#unable to lie serum

[shibuyashotos]

"GWAHAHAHAHAHA! NOW YOU'LL TELL ME EVERYTHING!"

"Oh No!"

"Now tell me hero, tell me all of those deep secrets that your boss keeps. I know he trusts you enough to confide them to you."

"His secrets or the company secrets?"

"Don't stall!"

"Oh no I'm just asking for specifics. I'm not trying to stall or anything, honest!"

"The Company secrets then!"

"I... Well this is unfortunate but uh, ah, I ah... I don't know them."

"What do you mean you don't know them? Are you lying to me? You can't lie! You can only speak the truth!"

"Oh no I am telling you the truth, I don't know any of the company's secrets! 100% I don't know tit for tat about what my company keeps under wraps, but I can tell you that my boss has been planning a surprise of sorts for his wife and three daughters."

"...You're lying. That serum must've been a dud!"

"Ah no no no, i am not lying at all. Couldn't lie, can't lie, wouldn't even be able to lie to save my life. Go ahead, ask me anything. Test me."

"..."

"Listen man, If you were wondering about who ate your pudding last week, i heard one of your minions gloating about it the other day while I was snooping around the place."

"That dick!"

"Just five minutes ago you also broke wind and it smelled really awful, but I was gonna say nothing about it the entire time, maybe even blame the pudding guy however at the moment due to being injected with some weird serum that neither you nor i knew the effects of, I don't quite feel like lying about it to your face."

"Okay stop-"

"Oh and ah apparently as i've just now glanced over, again I really would like to say nothing and yet I feel that might be lying by way of inaction, you have a stack of unwatched movies-- Those are all bootlegs, don't bother with them."

"Alright you've proven your point, stop-"

"Ah right i just now realized too, see, the serum you injected me with isn't actually a truth serum. See that's a bold faced lie, something of which I can't do at the moment, by the person who sold it to you because they very clearly screwed up and really didn't want to die. I also feel the need to tell you that I've already broken out of my restraints and you're going to hate the part where I get my hands on you and show you why they're Rated E for Everyone."

The villain claims to have injected you with a truth serum. In reality the serum they injected you with only prevents you from lying and the villain will soon learn that not lying and telling the truth are two very different things.

[househrt]

Housefic where House is dosed with truth serum and is unable to lie but nobody really notices? because he's still talking about how much he wants to fuck Wilson just as much as he did before

Wilson only figures it out because House is openly talking about how much he's struggling with his chronic pain that day and/or is earnestly talking about his emotions

[villainousauthor]

"You poisoned me." Hero's hand goes to their throat, already feeling the burn, the effect of the toxin. They realized the moment they took a drink from pretty red wine Villain suggested they share.

"Not poison. Not exactly." Villain tuts. "Truth serum. It's considered a minor toxin but by no means dangerous to the average person."

Hero's eyes widen. They feel the sting of betrayal, harsher than the burn in their throat.

"Why?" They croak. "Was this the only reason you suggested dinner together?" Their eyes burn.

Villain eyes them for a moment. "You're privy to a lot of useful information about the other heroes. Information I could find useful. As for your other question," They drawl, "Why? Would you be upset by that?" Villain almost smirks.

Already feeling the effects, Hero is unable to lie. "Yes." They answer quietly. They try to avoid Villain's gaze, waiting for the interrogation to begin, meal abandoned. "I was happy when you asked me." Their words spill out of them unbidden.

They miss the surprised look on Villain's face at this admission. Quiet settles over them for a long moment.

"Looking forward to trying to mend my villainous ways?" Villain eventually huffs. "Did you hope that a nice dinner together would have been enough to change me?" Their tone borders on defensive.

Tears threaten to spill over Hero's lashes. They try to get control of their emotions, but the serum is doing something to their control, their inhibition.

"No." They confess. "No. I just wanted to spend time with you." They still can't meet Villain's gaze, the table below beginning to blur.

"Why?" Villain asks, sounding incredulous, sounding almost spooked. "We're enemies. I've nearly killed you countless times."

Hero gulps, trying to stop the words from coming out, mentally clawing at themselves to stop speaking. They tumble out anyway.

"I like spending time with you." Their hand goes to grip the table, to steady themselves as they lose control of their own voice. "I like spending time with you especially when we're not fighting."

"Stop it." Villain demands. Now it's their turn for their voice to wobble.

"I really like you." Tears brim over Hero's cheeks now, and they hear Villain suck in a harsh breath. They can't stop the words now that they're flowing out. The dam has been broken.

"Stop talking. Stop it." Villain sounds more desperate now.

"I was hoping you'd kiss me tonight."

The table shakes loudly as Villain stands, dining ware nearly falling over. Hero finally looks up at them, trying to blink away their tears. They see Villain's hollowed expression. They let out a rattling breath.

"This was a mistake." Villain finally says. Hero sees the way they dig their nails into the table cloth, before their vision is blurred by more tears. "I shouldn't have done this."

"Dinner..? Or tricking me?" Hero's voice is rough, raspy.

Villain is silent for a long moment. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done." Now it's their turn to not meet Hero's eyes.

"I'd let you take me to dinner again." Hero gulps, the truth still spilling out of them with ease. "I wish you'd take me to dinner again. Even if you trick me another time." Shame swirls in Hero's gut as they admit to this pathetic truth. It doesn't matter how many times they get burned, it won't change how much they imagine Villain's lips on theirs, their hands on them.

"I need to go." Villain's throat bobs. They shove themselves away from the table harshly, the wine spilling over. Hero watches them leave as their tears drip below.

[wispeth]

(doppelganger Merlin au. Arthur is looking at two Merlin's, who both have all of Merlin's memories, except the imposter doesn't have magic. which is perfect, because the real Merlin lied so flawlessly to Arthur that imposter Merlin would have a real chance to take over Merlin's life. oh and, uh, Merlin was drugged w a truth serum. so he can't lie about the magic if it comes up. The imposter is able to pretend to be Merlin better than Merlin can bc ofc the magic comes up.)

Arthur: What's the first thing you ever said to me?

Imposter Merlin, confidently: Hey, that's enough. You've had your fun my friend.

Real Merlin, dazed, looking over at the imposter in horror as he realizes that the imposter has all of his memories, and that the imposter is actually capable of lying rn unlike himself, which means Real Merlin can't even keep up his own facade, but the imposter can: (says exactly the same thing in perfect unison with the imposter, but looks a lot more lost and shaken about it)

Arthur, narrowing his eyes at them both: What is your favorite tunic to dress me in?

Imposter Merlin: The red one. (It was a fair enough assumption. It was the one that Merlin picked out for Arthur to wear more than any of the others.)

Real Merlin, unable to believe he's about to admit this, but he has truth potion in his system: Your nightshirt, when you decide to wear it... It is--you look the happiest, in that one. (gay sweatdrop)

Arthur, kind of floored by the vulnerability: (was honestly expecting Merlin to say the red one, but now he wasn't so sure because that also sounded like something girlish that Melrin might say) Alright... How many times have you saved my life?

Imposter Merlin, gleeful on the inside because he finally has a chance to play Merlin's part while Merlin can't even maintain his own web of lies because of the truth potion: (to this imposter's credit, he is very good at pretending to be merlin. he starts mumbling to himself and counting on his fingers, just as Arthur thought Merlin might have done.) Let's see, there was the dagger, the poison, the... (proceededs to ramble off most every single one that Arthur himself is aware of) ... so that's about, a dozen? I'd say?

also Imposter Merlin: (places his hands on his hips in Merlin's sassy way) I'm starting to think you owe me a day off.

Real Merlin, voice shaky, because they are getting nearer and nearer to the topic of magic: Twice a fortnite for as long as I've lived in Camelot... That's got to be in the hundreds by now.

Arthur, suddenly remembering all the creatures of the week that suddenly disappeared before they became a problem. He knew of about one every month or two, but he started reconsidering if his guardian angel had been taking care of threats that he perhaps DIDN'T know about: Erm... (still can't tell who the real Merlin is, because one of them is giving all the answers he's looking for and is acting exactly like he would expect Merlin to, but the other Merlin is being so damn earnest right now, as Merlin was wont to do in times of crisis) What is--what's an honest truth that you've told me that I have mistaken for a lie?

Imposter Merlin, knowing that he's being quizzed on the memories of their shared history, without missing a beat: Valiant's shield. It was enchanted with those snakes. You got into a world of trouble for confronting him about it in front of the entire court. (aka exactly the answer that Arthur was expecting from the real Merlin)

Real Merlin, with a knot in his throat and tears in his eyes because he knows he's doomed: (the first instance that came to mind was that time he saved Gwen's father from sickness using magic and Gwen got thrown in the dungeons for being an alleged sorceress--and of course that was his first thought, he is very very paranoid about the magic so it's all he's thinking about--he has to say the first one for the sake thought for the sake of honesty, even though it's damning) Gwen's not the s-sorcerer... I am. (is also making exactly the same face that he was making the day that he told Arthur about Valiant's shield, the face where he is pleading for Arthur to believe him. The imposter only has access to Merlin's memories through Merlin's eyes, so the imposter wasn't able to see what Merlin's face did that day, so he wouldn't have known)

Arthur, now even more unsure, just gapes for a moment because how fucking stupid does someone have to be to confess to sorcery in Camelot? Twice?! And it was worse yet that he still couldn't tell for sure which Merlin was the real Merlin because he'd never had to combine the image of Merlin with magic before and gods damn it all he needed a moment to process: (decided to start asking Merlin questions about himself instead of quizzing him on information that Arthur already knows) Who was your first love? (fully expecting to hear Gwen's name, although, Merlin was quite flamboyant....)

Imposter Merlin: It was Will... (blushes a little, looking flustered and matter of factly at the same time, in that awkward way that mimics merlin perfectly) You met him, in Ealdor.

Real Merlin, sneering at the imposter in the way that he did Cedric when he was bitter about replaced by a possessed man in the Cornelius Sigan incident (a/n: even though the episode I mention in this line is a totally different one. I think I mix referenced a lot of episodes in this ramble actually): H-her name was Freya. You killed her.

Arthur, alarmed: Killed her? Wh--Merlin--not Merlin--Merlin? (stammers on how to address this Merlin, tosses his hands up after 0.5 seconds) I do not recall killing any village girls in Ealdor..!

Real Merlin, shaking his head: She was the bastet. It wasn't her fault, she was cursed by a sorceress to become a bastet at night. It wasn't your fault either, you did what you had to; I don't blame you for what happened.

Arthur, suddenly remembering that night, remembering how Merlin was reaching for the dangerous feline beast as if it were only a kitten, as if Merlin was going to pet it, or shield it from Arthur, or any other number of things that also seem so very Merlin. Arthur hadn't even considered it before, but now? Looking back? Merlin certainly had been remarkably upset in the passing days after that: (more confused than ever) Wh... Where did -- where were you, yesterday? (Gaius already told Arthur that Merlin was at the tavern)

Imposter Merlin: At the Rising Sun. Gwaine took me out for a round of drinks. Something about a lucky charm?

Arthur, nodding along: (it was true that Arthur has heard Lancelot and a few other knights call Merlin a lucky charm) Hm... (turns to look at the other Merlin)

Real Merlin, with a wobbling lip: (laughs weakly, rolling his teary eyes a bit) I told him to stop using that excuse... (refocuses) I was crawling out of the mirror, if you must know. I TOLD you I had a funny feeling about it. (motions to the imposter) (he has tears in his eyes and a smile on his face, and his voice sounds exactly the same as it did that one time when he said to Arthur 'you're certainly not' after Arthur told him that no man was worth his tears)

Arthur, now watching Real Merlin more closely than Imposter Merlin, searching: Who was your favorite guest to mock at the feasts and whatnot?

Imposter Merlin: (kind of stumped bc he wasn't expecting a question like this)

Real Merlin, who is actually able to answer first after some thought: ..... (snorts) Does-- (snorts again) Would the Lady Catrina count as a guest, d'you think? Or should I--no--I'll say it was the Lady Vivian. You get this, LOOK on your face every time she sits near you at the banquet table when she comes 'round.

Arthur, jaw dropped in mock offense: Because she is rather touchy! We've been over this..! (doesn't even realized that he just responded to Real Merlin as if he were for sure the real Merlin, and momentarily forgot that there were two convincing Merlins present)

Imposter Merlin: Are you mad? Arthur, the fake me said it himself that he crawled out of the mirror and practices sorcerery..! (looks so earnest, so genuine, but it's just... not quite how Merlin would say it)

Arthur: (narrows his eyes at the imposter with slight suspicion)

Imposter Merlin: (gives Arthur a flat look, exactly like the real Merlin would do when Arthur says something stupid) Arthur, I am not a sorcerer. You would know. (a/n: last episode style)

Arthur, who had never once suspected magic, but did always know that Merlin had been keeping a secret from him (he'd always assumed it was the alcoholism, but now....): You'd think so, wouldn't you.... (glances at the real Merlin, looking a little hurt)

Real Merlin, not denying the magic at all: I was born with it. I use it for you, Arthur.

Imposter Merlin: You can't honestly--

Arthur, looking deep into Real Merlin's eyes: Swear to me, right now, that you are telling me the truth. Prove it to me.

Real Merlin: (grabs the hidden dagger out of the imposters hands, who had apparently been gearing up to attack Arthur, which is confusing enough all on its own because it made it difficult to tell which one of them was truly intent on attacking Arthur with it, and then charges Arthur)

Arthur, who normally has keen warrior reflexes but not when his enemies wear Merlin's face: (freezes up, and then watches in shock as the dagger clashes against the thin air about an inch in front of Arthur's chest, cast aside by some glowing shield that fades after a second)

Real Merlin: Why do you think it takes me three hours to polish your armor? Do you have any idea how long it takes to enchant the space between every link of chainmail? (drops the dagger at Arthur's feet so he knows it was just a demonstration and not a genuine attack, similar to the way that Arthur always aims just to the left of Merlin when he's throwing blunt objects such as goblets because he never wishes any actual harm on Merlin)

Arthur, blinking dazedly: (can't help but think of that one time that Merlin spontaneously became talented at juggling. it's such a strange thing to remember, and completely unrelated to the current happenings, but Merlin's smile was small and smug just like it had been that day, and it just--clicked)

also Arthur, looking slightly more sure of himself now: (needs one final test to make absolutely certain, but he thinks he knows just what to ask) What would you have me do, if I cannot tell you apart?

Real Merlin, without missing a beat: Arrest us both. (shrugs casually) I am a sorcerer after all. Better safe than sorry.

(And that's just it, isn't it. It was just like Merlin, to sacrifice himself like that. It was just so, unmistakenly Merlin.)

Arthur, smirking in mock offense: Better safe than--excuse you, I could take you apart with one blow!

