He loved your taste, your scent, your sounds, he was in his happy place, and your pleasure was his goal.

He kept going, making love to you with his lips and tongue and fingers. Your sounds intensified in volume; the grip on his hair tightened; your hips rose as you squirmed beneath his ministrations.

After several minutes of pure extasy, Cillian carefully inserted a second finger while he gentle sucked on your clit.

You tensed up once again at the intrusion but, following some mild discomfort, were able to relax again. The slight amount of pain quickly turned into pleasure and your breathing was becoming heavier.

You felt full, just by his fingers and they moved in and out of you in the perfect rhythm.

With your moans becoming louder and louder and your walls becoming tighter around his fingers, he could tell that you were close. He pushed his fingers into you deeper, hooking them slightly upward and touching that other magical spot you never knew existed.

Your moans turned into screams of pleasure and your hips bucked as he pushed you over the edge.

Cillian lifted his eyes so he could look up at you and see your head thrown back, eyes closed, and mouth open with your moans and screams of pleasure filling the room.

You were totally lost in the ecstasy of the moment. His tongue was still dancing against your pulsing extended clit.

Your hips bucked one more time, and then you grasped his hair and pulled him away. It was too much, too intense.

He would have kept going for as long as you would let him, but your body had reached the point of pleasure saturation, and you needed to catch your breath.

While you were breathing heavily, coming down from your high slowly, Cillian kissed his way up your body until your lips met, and you shared one long deep kiss.

‘Are you alright?’ he asked as he could see small tears building up in your eyes. You looked completely exhausted and somewhat confused.

‘Yes, it’s just… I think I just had an orgasm’ you laughed.

‘Well, that was the idea’ Cillian chuckled. But you didn’t laugh at his joke. You were entirely overwhelmed.

‘Have you not had one before?’ Cillian asked somewhat surprised by your reaction.

‘What, an orgasm? No…But I read it’s normal for women not to have orgasms’ you said shyly.

‘If that was true then that would be pretty disappointing’ Cillian chuckled as he took you into his arms.

‘How about you get some rest alright?’ Cillian said with a smile as you seemed somewhat besides yourself which he thought was cute.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep in his arms. You felt so safe and secure next to him.

But for Cillian, it took a little longer. Whilst he promised you to take it slow and was prepared to stick to his promises, deep down inside, he wanted you, all of you.

Good Morning Mr Murphy

The next morning, your alarm went off at 7am. You had to attend art school which was due to start at 9am.

You would have rather stayed in bed with Cillian, but this wasn’t an option.

When the sound of your alarm ripped you out of your dreams and your eyes shot open, you noticed that Cillian wasn’t lying next to you.

As you got up to look for him, you heard the shower running in the bathroom. He was up early and it surprised you.

‘Can I come in?’ you asked as you knocked on the bathroom door.

‘Uhm, yes sure’ Cillian yelled out. He clearly was still in the shower.

‘Good Morning’ you said as you walked inside, not being able to see Cillian through the steam covering the door of the shower.

‘Good Morning… I will be out in a minute’ Cillian said, his voice sounding somewhat hasty.

‘No need, I just come in’ you said.

Without asking permission, you opened the shower door and stepped inside.

Your lips instantly met Cillian’s lips as you stepped closer towards him. But he seemed somewhat uncomfortable with your quick approach.

As you went to press your body against his soapy chest, you could feel something in between you and, just as you did, you looked downwards.

This was the first time you saw Cillian’s most intimate part and it was quite a sight.

‘Sorry’ Cillian said with some embarrassment as his erection pressed against you. He had struggled with it on and off since the previous night.

‘Now I am no expert, but I think that your reaction down there tells me that you like me, a lot’ you giggled as your hand reached for his hard cock.

Cillian moaned at your touch and you slowly began stroking him.

‘Now, I have never done this before so just tell me if I do something wrong alright?’ you said as your hands moved to either side of his hips.

‘Done what?’ Cillian asked and, just as he did, you dropped down to your knees right there in front of him.

‘This’ you said as you took hold of his cock again and guided it towards your mouth.  

You could hear a soft moan come out of Cillian as your tongue touched his shaft for the first time.  

You first licked the side of his shaft tentatively. Your heart was pounding as you did and you continued licking the sides and worked your way to the top of his cock.

Swirling your tongue around the head of Cillian’s cock and then working your way back down the shaft, you felt like you found yourself in another world, one you had never been in before.

Cillian groaned again and you felt his hands on your head as you continued licking his cock and then finally taking him into your mouth as far as you could go.

You didn't have a clue what you were doing, never having done this before, but you started bobbing up and down his shaft.

As Cillian’s moans became louder and steadier, you started bobbing up and down his cock even faster. You could taste his per cum on your tongue and then felt his hands hold on to the hair on your head even tighter.

You were in control but it was almost like he needed to hold on to something, grab something with his hands.

‘Fuck Y/N’ he moaned and you could tell he was getting close.

Before he could say anything else, you looked up at him.

‘I want you to come in my mouth’ you said before taking him back inside your mouth.

He looked surprised but didn’t dare to argue and, after a few more head bobs, he let go.

You could feel his cock begin to throb in your mouth and, just as you did, his hot sweet cum began to flow steadily from his shaft into your mouth.

You stopped bobbing your head as he came down from his high and let go of his cock before looking up at him and opening your mouth.

He could see his cum in your mouth and the disbelieve on his face made you laugh for a second, causing you to spill some but swallowing the rest.

‘Are you sure you never done this before because I never had a woman do this last bit’ Cillian chuckled as he helped you up.

‘No…never’ you said. ‘But, I’ve watched porn before’ you laughed as you wiped your mouth before giving Cillian a kiss.

After your intimate encounter, you both cleaned yourself off and got dressed before Cillian gave you a lift to art school.

Unpleasant Surprise

Your day at art school was good but you couldn’t get Cillian out of your head that day.

You went as far as to cancel your date with Anita that same afternoon so that you could surprise Cillian at his house later.

It was probably for the better you thought as Anita had many questions for you that day after Darcy had told her that he saw you at the theatre with Cillian.

At 4.30pm, after picking up some food and clothes from at home, you made your way to Cillian’s place.

You knocked on the door and, eventually, Cillian opened.

‘What are you doing here Y/N?’ Cillian asked surprised. You came by unannounced and thought that, maybe, it wasn’t a good idea after all. Perhaps he didn’t like surprises.

‘I am sorry, I should have called. I just wanted to surprise you’ you said before asking Cillian whether you could come inside.

‘It’s not a good time Y/N’ Cillian said and, in this moment, you could hear a female voice from inside his apartment.

Through the crack of the door, you could see a blonde woman. She was pretty, probably in her late thirties, wearing a black dress and heels. It was obvious to you that Cillian and her were close.

‘Can I call you later?’ Cillian asked.

‘Right, sure’ you sighed as you handed him the bag with the food and walked off.

As you walked towards the elevator, tears were building up in your eyes and you felt overwhelmingly anxious and upset. Perhaps he wasn’t different than other actors and you were just another quick fling.

You didn’t pick up his calls that day. You’ve been hurt enough by men in the past.