Merlin *cough*hearteyes*cough* "Emrys" Hunithson™, the one and only: I could take you apart with less than that

(In the end, Merlin walks himself to the dungeons as the imposter is arrested, just to give Arthur peace of mind so there's no pressure to second guess his decision since even if Arthur chose wrong, there is no assassin Merlin imposter on the loose. Merlin and the imposter both spend 3 days in their respective cells before the imposter finally does some decidedly out of character shit and Arthur can have him executed with full confidence that it's not Merlin... since the guy really was very good at mimicking Merlin. Arthur didn't even realize that he'd needed it at the time, but looking back, he probably would have had a panic attack as the imposter was marched to be hanged. He probably would have doubted himself at the last second and wondered if he really did believe the right Merlin those few days ago. But thankfully, Merlin thinks ahead sometimes and is actually quite thoughtful and wise on these such rare occasions.)

[waynes-multiverse]

Time After Time – Chapter 7

Summary: Unable to control your abilities, you’re stuck in the present with Billy Butcher, his team, and America’s first asshole. At this point, you’ve become Soldier Boy’s personal punching bag. But when an accident leaves you stranded in 1942, you run into a familiar face and suddenly rely on your future tormentor’s help as your only hope.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x supe!Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language, reader is a supe with chronokinesis (time manipulation), 1942 says hi, SB being a nice and kind human, freely invented historical gossip, major angst alert & a bit of fluff

Word Count: 10.5k

Posted on Patreon April 11, 2025

A/N: Three angsty converstions in this one, three women, and one very upset Ben! Plus, a deep dive into Mrs. Brooks! If ya can't tell by the word count again, I clearly loved writing this part 😂🫶 ✨ Chapter title comes from The Wizard of Oz (1939)

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 7: Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

It had been an agonizing hour of pacing, second-guessing, and questioning everything that had led you here – to this strange, impossible life you had stumbled into.

A huge fucking pile of steaming hot shit, basically.

You hadn’t been able to sit still since Ben’s parents returned, your thoughts racing in a thousand different directions. Each time your footsteps neared the door of the guest bedroom, they became anxiously quiet and soft, however, not wanting to alert anyone to your presence. Every moment in this mansion felt like a misstep, a mistake you couldn’t undo.

The knot in your stomach twisted tighter.

You should’ve left a long time ago, but you had gotten too comfortable here – too cozy and snuggly with Ben, like he was your goddamn security blanket. But you cared about him and cared about what would happen to him, so the last thing you wanted at this point was to cause any more trouble for him, especially with his father.

So, you decided to leave.

You started throwing a few outfits from your closet onto the bed, only wanting to take the most necessary items before realizing you didn’t even own a bag big enough to stuff it in. But you had your magical remote control back, so your plan was to hit pause on the whole fucking mansion, grab a suitcase from somewhere, sneak out, and maybe rob a bank for some pocket change on your way out of dodge.

Yup, good plan.

But what about Ben? Were you leaving him behind, too?

Realistically, you knew it was the smartest choice. As wonderful, otherworldly, and addicting as that newfound, blooming feeling in your heart was, you knew it wouldn’t lead anywhere but into turmoil. This relationship didn’t have a future.

Period.

Either you’d lie to him for the rest of both your lives – however long that would be – or you’d hurt him. There was no other option.

Could you tell him? Could he handle the truth? Vought didn’t even exist yet. Right now, the Nazis were working on Compound V. To Ben, people gaining superpowers would be an alien concept.

‘Hey, uh, by the way, I have superpowers that let me control time, and I’m also from the future, and we don’t actually like each other there. And oh, yeah, you’re still alive in 2023 because some crazy Nazi geneticist will inject you with this serum that turns you into an invincible asshole.’

Nope, you couldn’t imagine that conversation going over well. He’d be either incredibly mad or not believe you at all. Then what?

Fuck.

With fingers trembling, you moved toward the window, glancing out at the muddy street, knowing the path to your escape lay beyond the mansion’s high gates. You were in a mess of your own making – a mess that had to end before you caused any more disruptions. His father was back, and that in itself was a disaster waiting to happen.

It had all been doomed from the start.

But then, just as you were about to gather your courage to finally get the fuck out of here, a knock at the door startled you from your thoughts and broke the tension in the air. Cautiously, you approached it, hand hovering on the knob as you braced yourself for the inevitable.

However, as you twisted it and opened the door a crack, your eyebrows shot up in surprise as you spied your visitor. It wasn’t Ben, his father, or even his mother.

“Dottie?” Your brow furrowed in confusion before you noticed the silver tray with a plate of food and a cup of tea in her hands.

“I brought you something to eat,” she said as she stood in the doorway, her expression one of tentative curiosity. You quickly wiped your palms against your skirt, standing a little straighter as she entered and set the tray down on your nightstand.

“Did Florence or Frances send you?” you asked warily. You knew you weren’t her favorite person, but she shook her head.

“No, just figured you were hungry since you’re missing dinner. I didn’t think Florence wants you starving up here,” she replied, her lips curling into something between a smirk and a sigh. “You dodged a bullet there, by the way. Family dinner is a bit… tense tonight. Lots of awkward silences and judgmental glares. Not that it’s something new per se…”

You were close to a migraine the way you strained your brow, blinking at the young maid in bemusement and shaking your head. “Thank you, uhm… I honestly didn’t think you cared about me… or even liked me,” you noted with an uncertain smile.

Dottie eyed you with a hint of mischief and approval in her gaze, a secretive smirk playing on her lips. “You’re not like the other girls who have come and gone through here. They fall over themselves trying to impress Ben, you know? But you don’t play that game. It’s… refreshing. You’ve got some fire in you. I respect that.”

“Fire?” You cocked an eyebrow, sitting down on the edge of the bed to nibble on your food. You were almost too nervous to eat with your ever-knotted stomach.

Dottie gifted you a warm smile. “Yeah, I’ve heard how you talk to him. I also overheard what you said that night about me at dinner. You stood up for me. Just wanted to repay the favor.”

Your lips hiked a smile. “You’re welcome. And thank you… again.”

Your head bobbed, your fingers playing with a piece of bread roll. You were unsure if you should be flattered you were considered special or uncomfortable with the apparently long list of girls that had waltzed through this house.

Dottie seemed to notice your unease and plopped down on the mattress next to you. “Anyway, I thought you might need someone to talk to. We all like you, you know? The whole house. Especially George. He thinks you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met. You’re different.” She shrugged and sent you another encouraging smile.

Cheeks blushing, you swallowed thickly and met her gaze. “So, things are tense downstairs?”

“Oh, yeah. The old man is furious because Grace’s father called him in upset, saying his daughter had been crying all night because of what Benjamin did to her,” Dottie told you and rolled her eyes back, scoffing. “All fake, of course. Charlotte, the maid of the Du Pont’s, said she was completely fine and consoling herself with one of the Kennedy boys when they were visiting in Cape Cod.”

“Whoa, hold on…” You vividly shook your spinning head and held up a hand, blinking at Dottie’s waterfall of information. “Du Pont? As in the chemical industry empire?”

“That’s the one,” Dottie sang in bitter nonchalance, a bit of judgment swinging in her voice. She clearly wasn’t a fan of the people she worked for – the elite families that not only excluded people like her and you but also disregarded you as human beings altogether.

“And you guys talk among each other? I mean, the staff?”

Dottie snorted a laugh, heavily nodding. “Yes, we gossip a lot. These people always think they’re better than us, but they got more shit on them than you can find in a pigsty.”

You weren’t as shocked by the revelation as you probably should’ve been. In this house, the gossip was as much a part of the walls as the portraits and velvet curtains.

“And Grace got with a Kennedy?” you asked, not resisting the curiosity bubbling inside of you and seeing Dottie nod. “Which one?”

“I think it was the oldest – Jack,” she replied.

You gaped at her. “John F. Kennedy?!”

Dottie giggled at your reaction. “Yes, I believe so. Do you know him, too?”

Innocently, you pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, no, not all. Just heard of him, you know?”

Jesus fuck, Kennedy might have gotten around as much as Soldier Boy. And if those rumors of The Legend were true, did Soldier Boy kill the future president for personal reasons?

Now you understood why the Kennedy assassination had attracted so many conspiracy theories. Well, you could check, theoretically, and see for yourself…

Nope. Don���t open that Pandora’s box!

“Look,” Dottie said after a pause, chewing softly on her lower lip in thought, “I’m sorry if I’ve been a little cold toward you. It’s not personal. I just don’t like the way Ben’s been acting recently. It’s... complicated.”

Your brows drew together as you watched the young woman next to you. “Complicated?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Honestly, complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it. You don’t know the half of it. You’re not the only one who feels out of place here, you know?”

“What d’you mean?”

Dottie leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a quieter, more intimate tone. “Ben’s a good guy, but he’s got a bit of a soft spot for… the wrong things. Florence talks about him like he’s still that little boy who needs his daddy’s approval. I know how it happened, you know – how he ended up with Grace? It wasn’t his idea. It was his father’s. And you know what? Grace wasn’t exactly an unwilling participant in that either. She begged her father to arrange the engagement.”

Her words hit you harder than you expected. You’d known about Grace, but you’d never heard the full story. “She begged?”

Dottie’s lips twisted into something halfway between a grimace and a smile. “Yeah, she begged,” she confirmed, hazel eyes glinting with a mixture of bitterness and amusement. “She thought she could change his mind, get him to fall for her. They had a fling, sure, but she knew Ben didn’t want her like that. They had a big argument about it a few days before. She stormed off, screaming he’d regret it.”

The weight of Dottie’s words pressed down on you, but before you could respond, she carried on.

“His father then announced the engagement at one of his parties here before even telling Ben about it. I mean, he didn’t even ask,” Dottie shared in exasperation. “Ben couldn’t stand it, so he rebelled in the only way he knew how. He found me, we got drunk and pissed off and then ended up in a closet together,” she said matter-of-factly, her tone flat and almost casual, but you could hear the bitter undertones of a scorned woman. “Ben had always been nice to me, you know? We’d gotten along, so when he came to me that night, I thought it was different. But he started ignoring me after. Couldn’t look at me – like I didn’t even exist... So yeah, I guess you could say I’m a little mad at him.”

You hesitated, studying Dottie’s face, looking for any hint of malice. But there was none – just brutal honesty. And you knew what this was by now. Just like Florence on your first day here, Dottie was warning you before you stepped off the ledge and fell.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Dottie said when you still sat in silence, “I’m not trying to paint him as a bad guy. I’m telling you because I care, alright? I just think you should know what’s going on around here. Ben’s got his demons, and his family is a nightmare. He can’t escape what his father’s set up for him. He’s got a leash on Ben, and the pressure’s never going to let up.”

Her words cut through the haze of your thoughts like a sharp blade. You nodded slowly, unsure how to respond. You’d seen bits of that pressure already.

“No, I get it. I appreciate it, Dottie. Thank you,” you said softly. “But Ben’s not like his father. At least, he doesn’t have to be.”

Dottie shrugged, as if the truth was somewhere in between. “Maybe. But Mr. Brooks got a tight grip on him. The kind of grip that can make anyone do things they don’t want to. Even Ben.”

A pang of sympathy reminded you of Florence’s story once more – and all the other cruel acts you’d witnessed in your dreams. Were you blind or just foolish for believing he could change the path he was on?

“Ben’s not as immune to his father as he pretends to be. He’s not as strong as he thinks. Don’t get it twisted. His father’s got his claws in him,” Dottie emphasized. “You’re not the first distraction Ben’s found. Just-… be careful, alright? You don’t know what you’re getting into, but if you’re going to be a part of it–,” she paused, her eyes flicking back to your scattered clothes all over the bed, “–you better be sure about it.”

“Thank you, Dottie.” You nodded with a heavy lump in your throat.

She gently clasped your hand on the bed in a comforting manner and then sent you a kind smile, pulling out a deck of cards from the pockets of her apron. “How about we distract you for a little while, huh? You know how to play Gin Rummy?”

Your lips rose to a smile. “I haven’t played before, but I’m willing to learn.”

Dottie giggled, shuffling the cards in her hands. “Alright, how about I teach you the rules if you tell me about college?”

“Deal.” You grinned.

The clock read past midnight, the only sound coming from the shuffle of cards and the occasional giggles and whispered stories between you and Dottie. The minutes stretched on as you tried to forget what was happening downstairs, Dottie’s words of warning still running on a loop through your mind.

It couldn’t be a good sign that two people in this house have warned you now, could it? Shouldn’t you listen at some point?

An abrupt knock at the door ripped the two of you from your game and disrupted the fragile peace, Dottie’s eyes widening in panic. You both knew who it was.

“Shit,” Dottie muttered and hurried to gather the cards from the bed, stuffing them back into her apron. She hid in a blind corner of the room as you moved to answer the door, not opening it more than a crack.

“Hey,” you said softly and feigned an innocent smile as you met Ben’s gaze, noticing immediately he wasn’t alright. His usually shining emerald eyes carried a glaze, his smile turning lopsided as he took you in with a leer, but the distinct smell of whiskey that clung to him like a second skin was the dead giveaway.

“You’re still awake. I was hoping you’d be. Came to check up on you, sweetheart.” He smirked with shaky pupils.

Before you could stop him, he stumbled forward into the room on unsteady legs and fell straight into your arms. His large hands found purchase on your hips, dragging you closer against his body. He captured your lips, eager, hungry, and with a sloppiness that told you he had a few glasses too many.

You were close to pushing him away, hands already softly pressing against his chest before noticing Dottie trying to sneak past him, so you deepened the kiss instead, your arms winding around his neck, causing a groan to rumble through him. But on her last step, the door creaked on its hinges, and Dottie froze as Ben’s head snapped up.

Glassy eyes wide, he warily turned to the young maid, brow wrinkling into more creases than a crumpled letter. “Dottie? The fuck are you doing here?”

You placed your hand on his arm, forcing him to look at you and ground him at the same time. “She-, uh, she brought me dinner. Florence sent her. She didn’t want me to starve. You know how she gets about food,” you deflected with a giggle.

“Right.” Ben nodded, eyes flickering back and forth between Dottie and you.

“And you know, I guess I got a little nervous, so she’s been keeping me company. We’ve been playing cards,” you added with a reassuring smile, already anticipating his next question as you watched the cogs in his head turn.

“Oh.” Ben licked his lips for a moment and then looked at Dottie. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dottie said, sending you a quick look of gratefulness.

“And, uhm, Dottie?” Upon Ben’s call, Dottie halted in the doorway, shoulders tense on her way to freedom. “I’m sorry…” he said, surprising you both as you shared a raised look with the maid. “About what-, uhm… what happened, you know?”

“It’s-, uh, it’s okay,” she replied, eyes flicking toward you, clearly unsure of how to respond. You gave a slight shake of your head, and she subtly cleared her throat. “I mean, it’s not okay… but I-, I forgive you.”

You gave her a quick thumbs up, and as Ben looked over his shoulder at you, brow knitted in suspicion, Dottie quickly fled down the hall and closed the door behind her.

Yeah, you might’ve been coaching her a little in those last few hours on how to deal with assholes like him in the future (which you realized was super ironic). But if you couldn’t save yourself from that man’s charm, at least you could save the rest of your gender.

“Didn’t know you and Dottie were friends,” Ben noted, turning his full attention to you now.

“Oh, uhm, it’s a new thing,” you said quickly, and it wasn’t even a lie. You gave a shrug of your shoulders. “I like her.”

“Yeah? What’s she been whispering into your ear, huh?” His voice was rough, his fingers gentle as they brushed along your cheek.

“She didn’t say anything, okay?”

Ben’s lips curled, clearly not believing you. “You know, I didn’t mean to… hurt her.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt those people.”

“Heard that one before,” you muttered, scoffing under your breath. You averted your eyes to the floor, the motion causing Ben’s hand to drop from your face.

“What?” There was no anger in his voice, only confusion.

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look at him. “‘Cause you’re not a bad guy, right?” you said a little louder, feeling the drops of venom like castor oil on your tongue.

And Ben picked up on it, his brows drawing together, facial muscles twitching as he tried to solve what triggered the change in mood. What happened between now and the moment you’d shared in the drawing room only a few hours ago?

You knew you were being indecisive. You knew you were being unfair. But you couldn’t let go of that feeling. That tiny, tingling thing that kept gnawing at every bit inside of you. The feeling that kept screaming at you that something was amiss. It was there – right there.

And you still couldn’t fucking grasp it.

Ben contemplated, then smacked his lips, taking a step closer to you and ironing out his brow a little. “No, I-… Well, I’m no Boy Scout, but you know me.”

Your mouth opened and closed, lips trembling. You didn’t know how to respond. He was both right and wrong. But it all sounded too fucking familiar. It was that maddening feeling of déjà vu all over again.

One long stride of bow legs, and Ben was only mere inches away from you, warm palms cupping your cheeks like you were a precious gift, rough thumbs stroking along your cheekbones, and hot breath tickling your skin like a whispered breeze in summer heat. You melted in his grasp in a matter of seconds like an ice cube on hot asphalt.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier,” he said, deep voice only a low murmur against the shell of your ear as he tucked a strand of hair behind it, careful like you could break in his hold. “Just hadn’t exactly broken the news yet that you’re staying here, y’know?”

“Ben–” You sighed, trying to clear the fog from your mind with a shake of your head.

“But I did now, okay?” he cut through that first brick in your wall of defense. The tip of his nose dragged against yours, coaxing. “I want you here, alright?” His lips ghosted over yours, a faint brush, barely there but enough to make you feel the heat crawling into your lower belly. “Had kind of a rough night. Thought you could make me feel better.”

He claimed your lips with a bruising force before he’d even breathed out his last word. The scent of expensive whiskey and nicotine enveloped you and clouded your mind. He smelled like he drank a liquor store and smoked a pack, but you couldn’t resist the pull – the desire, the chemistry. Your head was floating, but doubt still kept your feet tethered to the ground.

“Ben, don’t,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady, but it wavered despite your efforts. “Not like this. You’re drunk.”

“Don’t give a damn. Maybe I need to be drunk to feel something real for once. I need this. Need you,” he muttered, words slurred, voice rough.

He leaned in then, plump lips sinfully trailing down the column of your throat. The world seemed to stop spinning on its axis, your heart racing in your chest as he slid his hand to the back of your neck, tugging you closer.

For a moment, you gave in and almost let yourself go, forgetting every drop of worry and fear that plagued your mind. His hands moved to your waist, grip tightening as he pushed you flush against his blazing body. But the blinking red alarm inside of you reminded you of the lines you didn’t want to cross.

“Ben…” Your hands pushed against his chest, gentle but firm.

He stopped then, breathing ragged and confusion gleaming in the lush green of his eyes. His gaze drifted to your face, lingering there, as if searching for something he wasn’t sure he’d find. “I want you. Don’t you want me too, hm?”

The air thickened around you, sharp and overwhelming, threatening to suffocate you as you wrung for words. His thumb traced over your bottom lip, heavy against the soft, pink flesh. His pull was magnetic, his need evident.

“I don’t wanna be just another distraction for you,” you said quietly, voice shaking slightly, heart hammering in your throat. You tried to sound firm, but the way his eyes held you made your breath hitch.

Ben stepped back, hurt flashing across his freckled face like you’d just knocked the wind right out of him. His presence felt too large in the room, his emotions pressing down on you.

“A distraction?” His eyes hardened, his expression twisting with frustration and something darker. “That what you think you are? What Dottie told you? She’s been filling your head with this shit, hasn’t she?”

You flinched at the mention of Dottie’s name, not wanting to drag her into your mess. You hesitated with a thick swallow, tension creeping into your shoulders. “It’s not about her.”

“Damn right, it isn’t,” Ben huffed, shaking his head. And then, his eyes landed on the bed – on your clothes spread out, half-packed. He froze, demeanor shifting immediately, color draining from his face. “What the hell is going on here? Are you fucking leaving me?” The baritone voice was suddenly sharp now, carrying an edge that cut through the haze of his drunkenness.

“I don’t wanna cause more trouble for you,” you confessed quietly, panic rising in your chest.

“So that’s it? Just like that? You’re just gonna fucking walk out on me?” His voice was jagged with emotion, gripping a handful of his hair in disbelief.

“No, but I-… I don’t belong here, okay?” you argued, your tone laced with desperation. What else could you say?

“Dammit, you think I don’t fucking know that?” His jaw tightened, and for a heartbeat, there was an unsettling silence between you two. “Look, I don’t know what the fuck Dottie told you, but this-… this isn’t some game to me. You think I do this with everyone? That I’m using you because I’m bored? That I’m just some spoiled rich kid who gets whatever I want?” He stared at you, disappointment, incredulity, and betrayal swimming in his eyes.

You shook your head, your heart thumping painfully in your ribcage. “I didn’t say that. But Ben... I don’t know what I am to you… what this is.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He scoffed bitterly, running a hand through the disheveled, dirty blond locks. “I’ve told you things… things I’ve never told anyone before. I’ve let you into parts of my life that I don’t show anyone else.”

“I know. I just–”

But Ben cut you off, his frustration spilling over. “I’ve been nothing but honest with you. And this is how you repay me? By fucking running away? You’re not walking out on me. Not like this.”

Your heart stuttered, the words cutting deep and tightening your chest, aware he was right in a way, knowing he’d put himself on the line for you – more than you’d ever expected him to. But you couldn’t ignore the doubts that rose inside you.

“I’m scared, okay?” you admitted, your voice only a whisper, and it made his eyes soften slightly. “I don’t know if I can trust you.”

Ben shook his head, huffing a humorless laugh, almost amused. “Oh, you think I can’t be trusted? That I haven’t given you enough reason to?” He stepped closer, his look pointed. “Kinda ironic, don’t you think? I don’t even know your real name. I don’t know a fucking thing about you, and yet, here you are, accusing me of being dishonest. You really think I’ve been fucking lying to you?"

You didn't respond. Silence.

"If you want to walk away, then go. But don’t you dare tell me you’re just a distraction. That’s insulting. I’ve been nothing but honest with you. I’ve given you everything I can, and you think I’m just trying to fuck around?”

You stood there, speechless, caught between the weight of his words and the fear that still clawed at your heart. Ben stepped closer again, his features softening just slightly, as if trying to calm the storm inside both of you. The promise of something more, something different with him, tore at the part of you that had been holding back.

“How do you know I’m the right person for you? You don’t even know what you want. And you’re right, you know? You don’t know me. Not in the way it matters. Not in the way you should,” you said, barely above a trembling whisper, the tears pricking your eyes.

“Then tell me,” he demanded, voice softer now, almost pleading. “Tell me who you are. Tell me your real name. Anything, really.”

Your breath caught in your throat, head shaking. “I can’t. I never meant to keep things from you, but I can’t tell you either. I’m sorry.”

Ben rubbed his mouth with his fingers, head bobbing in thought. “Look, maybe I haven’t made my intentions clear enough with you, but I care about you. I don’t know everything, but I know that I want you. I want this. All of it. The whole damn mess, alright?”

The raw emotion in his voice made you falter, but you couldn’t let yourself be swayed. You looked up at him, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could be telling the truth. That there was something worth fighting for here. The vulnerability in his green eyes made your knees weak, cracking both his armor and your walls.

Ben stared at you for a long moment, the hurt, confusion, and anger warring on his face. Then, without warning, he took a step toward you, closing the space between you two for good, and you swore you could even feel his wildly beating heart in his chest. He searched your face for something, a connection to hold onto, his hands slightly outstretched like he was reaching for you.

“Maybe it’s not meant to be.” The words stung as they left you, the first tear slipping down your cheek.

Ben’s resolve crumbled then and there. He pulled you into his embrace, softly kissing the top of your head as you sobbed into his chest. And then he just held you like this for a moment. You’d never felt fucking safer while your heart was breaking.

“Hey, look at me.” Gently, he lifted your chin, wiping your wet cheeks with his thumbs. “You think this is easy for me? You think I don’t want to change things?” He held your gaze, eyes intense as the weight of his words hung between you. “I can’t just walk away from everything, but I’m trying. I swear, I’m trying to figure this all out, but you have to let me.”

“How?” Your voice cracked, the fear of getting too close, of falling too hard threatening to crush you.

Ben cupped your cheeks, the kiss on your temple an oath. “I’ll make it work, okay? I don’t know what else to say, but I promise I will. I’ll find a way out of all this... for both of us. But I need you here. I need you with me. I can’t do this alone. I don’t wanna go back to that life without you in it. I just need you to trust me, okay? I need you to believe in me.”

You could see it then, clear as day – he was afraid of losing you, the desperation brimming in the green seas of his eyes. You were his lifeline, the last thing that held his head above water and kept him from drowning in his father.

“I swear I’ll take you with me, wherever that it is. I’ll take care of you. I’ll fight for you. I’ll protect you. All I need is a little more time. Can you give that to me? Can you do that?”

The heaviness of a decision almost decimated you, but for the first time since you’d entered his world, the fear of losing him was stronger than the fear of staying.

You nodded, hesitantly at first before it became stronger – certain. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll stay.”

The space between you evaporated then as he closed the gap, pressing his lips to yours with a force that left you breathless. His mouth was desperate, clinging to the assurance that you were still here. Still with him.

The kiss wasn’t just a kiss – it was everything. It was apology and regret. It was yearning. It was fear.

Ben was kissing you like he never wanted to lose you again, as if each second was a prayer that you’d stay. He pulled you even closer, his hands threading through your hair, his body so tightly against yours like he was trying to make sure you were real. To make sure he hadn’t just imagined this moment.

You melted into him, your hands gripping his shirt, your heart beating faster than it had in days, weeks, months, maybe years. The kiss deepened, grew more urgent, as if he was trying to tell you everything in the language of touch, in the frantic meeting of lips and breath – everything he could never say out loud.

You felt the warmth of his skin, the blazing heat of him, and you realized you both were clinging to the fragile thread that held you together, afraid to let go.

When he pulled back, both of you panting, there was a quiet between you that spoke louder than any words ever could. His eyes searched yours, his thumb caressing your cheek, forehead resting against yours.

Ben licked his lips, still holding onto you as he shut his eyes for a beat, his chest still rising and falling with the remnants of the kiss. “Look, uhm, I hate doing this to you right now, but my father wants me to leave with him for two weeks,” he told you, voice heavy with exhaustion before a dark scoff escaped him. “Wants to show me how business is really done.”

You cupped his cheeks softly, looking up at him. “Don’t let him get to you, okay? You’re smarter than him.”

Ben’s lips twitched with a small smile, nodding like he understood. “My mother’s staying here with you, but don’t worry about it. I doubt she’ll bother you. She doesn’t really care about anything. I told them you’re a friend from school, so just go with that.”

“What school did you go to?”

“Choate. It’s in Connecticut,” Ben replied, a hint of amusement in his smile, noticing how carefully you were solidifying your alibi. “But it’s an all-boys school. You would’ve gone to Rosemary Hall.”

You grimaced. “So, total sausage fest, huh?”

Ben snorted a loud laugh, throwing his head back. “Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart.” He chuckled and pulled you against his chest, resting his chin on top of your head. “You know, sometimes I wonder what school taught you all those words.”

You giggled, burying your face into his dress shirt. “Oh, college taught me those. You would know if you’d gone.”

“Ouch.” A deep and amused laugh rumbled through his chest.

“Didn’t John Kennedy attend Choate as well?”

Ben’s head tilted slightly. You could feel the movement atop of yours. “How do you know Jack?” He inched back slightly, peering down at you with a raised look. “Something you wanna tell me, sweetheart?”

You snorted into his chest, shaking your head. “No, nothing like that, I swear. I just heard of him.”

“Oh, so it was just me you were immune to, huh?” Ben retorted, but you recognized the playfulness in his voice. It was your favorite side of him.

“Guess so,” you teased, giggling.

“Well, thank fucking God you didn’t sleep with him,” Ben muttered as he tightened his arms around you. “I hate that guy. Total fucking pussy.”

“Didn’t he graduate Harvard?” you muttered, feeling Ben’s jaw grind on top of your head. Yeah, you weren’t doing JFK any favors now.

“Well, he didn’t make it into the Army. I can tell you that much,” Ben blew right past your point, making you stifle a chuckle. “Heard he got a placement in the Navy, though.”

“Huh. Kinda sexy,” you quipped. Teasing. “He’ll probably learn a lot of sailor talk.”

Ben’s lips pursed in amusement as he looked down at you and was met with your grin. “Yeah, also probably gonna be a real sausage fest on that boat.”

You let out a crippling laugh, burying yourself in his chest as he joined you. Of course he’d only learn the things you didn’t want him to learn.

Ben’s fingers then snuck under your chin, lifting your lips to meet his. The kiss was soft, gentle – a goodbye. “You’re gonna be okay here?”

You nodded reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be here when you come back.”

Ben didn’t say anything, but his Adam’s apple bobbed with a thick swallow, eyes gleaming with a mixture of relief and gratitude before he pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was a tender, almost reverent gesture, and it made your heart swell.

Exhaling a long breath, he let go of you and turned to leave, his shoulders slumping more with every step he took toward the life he didn’t want. He paused at the door, his hand on the knob, and for a moment, he seemed smaller, more fragile, like the weight of everything he’d been holding in was finally starting to break him.

“I’ll never stop fighting for you,” he said with conviction as he looked at you one last time, raspy voice laden with words he couldn’t say. A promise. “Never.”

And deep down, you knew then that no matter how hard things would get over the next decades, you’d never let go, either.

The door closed for the last time that night, and then, Ben was gone.

The mansion felt quieter the next morning, Ben having left with his father for DC before the break of dawn. After getting dressed properly for breakfast for once, you descended the grand staircase, your footsteps quiet on the polished wooden floors.

You spied Margaret Brooks, Ben’s mother, sitting in the sunroom, but before entering, you decided to make a quick pit stop in the kitchen, where the faint murmurs of the staff seeped through the door.

As you stepped inside, the three women were busy at their tasks. Florence was bent over a pot on the stove, her movements brisk and efficient. Dottie was humming to herself as she arranged flowers on the counter. Frances, a bit more weathered and stern, was dusting the shelves, her eyes darting disapprovingly at Dottie, who had a tendency to daydream more than work.

“Good morning, ladies,” you said softly, your voice low enough not to carry too far.

“No breakfast in the kitchen, young lady,” Florence reminded you swiftly, which you countered with a knowing smile.

“Don’t worry, Florence. I’ll be outta your hair in a minute,” you said, making Dottie snort a giggle. “Just-… Before I go in there, can you guys give me the down-low on Mrs. Brooks?”

“The down-low?” Frances cocked a brow at you.

“Yes, the details,” you corrected. Half of your vocabulary was practically useless in 1942. “What’s her deal? Why is she so… withdrawn?”

After Dottie’s revelation last night, you thought you might as well make use of the love for gossip in this house.

Florence didn’t look up from the stove, her hands moving quickly with purpose. “She’s always been quiet,” she replied, her voice neutral but not unkind. “But over the years... well, she shut herself off. Hard to blame her. Her husband isn’t a good man, not to her or to Benjamin.”

Dottie, who had been nervously twisting the flower stems in her hands, let out a little sigh. “Yeah, Mr. Brooks is awful. He treats her like she doesn’t matter. And now she’s kind of… well, I think she just gave up. You know, stopped trying.”

Frances, who had been listening intently, fixed Dottie with a sharp look. “Not everything is so simple, Dottie. Mrs. Brooks has always been a lady – always. She’s tried for years, but the man she married–” She sighed, her voice dropping. “It broke her. And now she watches the boy becoming just like him. It’s no wonder she retreats.”

You could feel the undercurrent of sadness in the house, a grief that wasn’t just tied to the past but to the present, too.

“I see,” you said quietly, your mind racing as you thought of what you could do. You glanced at the three women. “Well, I think I’ll go see if I can say hi to Mrs. Brooks this morning. She must be lonely.”

Florence gave you a distracted nod, her attention still on her cooking. Dottie shot you a hopeful look, while Frances simply grunted in acknowledgment, not sure how much help you’d be.

You sauntered into the sunroom, the air cool inside and the glass panes still thick with the chill of winter. Outside, patches of snow clung stubbornly to the ground, a few spots melting into sluggish pools. However, along the edges of the garden, the first hint of spring dared to show – croci pushing up through the soil, small and defiant against the lingering cold as they waited for the thaw.

It only reminded you of how long you’d already been here. It felt like an entirely different life at this point. Had Ben been serious last night? And what did it even all mean?

He said a lot, but you weren’t sure your head woke up any clearer this morning.

The future was an unknown, and you weren’t used to that feeling.

As you entered, Mrs. Brooks sat at the small round table by the window, her face drawn, her green eyes distant as she stared into the steam rising from her cup of tea. She didn’t seem to notice you at first, and when she finally lifted her gaze, it was with a quiet recognition.

“Good morning, Mrs. Brooks,” you said, smiling softly. “I’m not sure if your son has mentioned me. I’m a friend from school. Benjamin’s been kind enough to let me stay here for a while.”

“Oh, I believe he mentioned something like that, yes,” she said in a soft, tired voice, her lips curling just slightly at the corners. “You’ll have to excuse me. I wasn’t listening to everything last night. I was quite exhausted after the long travel, and that boy never knows when to stop.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. Ben does have a way of going on, doesn’t he?” You smiled gently at her words and sat down across from her. “Ben did tell me a little bit about all your wonderful tea parties, though. He said you liked going to tea rooms as well. What are they like? I have to admit I’ve never been to one myself.”

At the mere mention, Mrs. Brooks’ posture seemed to shift ever so slightly. Her eyes sparkled, and you saw something like life stir behind them, as if your words had opened a door she hadn’t realized was there.

“Oh, tea rooms,” she repeated, her voice soft and reflective. “I used to love them. So charming. So civilized, you know? A proper place to spend the afternoon with a good cup of tea. I haven’t been to one in ages, not since...”

She trailed off, her gaze becoming distant again, but then something changed – her eyes brightened just a little, like a light flickering on.

“You’ve never been?” she asked, her tone a mixture of surprise and mild disbelief. You shook your head. “Oh, my dear, it’s almost a must for a young lady to experience. A proper tea room, with all the delicate china and the soft music in the background – it’s simply marvelous.” She sat up straighter in her chair then, the flicker of a genuine smile appearing on her lips. “I should take you, shouldn’t I? There’s one in the city I adored. It’s been years since I’ve gone, but I’m sure it’s just as lovely as it was. Would you like to go? This afternoon, perhaps?”

You couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope inside of you, seeing that flicker of light in her. “I’d love that. Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” you said with a warm smile.

“How wonderful! Then it’s settled. We’ll go!” She clasped her hands together with joy. “Do you have something to wear? I could call my seamstress, Ms. Vivian, for you.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Benjamin already did that,” you replied, hoping for dear life you didn’t have to endure another makeover. You were already sacrificing yourself like a lamb for slaughter by agreeing to this.

“Well, good.” She nodded and sipped on her tea, muttering, “Seems like I’ve done something right with that boy, after all…”

Well, judging by that statement, you were surely in for an interesting afternoon.

The soft tinkling of porcelain cups and quiet chatter filled the air of the elegant, well-lit tea room as Margaret Brooks looked across the table at you, her plump lips curling into a rare smile. She had almost forgotten how much she enjoyed these outings – the delicate atmosphere of the tea room, the soft hum of conversation. She had imagined, for so many years, that one day she would have a daughter to share these moments with.

Unfortunately, that hadn’t come to pass.

Instead, you sat across from her, eager eyes wide as you took in the ambiance. Mrs. Brooks noticed the nervousness in your posture, the way you clutched your teacup a little too tightly and stared at the other girls, feeling utterly out of place.

“Isn’t it charming?” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice light, almost affectionate. “I’ve been coming here for years. There’s something about the smell of the Earl Grey and the clink of silver spoons that makes you forget the world outside. You’ll grow to love it, I’m sure.”

You gave a nervous nod, your lips curving upward in an awkward imitation of a smile. “I’m not really used to places like this.”

You hesitated, glancing around the room at the white-gloved waitstaff and the carefully arranged plates of scones and finger sandwiches, wondering how many distractions Ben had found here and hoping you wouldn’t run into any of them. You could certainly feel the occasional looks and quiet whispers directed at you.

Mrs. Brooks chuckled softly, her gaze warm as she met your eyes. “One gets used to it. It's like breathing. I’ve been doing this for years, and there's nothing wrong with forgetting the world in here, just for a moment.” She leaned in slightly, her tone dropping conspiratorially. “Don’t be nervous, Cindy. It’s only tea and gossip, and we all need a little of both.”

Something in Mrs. Brooks’ tone calmed you slightly. It was as though she was slowly pulling you into her orbit – offering more than just a tea outing, but a sense of belonging, of understanding.

“Look over there,” Mrs. Brooks continued, gesturing subtly with her gloved hand, clearly eager to share more. “Do you see that woman sitting by the window? That’s Mrs. Berwick. She’s very fond of trying to climb the social ladder, always inserting herself into the right circles. Her husband’s a banker, but don’t let that fool you – he’s a dreadful bore."

You snorted a laugh and leaned in, intrigued despite yourself. You couldn’t help but feel a little lighter. Mrs. Brooks had a certain warmth now that softened her more formal edges.

“And there,” she carried on, “that’s Mrs. Hadley. She’s got more money than God, but she’s also got a tongue that can cut glass. No one dares to cross her, but I’ve never cared much for her. She’s the type who never forgets a slight.”

“Seems like they all have their… quirks,” you noted, amused, remembering Dottie’s words.

“Quirks,” Mrs. Brooks repeated with a smile. “Yes, one might call them that.” Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in closer to you, lowering her voice. “But there’s one thing they all have in common: They love to gossip. It’s their favorite pastime. And I’m sure,” she added, giving you a knowing look, “they’ll be more than eager to talk about you.” You stiffened, but Mrs. Brooks, oblivious to your discomfort, sipped her tea and continued. “Don’t mind them. They’re all still talking about Benjamin, I’m sure. The whole lot of them think they have some sort of claim on him. But they don’t, do they?”

At her little wink, your heart almost dropped to the sparkling marble floor. Did she know? But you figured it was easy to suspect if she knew her son even a little.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Brooks! I haven’t seen you here in ages.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the familiar voice. You’d heard it once before, even if it had been louder and more upset than now.

Grace.

Mrs. Brooks’ expression flickered momentarily before settling into something more controlled. “Grace, dear,” she said with a polite smile, turning her head toward the speaker. Her tone was cool, masking any warmth. “You’re looking well.”

Your stomach dropped when you saw the woman standing at the table: tall, blonde, impeccably dressed in a way that screamed money and status – poised and perfect. By now, you’d heard plenty about Ben’s destined fiancée, but seeing her in person was another matter.

Her blonde hair was sculpted into a flawless wave. She wore an elegant dress with the subtle sheen of luxury and a sharp gaze that seemed to take in every detail of you with calculating precision.

Grace gave a sly smile, icy blue eyes flickering to you. “I couldn’t resist coming by. I simply had to see Benjamin’s current project.” She tilted her head slightly, a deliberate gesture, and leaned down to examine you like you were a specimen under a microscope. “Interesting choice.”

Did that bitch just call you a fucking project?!

You didn’t flinch under her scrutiny, however. You’d been dealing with bitches like that your whole life. The only tragedy about this was that you couldn’t rant about her to your friends – the hot blonde, the gay redhead, and the mute Asian chick.

Fuck. Why the hell couldn’t you remember their names? You swore they were on the tip of your tongue. Was it Andy, Mabel, and Kim? No, that sounded wrong. Dammit!

“I think I’ve seen you before, right? And you are?” Grace asked, her voice dripping with feigned sweetness as she looked at you.

“Cindy,” you replied with a slight edge.

“Ah, Cindy,” Grace repeated, like she was tasting the name. “Such a... simple name. How quaint.” She smiled then, a thin, shark-like smirk, and you were blood in the water. “I must say, I’m surprised to see you out and about. Benjamin has always been so... difficult to predict. But I suppose you already know that, don’t you?”

Unbothered by her baiting, you took a casual sip of tea. “Oh, I know exactly who he is, Grace. Better than you.”

Grace’s smile tightened. “How refreshing,” she said, then looked over at Mrs. Brooks. “I do hope Benjamin’s settled down by now. I hear he’s been a bit of a... free spirit lately. He always had a rebellious streak. He gets bored rather quickly.”

Mrs. Brooks stiffened slightly, but she recovered quickly, placing her teacup down with a slight clink. “My son is a grown man, dear. He’ll make his own decisions, as he always does.”

“Of course,” Grace replied smoothly, though there was a clear, sharp edge to her words.

“‘Sides, aren’t you a bit of a free spirit as well?” you quipped with an innocent smirk. “I heard about you and Jack Kennedy in Cape Cod. How’s that going?”

“Oh, you are seeing Jack?” Margaret chimed in with delight, but you could tell her smile was as taunting as yours was.

Grace’s face fell abruptly. “Yes, it’s… going,” she replied quickly, subtly clearing her throat. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her lips twisting into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she leaned in, her tone almost too sweet. “I imagine you must be enjoying the novelty of being with someone like Benjamin. Here you are, in the lap of luxury. It’s a bit of a thrill, isn’t it, darling? But you know, I should warn you – Ben isn’t exactly the most reliable partner. I do hope, for your sake, you’re not just a phase.”

You were about to slap her harder than she’d slapped Ben at that diner. Would it matter to history if you choked her right now?

You forced a tight-lipped smile as you ground your teeth. “Thank you for the warning, but I’m not here to judge him for his past.”

If anything, you were judging him for his future.

“Well, that’s nice,” Grace pressed through her teeth, her polite mask finally crumbling. “But you don’t get it, do you? You’re just the latest distraction, darling. Someone to amuse himself with, and as soon as this little rebellion ends, he’ll come crawling back to someone who knows the rules, and you’ll be just another notch in his belt.”

Jesus fucking Christ, why did he always have to date the biggest bitch in the room? And you’d once thought Crimson Countess was a piece of work.

But you grew up in a trailer park in fucking Jersey. If a girl like Grace thought she could scare you off with a few words, she had another thing coming.

“You think you know everything, don’t you?” You looked at her challengingly, not an ounce of fear in your voice. “Here’s the thing – Ben’s not a puppet for his father. He makes his own choices. You’re not his future, Grace. You’re the past. Trust me on that one.”

Grace’s eyes blazed with a venomous glare. “Well, we’ll see how long this lasts, darling. I do hope you won’t make a fool out of yourself.”

You were about to open your mouth again before Mrs. Brooks cut in, her tone suddenly sharp, a protective edge in her voice. “Enough, Grace. We all know about Benjamin’s history. You’ve made your point, and it’s getting tiresome.”

Grace’s eyes fixed on Ben’s mother, a muscle twitching in her jaw. She clearly hadn’t expected that. “Well, it’s so lovely to see you two getting along. I mustn’t take up too much of your time, Mrs. Brooks. It was nice running into you both. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

With that, Grace stormed off, her heels clicking on the sparkling marble. You exhaled a slow breath, slumping back into your chair. But as you glanced at Mrs. Brooks, you saw the faintest glimmer of approval in her eyes.

“You handled her beautifully, dear,” Ben’s mother said, her tone soft but genuine. “Don’t let women like her make you question yourself. They thrive on making others doubt their worth, but you’ve got something she doesn’t – confidence and a damn backbone.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” you said, your heart swelling with gratitude. “That woman really knows how to lay it on thick, doesn’t she?”

Mrs. Brooks rolled her eyes in exhaustion. “She’s always been like that. Charming when it suits her and venomous when she feels threatened. I’m almost glad Benjamin’s been so awful to her. God knows I couldn’t have endured another dinner with that girl in my house.”

You snorted under your breath, chuckling.

“You know, I was just like you when I first arrived here – someone who didn’t quite fit in.” Margaret leaned back in her chair with a faint smile, the faraway look in her eyes sharpening, a subtle sadness creeping into her voice. “Before I met Benjamin’s father, I came from humble beginnings, you know? My parents were good, hardworking people. We didn’t have much money – just a small house in the lower part of town. My father was a carpenter, working long hours, and my mother would sew clothes for other people, often staying up well past midnight, just to make sure we had enough to get by. But there was a beauty in that simplicity. I used to take walks through the alleys, admiring the flowers growing between the cracks in the sidewalks. We didn't have wealth, but we had love, you know? And we had each other.”

You listened intently, your heart breaking a bit for her, knowing that wasn’t what she had now with her own family.

“I remember,” she continued, a slight smile tugging at her lips, “how we’d all gather in the kitchen at night. It was small, but it was ours. My mother would hum while she worked, and my father would tell me stories about how he built his first house with his own two hands. He was proud of that. And I was proud of him.”

You couldn’t help but notice the way Mrs. Brooks’ voice softened when she spoke about her parents. There was a sadness there, a longing for something simple and real that had been lost somewhere along the way.

“I can’t imagine you like that. It sounds so different from who you are now,” you said softly.

Mrs. Brooks gave a gentle laugh, her gaze growing even more distant. “I was just a girl back then. I had no idea what awaited me. But when I met Richard, everything changed.” She paused, her voice darkening slightly as she pushed away the memories of her childhood, like the warmth they brought was something she couldn’t bear to hold on to for too long. “He was everything I’d never known. He was wealthy, educated, and had the kind of connections that I could only dream of. He swept me off my feet. He promised me a life of comfort, luxury, and security. And I thought, ‘This is it. This is everything I’ve been working for.’”

Your brow furrowed. “But it wasn’t?”

Mrs. Brooks shook her head slowly, the distant melancholy returning to her features. “At first, it was. But over time, I realized something. The life Richard offered me was a gilded cage. It wasn’t freedom – it was control. I was expected to fit in, to play the part. When I married him, I entered a world where every inch of my life was dictated by money, status, and image. It’s strange how quickly you can forget yourself when you're surrounded by wealth. People like this–,” she gestured with a faint nod around the room, “–don’t care about character. They care about who you know, where you’ve been, and what you wear. And even then, it’s never enough. You always have to be more.” She leaned forward then, her expression softening as she saw you swallowing thickly. “I know it sounds harsh, dear, but it’s the truth. High society is an illusion. People want you to smile, to wear the right clothes, to speak in a certain way, but it’s all just a performance. Your soul gets lost in it.”

“So, you never wanted this life?” you asked quietly, your heart breaking for her.

“I didn’t know what I was getting into. These women here, they’re not your friends,” she replied, her fingers curling around her tea cup. “They’re rivals. Each one of them trying to prove they are the best at being the most perfect version of a woman they can be. It’s exhausting. And no matter how hard I tried, I never truly fit in.”

“You said Benjamin was different when he was young,” you said gently, wanting to know more. “How was he before everything changed?”

Mrs. Brooks’ eyes softened, and for a moment, you could see the mother she had been – a woman who adored her son, who once had hope for his future.

“Benjamin was always sensitive,” Mrs. Brooks said, her voice full of tenderness. “He was a sweet little boy who loved to ask questions about the world. He was curious about everything. He’d sit with me for hours, just asking me how things worked, why things were the way they were. And he had this soft smile that would light up a room. I’ll never forget how he used to look at me, with such trust in his eyes. He would bring me flowers and tell me stories from his little world, and I would see the softness in him, the kind of softness a mother always hopes for in a child. People always said he was a ‘dreamer,’ and I thought he would always stay that way. I loved that about him. But Richard didn’t. Richard thought it was a weakness.”

Mrs. Brooks’ voice cracked slightly, as if the memories were too painful to recount. She looked down at her cup.

“Richard did everything he could to ‘toughen him up.’ He took him hunting, made him go to boarding school at an early age, sending him far away from me,” she continued, her voice drowning in sadness. “He wanted to shape Benjamin into something he could control. He had a vision for his son – one where Benjamin was a carbon copy of him. Strong. Cold. Ruthless. My husband’s world is one of steel, and his love is just as hard. My sweet boy never stood a chance.”

Your heart sank. “And Ben – he didn’t want that?”

“No,” Mrs. Brooks said, a slight bitterness creeping into her tone. “Benjamin didn’t want any of it. But he was young, and he couldn’t fight his father. So slowly, he started to change. He stopped asking questions. He stopped dreaming. And one by one, the things that made him unique faded away. I watched my son slip away from me, and there was nothing I could do about it.”

You wanted to reach out to comfort her, but you felt helpless. How could you fix this? Could you fix him?

“I’m so sorry,” you said softly. “I had no idea.”

Mrs. Brooks gave you a wistful smile. “It’s not your fault, dear. You’re not here to save him. You can’t save him, not from himself. But you might be able to remind him of who he was before the world changed him. I think that’s why I like you so much.”

Your heart tightened as you listened. You could see the sadness in Mrs. Brooks’ eyes, a depth of loss that you hadn’t expected.

Ben’s mother let out a sigh, soft and weary, as though she had been holding it in for too long. “You know, from the moment I met you, there was something about you. Something I never had the chance to share with Benjamin.” She paused, gathering her thoughts as if she hadn’t shared this kind of honesty in years. “I’ve always wanted a daughter for many reasons, you see? I dreamed of having someone who could see this world as I see it. A confidante. You remind me a lot of myself when I was younger. You have a fire in you – a light. And I don’t want my son to put it out.”

Your heart halted its beats abruptly. You were taken aback by her blunt honesty, shaking your buzzing head lightly, trying to make sense of her words. “What d’you mean?”

“You don’t know what your getting into, either. You’re not like them. You’re not meant for this kind of life. That’s why I want to warn you, dear,” she said, her gaze sharp.

Oh no, not another warning… How many was that now? Three? Four, if you counted Grace?

Great.

“Benjamin might love you now, but he’ll be just like his father in the end. Cold. Hard. Empty,” she said harshly, the weight of regret in every line of her expression. “The man you think he is, may not be the man he turns out to be. Benjamin isn’t the boy I once held in my arms anymore. He’s not the man you think he is. I see his father in him more every day. I can see it in the way he looks at the world, in the way he reacts to the people around him. I don’t want you to end up like me. You’ll be the one left behind. Trust me.”

You felt a knot in your throat, your heart pounding with an ominous sound like an ancient war drum. You didn’t know how to respond. Your thoughts spiraled in every direction.

You swallowed hard, tears pricking your eyes like salt in a wound. “I don’t know if I can walk away. I think I love him,” you confessed quietly, barely audible over the chatter of the tea room.

The words shocked you. You’d never said them out loud before, but they didn’t seem to rattle his mother at all.

Her eyes softened, her hand reaching over to clasp yours on the table in a sad understanding. “I know you do. But that’s the problem, dear. When you love someone like him, you’ll always be fighting a battle you can’t win.”

▶️ Chapter 8: Frankly, My Dear, I Don't Give a Damn

Ooof, looks like not even Ben's mother has much confidence in him... What did you think of all the warnings? And if Ben was already this upset now, then well, imagine what he feels like when it really happens. Choo-choo, all aboard the angst train! Get ready to meet the man of the hour next week 😉

(Fair warning: Chapters never really got any shorter. I don't know what to tell ya, but half of the next one is smut, so there's that 😂🤷‍♀️)

Coming Up:

“I remember you mentioned a girl from school staying here.” The patriarch of the steel empire carved into his roast with casual violence, sipping his wine like it was penance, a pair of almond-shaped, glacier blue eyes zeroing in on his son. “Didn’t think you meant still staying here.”

You managed a polite smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Brooks.”

He gave a short nod that might’ve been a grunt, reaching for the wine glass before saying, “Likewise.”

Ben’s mother – composed in a deep jade green dress that complimented the glint in her eye – broke the tension with a dry, almost teasing, “She’s been keeping me company. And sane.”

You glanced at her in grateful surprise, but she didn’t look at you. Her gaze was squarely on her husband, almost daring him to challenge her.

Oh fuck. You had a feeling that dinner would derail soon enough. You still remembered how your own mother always looked when she wanted to pick a fight with your father. You could see that same desire in Mrs. Brooks tonight.

Richard’s eyes flicked to you as cutting as a scalpel. “Rosemary Hall, was it?”

You smiled, knowing your alibi by heart. “Yes, sir. We, uh, crossed paths with Ben’s group at Choate once or twice. We’ve stayed in touch.”

“Mmm.” He sounded unconvinced, like he already had a list of questions and was working through them in his mind. “And what is it you do, exactly?”

You gave an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “A little of everything. Read a lot. Try to keep busy.”

Mr. Brooks leaned back with a hum, wine glass in hand. “You read. Anything useful?”

Ben’s hand tensed slightly on the table. You felt it even without looking.

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[fatecantstopme]

Truth Serum

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: When you're captured by a powerful witch, Sam and Dean race to save you. The three of you are confronted with painful truths that will change your relationships forever.

Warnings: Canon violence, swearing, use of pet names. SMUT, oral (M and F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dom/sub vibes. Dean surrenders control to reader.

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You woke up in an unfamiliar room, unable to move, and your memory was fuzzy--you had no idea how you'd gotten here. All you knew in that moment was your head was pounding and your arms were tied securely behind your back.

You looked around the room, seeking something familiar to ground yourself, but nothing spoke to you. You wracked your brain in an attempt to remember how the hell you got here...the last thing you could remember was going to get dinner for yourself and the boys.

Sam and Dean's faces appeared in your mind and you strained to hear anything else in the room or surrounding area--seeking either of their voices or anything that might indicate they were near. To your dismay, it was completely silent, not a single sound disturbed the night. All you could hear was the sound of your own panicked heart beating and the deep breaths that accompanied it.

You knew the boys would be searching for you, but you had no idea how long you'd been missing or if there were any signs of where you'd gone. You could only hope they would find you before it was too late. You had a feeling the witch the three of you had been hunting had found you first--and there was no telling what they would do to you.

You tried in vain to get yourself out of the binds that secured your hands together, swearing under your breath as the actions were fruitless. The only thing you'd succeeded in doing was giving yourself rope burn on both wrists.

At some point during your struggle, another person had entered the room, but you didn't notice their presence until they spoke. "Glad to see you're awake."

Your head spun in the direction of the voice and a woman stepped out from the shadows with a dark smirk on her face. She was objectively quite beautiful, with sunshine blond hair and brilliant green eyes. Her eyes reminded you of Dean's emerald orbs--though her's lacked the spark that lived in Dean's.

"Who are you?" you asked angrily.

"My name is Camille, little hunter. I believe you've been looking for me."

Her voice had an odd melodic tone to it that bothered you in a way you couldn't quite explain. It made your brain both fuzzy and painfully clear at the same time--a combination you didn't care to ever experience again.

"You're the witch I've been hunting," you stated.

"Very good, little hunter."

"I do have a name, you know," you muttered, slightly annoyed at the nickname.

"My apologies, hunter. What is your name?"

"(Y/N)."

"(Y/N)," Camille repeated. "And are you here alone?"

Every instinct you had told you to lie, but when you opened your mouth, you were surprised when the truth spilled from your lips. "No, I am here with two other hunters."

Camille smiled cruelly as she observed the shocked expression on your face. "You'd intended to lie, hadn't you?"

That melodic tone had intensified and you struggled to form the words you wanted. "What are you doing to me?" you growled lowly.

Camille smirked again. "Teaching you not to lie, little hunter."

"Well stop," you insisted.

She laughed. "Sorry, little hunter. It's part of my charm." She paused, attention turning towards the door. "It appears we're no longer alone." She put her finger to her lips and faded back into the shadow.

You shifted your gaze to the door and began listening for sounds. You heard the telltale sound of boots hitting the floor and you knew in your heart it was Sam and Dean. Everything in you wanted to call out to them--to warn them--scream--something, but not a single sound escaped when you opened your mouth. Anger settled in your bones, hating your inability to warn your friends.

The doorknob began to turn slowly and you let out a soft whine--the most you could manage in the moment.

"(Y/N)?" Dean's voice whispered from the other side of the door.

You were relieved to hear his voice, but terrified of what would happen next. You wanted to respond, but words continued to escape you.

The door slowly opened to reveal Sam and Dean's concerned faces. They quickly scanned the room, eyes falling on your form in the center of the room.

"(Y/N/N)," Dean said, clearly relieved to see you unharmed.

He started to come towards you, but you shook your head, eyes wide and alert. You wanted to say something, needed to tell him the witch was here--they were all in danger.

"Hey, sweetheart. It's okay. We'll get you out of here," Dean whispered.

You shook your head again, but it was too late. As soon as Dean took a step towards you, Camille stepped forward and sent both him and Sam flying against the wall. She waved her hand and two chairs appeared beside yours, and with another wave, both men were seated in said chairs. Their arms were tied behind their chairs in similar fashion to yours before they could even register what was happening.

"I'm so glad you could join us," Camille said as she came farther into the room, fully revealing herself to the new arrivals.

Dean glared at her in annoyance. "I'm guessing you're the witch bitch we've been looking for."

She smiled. "Indeed I am. My name is Camille, and who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?"

"Dean Winchester," Dean forced out, a look of surprise on his face. "And this is my brother, Sam."

Camille smiled. "Oh I've heard of you--the great Winchesters. I'm honored to have made your list, though I'm afraid you won't be successful this time around."

"Don't be too sure about that," Sam stated, speaking for the first time.

"It appears I have the upper hand, little hunters, so save the ego for someone else."

"'Little hunters'?" Dean asked in annoyance.

"Don't let it bother you, she's been calling me that since I woke up," you muttered. "I think it brings her joy."

"It does bring me joy," Camille commented. "But what really makes me happy is having the three of you here to play with. This is going to be such fun."

You felt the anger rise within you once again and you struggled against your bindings--useless or not, you couldn't give up. You noticed both Sam and Dean were doing the same.

"What do you want with us?" Sam asked.

"Obviously I'm going to kill you," she answered. "But not just yet."

You closed your eyes, sadness washing over you. You didn't want to die, but you couldn't bear the thought of Dean dying. Not that you didn't care about Sam, but you cared for Dean very deeply--seeing him die would destroy you.

"You shouldn't have come," you whispered.

"What was that, little hunter?"

You turned your gaze to Dean, who was sitting directly to your left, with Sam on the other side of him. "Neither of you should have come."

Surprise lit up both men's faces, but it was Dean who spoke. "Did you really think we would leave you?"

You shook your head and sighed.

"Tell us, little hunter, why didn't you want them to save you?"

You made eye contact with Camille and felt the anger flare up again. You resisted answering her question directly, instead saying, "I don't want anything to happen to them."

Camille took a step closer to you. "You're strong willed, little hunter. Most people can't resist my charms--I have them spilling their deepest, darkest secrets within seconds."

You simply glared at her, not willing to give in to her bait.

"Come now, tell me the truth," Camille said softly. "Why didn't you want them to save you?"

The melodic tone of her voice threatened to crush you. It felt like someone was squeezing your insides every time you attempted to resist her demands--whenever you wanted to lie or avoid the truth.

"What the hell are you doing to her?" Dean yelled.

"She needs to be honest. I don't like being lied to."

The pain intensified, forcing the words from your lips, "I didn't want Dean to get hurt."

"That's better," Camille said smugly. "Just Dean? What about Sam? You don't care about him?"

"Of course I do," you insisted.

"Then why did you only mention Dean?"

You tried to resist--you didn't want to admit the truth, especially in front of Dean. You'd spent years hiding your feelings and you sure as hell didn't want to admit to anything in the presence of witnesses. "None of your business," you forced out painfully.

Camille's face lit up in surprise. "Very strong willed," she muttered. "You can't resist forever, little hunter."

Her voice made the pain you were experiencing almost unbearable. You could barely breathe and a gasp of pain escaped your lips.

"(Y/N), please," Dean begged, clearly worried about you.

Your resolve broke and the words slipped from your mouth without thought, "I care about him!" As soon as the words left your lips, the pain lifted, allowing you to catch your breath.

"See? Was that so hard?" Camille asked cruelly. "Who's next?" She looked at both men before stepping towards Sam. "Tell me, Samuel, why did you come to save (Y/N)?"

"Because she's family," Sam answered honestly.

His words warmed your heart and you shot a weak smile his way. You considered Sam and Dean family too--it was nice to know they felt the same, or at least Sam did. You couldn't look at Dean, you were too afraid of what you'd see on his face. You hadn't really admitted your feelings, but you were worried he knew you too well to miss the truth in your words.

"Boring," Camille muttered before turning her attention to Dean instead. "Your turn, handsome. Why did you come to save (Y/N)?"

Dean glared at her, but his face twitched slightly, belying the pain he was feeling. It took all his strength to force out the words, "What he said," while nodding his head in his brother's direction.

Camille laughed coldly. "Don't lie to me, Dean." She leaned forward and asked him again, but he continued to resist.

You forced yourself to look at him and you could see the pain in his eyes. He was desperately trying to keep himself from answering, but it was obvious he was losing the battle.

Camille frowned and leaned farther forward, grabbing his chin in her hand and forcing him to make eye contact with her. "Answer me, Dean. Why did you come to save (Y/N)?"

Dean struggled for a moment, jaw clenched in anger and frustration. Camille squeezed his jaw harshly and Dean groaned in pain. Just when you thought Camille was going to give up, Dean yelled his answer, shocking everyone present. "BECAUSE I LOVE HER!"

He was breathless as the words left his lips and Camille let go of his face, a smile gracing her pretty face. "Finally, a little honesty."

You were shocked into silence, unable to fully process his words and their meaning. Dean Winchester couldn't have possibly just admitted his feelings for you--there was no way.

Camille returned her attention to you, a dark smile on her face. "How does that make you feel, (Y/N)?"

You closed your eyes and didn't answer her question.

"You admitted you care about him, but do you love him too?"

You stayed silent, fighting her truth-forcing voice. It wasn't that you didn't want to admit your feelings--you just didn't want her to know. You didn't want her to use your love for Dean against you or him. So you resisted her charms and kept your mouth shut despite the pain.

"If I can force the great Dean Winchester to be honest, don't think for a second that I can't do the same to you, little hunter," Camille seethed.

Your eyes shot open and you glared at her, burning a hole in her soul. "No," you growled.

"No, you don't love him?"

You didn't respond.

"Or you think you can keep your feelings a secret?"

You still didn't respond.

Camille put her hands on the arms of your chair and leaned in, her face frighteningly close to yours. "Tell me the truth, or I'll kill him."

You didn't need to ask to know she was referring to Dean and not Sam. For a moment you considered calling her bluff, but the anger in her eyes told you she wasn't playing a game. She would kill him without hesitation.

You turned your head to look at Dean and found his gaze already on you. Terror was etched into his handsome features--terror for you. Your decision was made in an instant and you stopped fighting.

"I'm so sorry, Dean," you said, addressing the green-eyed hunter directly. "I know I promised you we would always be friends, but I don't think I can do that anymore. You see…I fell in love with you. I don't even know when it happened, it just--did."

Dean's beautiful green eyes betrayed his emotions, even if his face remained impassive. He'd spent the better part of the past two years wishing and hoping to hear you say those words to him. You could see the love reflected in his gaze and you knew his utterance hadn't been a heat of the moment thing--he'd meant it.

Camille's face remained close to yours as she laughed mockingly. "It's a pity you didn't admit your feelings sooner--perhaps you could have been together."

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Sam's hands slipping from the grasp of the ropes. In a split second, you made a decision that could either save your life or end it. You turned your attention back to Camille and slammed your forehead into her face with all of your strength.

Luckily, you'd caught the witch by surprise and she want sprawling backwards, clutching her nose and cursing angrily. Her attention remained on you as she started to recite a spell.

The pain that struck your body was unlike anything you'd ever felt before and you knew you were dying--if she had the opportunity to finish the spell, you would be gone.

Dean yelled your name and struggled with everything he had to free himself. Sam, on the other hand, had sprung up from his chair and lunged at Camille, sending her sprawling onto the floor. The two of them were struggling as Sam pulled a knife from inside his jacket.

Dean managed to get his hands out of the ropes and he quickly jumped into the fray to help his brother. Sam managed to slip the blade into Camille's chest--a scream of pain leaving her throat.

Knowing his brother had the situation under control, Dean turned his attention to you. You were breathing heavily, but were mostly unharmed. The effects of Camille's spell were dying with her, for which you were thankful.

Dean pulled out his own knife and cut the ropes that bound you. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck and fell against him. His arms wrapped around you and he held you close. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

You lifted your head to look at him and nodded, tears filling your eyes.

He offered you a soft smile and brushed your hair from your face. "Let's get you out of here."

"Please," you muttered.

Dean helped you up and turned to look for his brother. Sam had just stood up, Camille's body lying dead on the floor beneath him. "She's gone. I'll take care of the body and we can get the hell out of here."

Dean nodded. "I'm gonna take (Y/N) back to the motel. She needs to rest."

"I'm fine, Dean--really," you insisted.

Dean shot you a glance. "You had it worse than either of us. You need to rest."

His voice was so firm, leaving no room for argument, so you threw your hands up in surrender.

Sam offered you a soft smile. "He's right, (Y/N). I'll meet you guys back at the motel when I'm done here."

"Call if you need anything," Dean said before escorting you from the room.

**********

The car ride back to the motel was completely silent--and not in the comfortable way. Neither of you knew what to say or where to begin. There was an awkwardness between you that you'd never had before and it only added to the pre-existing tension.

When you got into the motel room, you sat down on your bed with a sigh. Dean grabbed two beers from the fridge, handing one to you before taking a seat at the little table by the door.

The two of you began to drink your beers in silence, but it quickly became unbearable. "Dean, I think we should talk."

He looked at you for the first time since you'd gotten back to the motel. You could see the fear in his eyes and you realized he was worried you were going to tell him you didn't mean what you'd said--that you didn't love him.

You sat the beer on the side table and stood up. "Don't you think for a single moment that I didn't mean what I said, Dean Winchester. I meant it--every word. No witch can make me say something that isn't true...I've been in love with you for years."

His lips parted in surprise, eyes swimming with emotions. "I meant it too," he whispered as he stood up and stepped towards you. "I love you, (Y/N)--I think I always have."

Your lips curled up in a small smile. "This isn't how I'd planned on telling you."

"Had you planned on telling me?"

"No," you answered honestly. "I was scared."

"Me too," he said softly. "Terrified, actually."

"Of what?"

"I always assumed you wouldn't want me...you know me too well, (Y/N). You've seen me at my absolute worst and you know how damaged and broken I am. Why in the world would you choose to love me?"

"Okay, first of all, cut that self-loathing shit out. You don't get to do that with me. You're right--I do know you too well. I have seen you at your worst, but I've also seen you at your best. I know who you truly are and you're a damn hero, Dean. You inspire me every day. We face the shittiest things life can possibly throw at us and you always keep fighting--you never give up. You keep me going even when I want to give up. You're the most incredible man I have ever met and I am truly blessed to be loved by you."

He took three steps forward, stopping mere inches from you. His eyes were filled with love, which you were certain was reflected in your own. "I don't deserve you, baby, but I swear I will never stop trying to be worthy of your love."

You touched his cheek gently. "You don't have to try, Dean. I love you just as you are."

He smiled slowly, his eyes lighting up as his gaze scanned your face. "Anyone ever tell you you look like a goddess?"

You laughed lightly. "You'd be the first."

He gave you an adorable lopsided grin, as his arm snaked around your waist and tugged you closer. He leaned down and pressed his lips against yours and you melted into him, a soft moan escaping against his lips.

His tongue brushed gently against your lips, which you parted to allow him entry. He tasted like mint and beer and something just distinctly Dean.

You slipped your hands into his jacket and pushed it off his shoulders, before doing the same with his flannel. His gentle, calloused hands slid under your shirt and pushed it upwards. You broke the kiss long enough to allow him to take off your shirt and his own before connecting your lips again.

You reveled in the feeling of his warm, strong chest against yours. His skin was soft and smooth as you ran your hands over the taunt muscles of his back.

His hands slipped lower, caressing your ass, fingers digging in as he tugged you closer to him. You could feel his bulge pressing into your lower belly and you were suddenly desperate to feel him--really feel him.

You tugged on his belt, undoing it quickly then shifting to the button on his jeans. He helped you remove his jeans and you took the opportunity to remove yours as well. As soon as you were both mostly naked, Dean grabbed you and dragged you to the bed, tossing you onto it and crawling on top of you.

His hungry lips attacked yours again, hands roaming any part of you he could reach. "God, your skin is so soft, baby," he whispered.

You didn't have the opportunity to respond as Dean's lips found the sweet spot on your neck--the one that always drove you wild. You had no idea how he knew where to kiss, but you didn't have it in you to ask. The soft moans that left your lips told him how much you were enjoying the feeling of his lips against your skin--and he had no intention of stopping.

His hand slipped behind your back and tugged at the clasp of your bra. You arched your back to give him better access and he made quick work of the undergarment, tugging it off and throwing it across the room. He groaned softly as he gazed at your exposed breasts. "I think it would be best if you never wore a bra again," he mumbled.

Your soft chuckle turned to moans of pleasure as his lips attached to your nipple and his hands began to gently kneed your supple flesh. Your fingers wound themselves into his short hair and you sighed happily, enjoying the feeling of his hands on you.

His mouth continued its trail downward, placing open mouthed kisses to your skin. He nipped at the softer parts of your body, eliciting gasps and moans of enjoyment.

He smirked against your skin, enjoying the sounds you made for him. He pressed his lips to your core, teasing you with his lips and tongue before finally slipping his tongue between your folds. He growled lowly, burying his face deeply between your thighs.

"Dean," you gasped, fingers twisting into his hair.

"You taste like fucking heaven," he murmured, lifting his head just enough to get the words out before diving back in.

You'd had sex plenty of times before, but never in your life had you been eaten out like this--Dean Winchester was a master--a genius--with his mouth.

"Fuck--Dean, please!" you cried.

He seemed to know what you needed, reading your body like a book. He slid two fingers inside of you and began to gently press them into your most sensitive spot, drag them along your walls, and do it again on repeat.

His mouth focused on your clit while his fingers continued to stroke your walls. He could feel you getting close--your pussy was squeezing his fingers and your thighs had begun to tighten around his head.

Your fingertips scratched against his scalp and you ground yourself down against his mouth, chasing your impending orgasm. Dean tightened his grip on your hips, holding you in place. Your moans increased in volume as you suddenly fell over the edge.

Your legs began to shake as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you. Dean continued his ministrations, not wanting to stop until you forcefully tugged his hair to get him off.

"Sensitive, baby," you whimpered.

Dean gave your pussy a few more kitten licks before relenting and allowing you to pull him up. He licked his lips happily, a smirk gracing his handsome face.

He crawled back up your body, kissing your skin as he moved. When his lips finally pressed against yours again, his cock brushed against your core, earning a sharp inhale from both of you.

"I wanted to take my time with you, sweetheart, but I need to be inside of you immediately."

You chuckled lightly. "I'm certainly not going to complain."

He grinned and flipped over onto his back, dragging you with him so you were now straddling his thighs.

"Dean!" you giggled as he manhandled you.

"I thought you'd want to ride me," he teased.

"Oh did you now?"

"Since you like to be in control and all."

"Just because I tell you what to do, doesn't mean I want to be in control in bed, Dean."

"So you don't wanna be on top?" he asked. "Cuz I can roll you back over, pretty girl."

You pressed both hands down on his chest to keep him in place. "Now, I didn't say that..."

He grinned. "That's what I thought."

"But if you're gonna give me control, I want complete control."

He looked a little worried for a moment before nodding slowly.

"Hey," you said softly. "If you don't want to, it's okay."

"No, no--I want to," he insisted. "I'm just...not used to it."

"If you want me to stop or you don't like something I'm doing, just tell me, okay?"

He nodded and squeezed your hips affectionately. "I trust you."

You smiled and leaned down to kiss him. "Put your arms above your head."

He did as you asked and waited for your next command.

"Hold on to the headboard, handsome," you ordered. "And do not move them, understand?"

He nodded.

You grabbed his jaw and held it tightly. "Words, Dean."

His eyes widened in surprise, but you noticed the dark lustful look in them. "Yes ma'am," he whispered.

"Good boy." You sat back up and slid back so you were straddling his thighs. You dragged your fingers down his chest, nails scratching gently against his skin.

He groaned softly, clearly enjoying the sensation.

You smiled, pleased to see he liked what you were doing. You lowered your head to lick a stripe up his painfully hard cock. You twirled your tongue slowly around the head, eliciting a moan of pleasure from Dean.

You smirked before dropping your head to take him into your mouth as deeply as you could.

"Oh--fuck--" he groaned.

Your head was bobbing up and down, sucking his cock like your life depended on it. You relaxed your throat, allowing him to slip farther in. You constricted your throat around him and continued to use your tongue to pleasure him.

"Holy--" Dean squirmed beneath you. "Feels so good, baby."

You moaned, the vibrations sending a wave of pleasure through his entire body.

"Jesus, baby." He was dying to tangle his fingers in your hair, but he didn't want to disobey your order. "I can't--baby, I need you to stop or I'm gonna cum."

You moaned in disappointment, but you lifted your head off of him and moved to straddle his hips. You gently rubbed your core against his cock, and his hips thrust upwards in an attempt to seek more friction.

"Uh-uh, no moving," you ordered.

"But, I--"

"No moving, Dean. Keep your hands where they are and keep those hips on the bed."

"Yes ma'am," he mumbled.

You smiled softly and stroked his cheek affectionately. "I'll let you know when you can move."

You grabbed his cock and lined it up with your core before sinking down on it in one fluid motion. You both groaned in pleasure at the feeling--your pussy stretched to the absolute max.

You took a deep breath before beginning to move your hips, grinding against him and twisting your hips in a circle.

As you moved, your hands traveled up your body to your neck. From there, you slowly moved both hands down your body, stopping to massage your breasts. You played with your nipples as you watched Dean, his eyes glued to your motions.

You moaned softly, tossing your head back in pleasure. You loved seeing him struggling to keep control of himself beneath you. You smirked at the way he was white knuckling the headboard, obviously desperate to touch you, but afraid to disobey you.

"You're doing so good for me, baby," you murmured.

He whimpered softly as he watched you.

You moved your hands down your stomach, allowing one to slip between your legs to gently massage your clit. The other hand traveled back to your breasts to toy with them.

"Fuck, baby," Dean whispered. "Let me touch you."

"Not yet."

He groaned and squeezed the headboard tighter.

You smiled as you began to move up and down, gathering speed as you did so.

"Please," Dean begged. "Please, baby--I wanna touch you."

"I know you do, handsome, but you can't yet."

He whimpered softly and shifted his hips. You could feel the desperation seeping from him, but you knew the longer you held him off, the better it would feel for the both of you when he finally did touch you.

You continued your movements, but you placed both of your hands on his chest, touching and teasing him with your soft fingers.

He groaned in frustration and desperation. "Baby," he begged again. "Please."

You leaned forward and brushed your lips against his, pulling back when he tried to return the kiss. He chased after your lips, whimpering when you sat back up.

"How badly do you wanna touch me?"

"I would do anything, (Y/N)."

You smirked. "Do you need to touch me?"

He looked almost pained as he stared into your eyes. "I need it so badly, baby. Please, (Y/N/N). Please just let me touch you."

Your expression softened and you decided to take pity on him, so you leaned forward, brushing your lips against his ear. "Touch me, Dean."

In an instant, his hands left the headboard and grabbed you tightly, pulling you to him as he began to thrust up into you.

You gasped in surprise and pleasure.

He pressed his feet into the mattress and began to thrust up into you with force. He was holding you tightly to keep you in place, his teeth nipping at your neck and shoulder as he moved.

You were at a loss for words--the pleasure so overwhelming you couldn't breathe, let alone think.

"Fuck, I need to see you," he groaned as he flipped you onto your back and hovered over you. He grabbed your legs and lifted them up, putting one on either side of his head as he continued to thrust into you.

This new angle made your legs shake and you cried out, screaming his name repeatedly as he pumped into you.

"That's it baby, tell everyone who's fucking you--let them know who makes you feel good."

Your orgasm hit you so suddenly it shocked you. You screamed again as you came with force.

Dean didn't stop, he wanted more from you and he would give anything to see you come undone again.

"It's too much!" you whimpered.

"Do you want me to stop, baby?"

You didn't respond, barely able to speak.

"Come on, sweetheart. Do you want me to stop?"

"Don't stop!" you gasped.

He grinned. "I won't, baby."

He slipped a hand between your legs and began to slowly circle your clit, applying just a little pressure in time with your moans.

The pleasure you were experiencing was so incredible--it was unlike anything you'd ever even imagined. The sounds coming from your mouth would have been embarrassing in any other context, but you couldn't be bothered to care.

As for Dean, he was loving the sounds you made and the way you looked beneath him. He was using every ounce of his self-control not to cum, but his control was waning.

Another orgasm hit you--once again shocking you both with its suddenness and intensity. You screamed his name as you came harshly.

Dean finally allowed your legs to drop and he leaned forward, caging you beneath him as he began to chase his own high. He was already close--and you could tell.

"Don't cum until I say," you whispered.

His eyes widened. "Baby--I don't think I can hold off--"

"Yes you can, Dean. Do it for me."

He groaned softly, but nodded his agreement. He kissed you passionately, which you returned in kind. You wrapped your arms and legs around him, pulling him as close to you as you could.

"I don't know how much longer I can wait," he murmured.

"You can do it, baby. You're doing so good for me."

He dug his fingers into the sheets on either side of your head and focused entirely on not cumming until you gave him permission.

You waited a few more moments before giving him the command he was desperate for, "Cum for me."

"Fuck, (Y/N)," he groaned loudly, spilling inside of you. His whole body was shaking as he continued to fill you up, gasps and moans slipping from his lips into your skin.

Finally, he collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily as he came down. You ran your fingers down his back in a gentle, affectionate manner. You loved the feeling of his large body laying on top of you, hard and warm against your soft skin.

"Never thought I'd feel like this," Dean mumbled into your neck.

"What do you mean?"

"I didn't know sex could be this good. You're fucking incredible, baby."

You chuckled lightly. "Right back at you, handsome."

He groaned as he slowly rolled off of you. "I don't think I can move more than that."

You laughed. "I can't feel my legs, so I can't help you."

"God, I love hearing you say that."

"I love you," you said warmly.

He turned his head to look at you. "I love you too, baby."

You smiled at him and he surprised you by grabbing your hand and lifting it to his lips. He placed a soft kiss against it and then laid your hand and his on his chest.

"Who knew Dean Winchester could be so submissive," you teased.

"Only for you, sweetheart. Anyone else asks and it'd be a hard no. You're the only one that gets to see my sweet, sensitive side."

"Wait--you have a sweet, sensitive side?"

He glared at you and you laughed warmly.

"You're the sweetest, most sensitive man I know." You managed to roll onto your side so you could kiss him affectionately.

"Don't tell anyone," he whispered. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Don't worry, Winchester. Your secret's safe with me."

He smiled warmly and tugged you close to him. "Would you judge me if I just passed out?"

You chuckled softly. "As long as you don't mind me passing out too."

"So what you're saying is, you wanna sleep with me?"

You laughed. "I would love to sleep with you, Dean."

He grinned and kissed the top of your head. "How'd I get to be so lucky?"

"Something about a witch with truth serum powers."

He chuckled. "Who knew I'd be thankful for witchy mojo?"

You smiled and curled up into his side, sighing contentedly. "Goodnight, Dean," you whispered.

"Goodnight, beautiful. I love you."

"Love you too," you mumbled, already drifting off to a peaceful sleep in the arm's of the only man you've ever truly loved.

[mionemymind]

Blood Drive

Summary: While donating at a local blood drive, Y/n stumbles up the best nurse in town, Wanda Maximoff. Unable to get Wanda out of her mind, Y/n goes through a lengthy process just to ask her out.

Warnings: Fluff, Blood Donations, Passing Out, Needles, Happy Ending

A/n: Not gonna lie, I think it's somewhat getting easier to write kissing scenes but I still have to look at a tumblr post just to figure out the wording for it. Let me know what you think :)

Word Count: 4.0k

Masterlist

In an era of new politics, the Mayor of New York City declared that registered heroes of the city had to do mandated community service. This was a new mission to help build relationships between the regular folk of New York City and the heroes that harbor it. Because let’s be honest, having Hulk throw your new car at the enemy was not the best introduction for regular people. 

Those who harbored powers relaying force or strength helped out in the trade industry. You’d often see super soldiers helping out in the demolition zone by crushing what was needed. Those with magic tried their best to help heal the homeless or aided at soup kitchens. Anywhere you can unconventionally help, the heroes did. 

For Y/n, it was a lot of physically demanding tasks. Such as helping families move from apartment to apartment. Or helping police officers move accidents out of the way. Sometimes, she would even demonstrate how to safely carry a person through a burning building for the local firefighters. 

Today, however, Y/n decided to do something different. Rather than focusing on the same physical tasks, she chose a simpler mundane task. “Hi there, are you here for the blood drive?” Y/n nodded in agreement to the receptionist upfront. “Just sign in for me right here. Have you filled out the online rapid pass?”

“Yes, I have the QR code screenshotted.” The receptionist smiled warmly. “Perfect. Someone will be with you soon. Please have a seat in our waiting area.” 

Y/n walked towards the waiting room area. This was the fourth thing on her list of community service opportunities to try. She wasn’t quite sure if her blood was even allowed to be donated, having the super soldier serum in her surely could cause a reaction to a regular human. 

After some tests back at the compound, the staff found everything to be okay. That’s how Y/n ended up in a place like this. 

“Y/n Y/l/n.” Getting up from her seat, Y/n followed a nurse in red scrubs to a different area. “How are you today?” 

“I’m good. I'm a little nervous. I’ve never done this before.” The nurse led them to a private part of a huge common room. Multiple stations were built throughout with various people donating blood. “It’s okay to be nervous, but the worst feeling you’ll get today is just a small prick.”

Y/n breathed out slightly in relief. “Let me first get your basic information.” The nurse had gone over Y/n’s personal information but was immediately flagged by the date of birth. “It says you were born on April 2, 1917. It must’ve been a typo.”

The nurse almost changed it to 1971. “Actually ma’am, that is the correct birth date.” 

“So you mean to tell me you were born during World War I?” The nurse was unwilling to believe the joke that was being played. Y/n could immediately tell from the look she gave. “It was the Great War at the time, but yes ma’am I was born in 1917. I’m actually a super soldier.”

The nurse went back to her computer and typed in more information to store on Y/n’s file. “Ah - I see. I’m sorry about that. There’s already a note on your file. It looks like your director has already approved your donation today.” 

Y/n sighed in relief, while she didn’t mind explaining to people her situation of being frozen for so long, it was strenuous trying to get them to understand it all. The rest of the consultation went along smoothly as she gathered the remaining information such as Y/n’s hemoglobin and her rapid pass. 

“Alright dear, let’s get you to a bed.” The nurse led them back to the common area where all the beds were laid out. “Just sit right here for me, right now we currently have a special volunteer today that’s helping out with the drive. She’ll come over in a couple of seconds to help you out. But if you have any questions, please feel free to let us know.” 

Y/n sat up on the reclined bed and looked at her phone. She scrolled through her messages to make sure nothing important was happening. The sound of someone clearing their throat gained her attention. “Y/n?” As Y/n looked up, she could physically feel the moment that time stopped again. Was it possible that she fell back into the ice again? Surely she would feel the same numbness as before. But it was all different. Because from just one look from this girl would be enough to melt all the ice away. 

Y/n’s breath hitched as she locked eyes with her. “I- yes, that’s me.” Y/n cleared her throat, embarrassed at the lack of composure she had. 

“Nice to meet you today. My name is Wanda Maximoff and I’ll be helping you with your blood donation today.” All Y/n could do was nod as she further realized that the woman in front of her was the Scarlet Witch. 

Wanda looked through her notes on the clipboard. “It looks like it’s your first time donating, is that true?” Y/n’s eyes remained locked on Wanda. It was embarrassing how much she couldn’t look away. “Uh yes. It is.”

“Do you have a preference on which arm you would like to use today?” Y/n shook her head in disagreement. “No preference at all.” 

Wanda wrote down more information when a note caught her eye. “S.H.I.E.L.D. approval - are you a member?” Wanda looked over at the young girl in front of her trying to see if she could remember the pretty face.

“I’m one of their new recruits. Only been active for three months.” And suddenly, Y/n seemed to never mind all the questions that Wanda could possibly ask. If it meant talking to her, Y/n would oblige. 

“That’s great to hear. If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any powers that we should be aware of?” 

“Well, I think you’re aware of my counterpart, Bucky Barnes. We both have a super soldier serum.” Wanda smiled at the mention of her old teammate/acquaintance.

 “Interesting. How come I haven’t heard about you before?” Wanda couldn’t shake the feeling that somehow she had managed to miss this girl for three months. 

Y/n scratched the back of her neck sheepishly. “You know how Steve was found in ice right?” Wanda nodded. “That’s basically the same situation I was in but rather than crashing into the arctic, I was in a freezer chamber. I’ve been awake for only ten months.” The shock on Wanda’s face was apparent. 

“Sorry to keep asking,” Y/n never minded, “how has it been like adjusting back to the new life?” Y/n shrugged indifferently. 

“A little rough. I do miss my friends back from my time, but Bucky has been trying his best to help me. However, he has been focused on helping the new Captain America, Sam?”

Wanda nodded, confirming that Y/n’s information was correct. “I do enjoy the fact that I’m no longer Hydra’s soldier though. More than anything, I’m just glad to have a second chance in life. Not a lot of people get that so I’m pretty thankful.”

Wanda digested Y/n’s words and was pretty enlightened at Y/n’s outlook on life. “Thank you for answering all my questions.”

“It’s no problem.” 

“Now, let's get you set up to donate.” Wanda proceeded to bring out a couple of items from the nearby stand. On the table beside Y/n, Wanda placed various tubes and empty bags. Although it was nothing, the sight made Y/n feel slightly uncomfortable. It reminded her too much of Hydra’s labs but minus the dark atmosphere and torture that came with it. 

As if sensing her discomfort, Wanda grabbed a disinfectant and started to disinfect Y/n’s left arm around the area inside her elbow. “Ya know, for being so nice and cooperative. How about you ask me a couple of questions? It makes the day go by faster.” 

Bringing herself out of her internal thoughts, Y/n asked the first thing that came to mind. “You’re the Scarlet Witch, right?”

It was Wanda’s turn to blush. She hadn’t expected Y/n to recognize her so quickly, especially since she just got back to the real world.  “I am.”

“I wasn’t aware that you could help with the American Red Cross as part of your community service.” Wanda grabbed a marker and a squeezable toy. She placed the toy in Y/n’s left hand stating, “Give me three big squeezes and hold on the last squeeze.”

While pressing around Y/n’s elbow, she continued with, “I had to do some training to get qualified. A lot of the people who use magic generally help in other areas.” Wanda marked a dot followed by a line. “You can stop squeezing now.”

“I’m gonna disinfect one more time and then I’ll have to poke you. Are you scared of needles?” Feeling more embarrassed, Y/n looked away as she said, “Yes.” 

“All good. Just means I’ll have to give you a small distraction.” Wanting to distract herself even more, Y/n asked, “Why did you decide to do this rather than something in your wheelhouse?”

Wanda thought about it before replying with, “I like the normalcy of it. On the plus side, it feels more rewarding. Like I’m actually earning my community time rather than going the easy way of using my powers.” As Wanda finished disinfecting, she blew on Y/n’s elbow hoping it would dry fast. 

“When I give you the go-ahead, I’ll have to ask you to give me three more squeezes and hold on to the last one, okay?” Y/n nodded and waited for the signal. 

“And - go.” Y/n did as told, but as she did her last squeeze and held, red wispy magic flowed in front of her morphing into swirls in the air. “Woah.” She followed the magic with her eyes, not even noticing that Wanda had already poked her and started the transfusion. 

“Should be about 10 minutes. Every couple of seconds give the toy a small squeeze to keep it going.” Y/n glanced away from the magic amazed with Wanda. “That didn’t even hurt.” For the first time in Y/n’s life, she didn’t scream when the needles came. 

Wanda couldn’t help but keep the magic up for a little longer. The dopey look on Y/n’s face was something she didn’t want to go away. 

“I told you I would distract you.” Y/n was at a loss of words. Her brain jumbled for anything but all she could focus on was that Wanda Maximoff successfully distracted her. She had a natural caring heart, something the media failed to show. 

“Your magic is beautiful by the way.” Y/n savored the last few seconds of it before it completely disappeared. 

Wanda’s magic has been called many things in life, powerful, destructive, and manipulative but none have ever said beautiful…till now. “Thank you Y/n.” 

There was a small silence as Wanda stayed to make sure Y/n was okay. “I’ll be assisting other volunteers, but if you start to feel like you're fainting, just call me over, okay?” 

“I will.” Would it have been wrong to immediately fake an injury just to get Wanda back? Possibly but Y/n weighed the consequences and none could compare to her. So as Wanda left, Y/n used her free hand to call Bucky. After a couple of rings, he picked up the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” 

Getting straight to the point, “Is Wanda Maximoff single?” 

“Uhh - I think so. She and this synthezoid, Vision, used to date but I believe they broke up a year ago. Why do you ask?” Y/n looked at Wanda who was across the room. Her radiant smile could be spotted from miles away. “Just wanting to gather intel. Thanks Bucky.” 

Y/n hung up the phone, not caring about what Bucky had to say back. Her eyes lingered back to Wanda. No matter how much she distracted herself with her phone, her eyes always glanced back on Wanda Maximoff. Her hair was tied up in a high ponytail and all she wore was matching red scrubs. But everything about her looked and felt beautiful. 

Little did Y/n know, Wanda was admiring her too. 

The blood donation was soon over, quicker than Y/n anticipated.  Wanda had already come over, stopped the machine, and disconnected the line from Y/n’s arm. She taped a cotton ball on top of the area she poked and proceeded to wrap a red bandage around Y/n’s elbow.  “You keep this red bandage on for two hours and the cotton ball for four hours.” 

Wanda grabbed a pamphlet that had Y/n’s personal information and gave it to her. “Don’t miss a single meal for the next eight weeks. Make sure to drink plenty of water as well. If you feel dizzy in the next couple of hours, be sure to call this number, okay?”

Y/n nodded. Her mind was elsewhere at the moment, trying to find ways to ask Wanda Maximoff out. “Do you have any questions for me though?” 

Y/n opened her mouth, wanting to ask her, “Are you busy after this?” But nothing came out. And the more she tried to say words, the more silence that remained. 

“Wanda!” The pair turned to the employee that shouted her name. “I have someone that needs your help after you're done with your current volunteer.” 

“Understood.” Wanda looked back at Y/n. “We have snacks and shirts over there but I think you should be good now. Thank you for donating today.” 

As Wanda walked off, Y/n couldn’t help but beat herself up for not asking. She took a couple snacks and juice boxes before walking out of the donation center. 

Was Y/n in love? Not quite yet. Infatuated? Probably. It was the best explanation as to why she was back at the blood drive the very next day. The brown eyed girl paced around all night trying to think of ways to see Wanda again. And the very first realistic idea she thought of was to donate blood again. 

The super soldier practically begged the compound to give her another approval to donate blood stating that her super serum allowed for faster recovery. When no one could argue with her logic, they allowed a special approval to donate so soon. 

So when Y/n followed all the same directions, all the same questions, she was met with disappointment when she didn’t see the redhead that captured her mind. “Hi, my name is Lucy and I’ll be helping you today.” 

As Lucy proceeded to set up, Y/n couldn’t help but ask, “Is Wanda Maximoff here today?” 

The blonde shook her head with a small smile. “I’m sorry dear. She’s not going to be here today.” Y/n couldn’t hold back the frown that escaped. It was stupid to think that Wanda would come back the very next day, but she had hope. 

And as much as Y/n wanted to ask when she’ll be back, she knew the blood center wouldn’t give out information like that. Regardless, Y/n was determined. She was going to see Wanda again. 

It was a new month and a new day. Although Y/n was glad to help a good cause, her hope waned as each day passed with no Wanda. By now, everyone in the blood center knew Y/n by name. On the bright side, the other volunteers were not bad to talk to but none compared to her. 

So as Y/n sat down once again, she scrolled on her phone, expecting much disappointment. Until the voice that captured her heart called her name. “Y/n?”

She looked up from her phone and saw that familiar smile that was ingrained in her head. “Wanda.” Y/n couldn’t hold her smile back as she finally saw the girl that she’s been begging to see. 

“Looks like you’re here for you…18th donation? Look at you being a star citizen.” Y/n blushed knowing that those donations were mainly for something else. “I think by now you should know the drill. Are there any concerns you may have?”

Wanda looked back at Y/n, ready to disinfect her arm. “I-” Y/n’s brain short circuited at the feeling of Wanda’s hands on her arm. It was like everything that she wanted to say suddenly left her brain. But the feeling was just on the tip of her tongue. 

“You know, they should give you a badge or something for donating so much. I didn’t even know that was possible. Didn’t you start donating like last month?” Again, not a single thought formulated in Y/n’s head when all she could focus on was how soft Wanda’s hands were. Because if Y/n was able to focus, she would be able to say that her donation was 17 days, 13 hours, and 5 minutes ago. But who was counting? 

Wanda looked back at Y/n’s chart to confirm her suspicions. “Are you still scared of needles though?” And that’s when Y/n finally got back into the real world. For all the times she’s been back, she’s had to look away from the needle while using a nearby pillow to control her nerves. 

“I think I might need your magic again.” Y/n blushed at the request but felt proud at the smug look that came from Wanda. “I might have to start charging you for the show.” 

With sudden blind confidence, Y/n asked, “Let me take you out on a date in return.” Wanda almost missed the vein at Y/n’s sudden question. She had an inkling that the girl liked her but never expected her to actually pursue her thoughts. 

“You didn’t even need it.” Y/n looked down and saw that Wanda had poked her without realizing it. 

“Does that mean you won’t go?” Wanda looked at the time on the clock and smiled at Y/n. 

“It actually means you have three hours till my shift is up.” Wanda patted Y/n’s arm, reminding her to squeeze the ball in her hand. “So pick me up then. How should I dress?”

“Something casual. I hadn’t really planned out what I was going to do after you said yes.” Wanda blushed at the idea of Y/n practicing this moment. 

“How about this? You and I walk around New York. I don’t think the guys have given you much of a good tour. So I’ll tell you all about the new New York and you tell me about the old New York.” 

“You have a deal.” 

Wanda and Y/n were in the back seat of an uber. The small date was something Y/n never wanted to end but the lack of energy made it hard to keep up. So when Y/n asked if it could be an early night, she was relieved that Wanda wasn’t mad at her. 

Right now, the uber was at a stoplight and the two hardly spoke as their shoulders touched. 

“Can I hold your hand?” Y/n whispered as she lightly placed her hand above Wanda’s. The small smile was hard to miss on Wanda’s face. She could feel Y/n’s internal battle to ask her that. She leaned into Y/n’s ear and whispered, “You don’t even have to ask,” and pressed a small kiss on Y/n’s cheek as they interlaced hands. 

A small blushed and a wide grin appeared on Y/n’s face. “I hope you had fun today.” Looking away, Y/n yawned into her hand.. “You tired dekta?” 

Looking back at her, Y/n tilted her head in confusion. “Dekta? What does that mean?” Wanda blushed more. She hadn’t meant to call Y/n that, but it left her lips so easily. Like it was second nature. 

“I’ll tell you later,” Wanda placed her left hand on Y/n’s bicep and gave it a small squeeze, “Aren’t you supposed to be a super soldier? It's barely past 10 pm and you’re already tired.” Y/n scratched the back of her neck, slightly embarrassed at how tired she was. But all Wanda could focus on was the feeling of Y/n’s muscles as she gave one more squeeze. 

Y/n yawned again, unable to fight the sleep that took over her body. “It’s what happens when you donate blood every day to try and see a pretty girl.” They hadn’t even kissed but Wanda could’ve sworn she was in love. The dopey smile on Y/n’s face would make any girl’s heart melt. The red head mentally thanked that it was her that Y/n was looking at and nobody else. 

“You did that for me?” Y/n could think of many things she would do for Wanda, rescue a billion people, punch a hole in the moon, even kidnap someone. Regardless of how unrealistic it was, Wanda Maximoff was worth changing the tides on Earth. So how could someone so wonderful could ever question that someone would do something for her attention? 

“I wanted to see you again.” Y/n bit her inner cheek, trying her best to stay calm but all she could think about was how soft Wanda’s lips looked. 

The red head hadn’t meant to hear that thought, but she was glad she did. She bit her lip wishing that Y/n would just kiss her already. But something about the way they stared into each other's eyes was already enough for her to feel alive. And for someone so sober, her body grew drunk at the touch of Y/n. 

“So you donated blood to see me?” It was still all unbelievable to Wanda but Y/n would tell her a million times until she believed it.

Their eyes interlocked causing Wanda’s breathing to hitch. She swore she could look into those brown eyes forever. “18 pints and counting.” Y/n couldn’t hold back her grin as Wanda looked away, unable to hold back her wide smile. 

Y/n gave a gentle squeeze in their interlaced hands as Wanda turned back to face Y/n. “You’re gonna get yourself sick if you keep donating.” Wanting to focus on something else, Y/n caressed Wanda’s cheek as she tucked a loose strand back. 

Not wanting her touch to go away, Wanda placed her hand above Y/n’s. So many thoughts ran through both of their heads. Wanda could feel the weight inside Y/n’s mind but didn’t dare to peak. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking…” 

“...I think you’re really pretty,” Y/n admitted in secret. 

“What else?” Y/n rubbed her thumb gently across Wanda’s cheek. 

“I think I want to take you out on a second date.”

“Oh yeah?”

“And I…I think I want to kiss you.” Wanda swallowed all the nerves in her chest.

“...I’d really like that…” And as brown eyes looked at greens eyes one more time, Y/n slowly leaned in and kissed Wanda. There was no rush with each kiss, something Wanda never experienced before. All she could remember was the sloppy kisses and fast make outs. But something about kissing Y/n slowly drove heart mad because how dare she live this long without being kissed like this. 

And as they kissed, their hands never broke apart, instead, they gave gentle squeezes with every kiss. And when slowly pulled apart, Wanda knew then she was love sick. 

Bonus

“Let me get this straight,” Bucky rubbed his forehead, feeling the headache coming forth, “Y/n passed out from kissing you?” 

“Well, the kissing didn’t help but she also donated 18 pints of blood in the last three weeks.” Wanda looked at Y/n’s sleeping figure. Her head rested comfortably on Wanda’s lap. 

Bucky sighed. “Okay, I’ll meet you at her place.” 

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[cece693]

Promise To Return Pt. 3

RECAP: He pressed his hands to his face, unable to stop the torrent of tears. All he could see was the half-faded memory of you—your warm smile, the way you used to loop an arm around his shoulders or tug Bucky into a playful headlock. All he could hear was Bucky’s agonized accusation: 'maybe you never really believed in him coming back at all.' “It’s not true,” Steve whispered to the empty air, voice cracking. “I swear it’s not.” But there was no one around to hear him. Nothing but the echo of silence, and the ghost of your promise that you’d find your way home—somehow.

The first thing you notice—every time you wake—is the stench. The cot beneath you is nothing but two sagging strips of army-issue canvas, always a little damp, always gritty with rust. Disinfectant and wet iron cling to the fabric so thickly you taste it when you breathe. You have learned to lie perfectly still in that stink: if your chains clink, if the mattress whispers, boots come pounding down the passage and the guards start shouting guttural orders you still can’t translate.

So you drift. In the strip of darkness between one interrogation and the next, you summon the memory of a bedroom on Dean Street in Brooklyn: wallpaper peeling in fern-shaped curls, a radiator that clanged like church bells at sunrise, the bitter half-cup of coffee Steve always forgot on the night-stand. In that memory Steve lies on your left—small shoulders braced against yours. Bucky stretches on your right, grin crooked, hair pushed off his forehead the way you used to tease it back for him.

Hold on, Steve murmurs in the daydream, mouth brushing the column of your throat, fingers combing through your hair with agonizing tenderness. We’ll come get you.

Damn right, Bucky adds, nipping your ear just to wrench a laugh out of you. Nobody keeps our boy for long.

The vision falters when the real shackles bite into your wrists. One blink and the dream burns away like a film strip that’s caught fire. You are back in a stone bunker somewhere in occupied Europe, walls slick with condensation, one bare bulb buzzing overhead. Your wrists are chafed raw from being yanked above your head during “sessions,” and your ribs bloom fresh violets and indigos with every daybreak.

They call themselves Hydra. Some guards spit the word like a curse; the scientists whisper it like a benediction. You stopped counting interrogations after the tenth, stopped counting days when the bruises began to overlap until they were a single mottled shield. The questions were never about troop movements for long. Soon they started measuring your pulse, your lung capacity, the elasticity of your skin.

Every session ends the same. Thick needles—long as knitting needles—slide beneath your clavicle or into the meat of your thigh. An icy solution floods your veins while a bespectacled man with nicotine-stained fingertips and an onion-sweet smell scribbles notes. He clucks his tongue when you pass out too quickly. “The formula is close,” he tells the guards in stilted English. “One more adjustment. Then we perfect our soldier.”

You repeat Steve’s promise like a prayer between your teeth, each syllable a bead on a rosary: I will come home. I will come home. You do not let yourself think about calendars or moon phases. Time is only the number of times you mistake hallucination for memory and the tally of bruises you can see without twisting your shoulders.

BROOKLYN—FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE LAST LETTER ARRIVED

Colonel Phillips’s makeshift office smells like stale cigars and damp wool. Steve perches on one edge of a map-strewn desk, Bucky on the other, the distance between them suddenly unbridgeable. Center stage lies a single Western Union telegram, its block letters dark as a grave marker:

UNIT KIA/MIA. NO SURVIVORS LOCATED. SEARCH EFFORTS SUSPENDED.

“Suspended,” Steve echoes, voice too quiet for the room. Even pumped full of Dr. Erskine’s serum, he suddenly seems small beneath the fluorescent glare. “They’re leaving him out there like he’s a misplaced crate.”

Bucky’s jaw grinds. “Then we don’t ask permission.” He slams the full magazine into the Colt and holsters it. “You’ve got the shield, the Howlies, the whole damn band. Tell Phillips Captain America is leading a reconnaissance extraction—and you’re taking me.”

Steve’s mouth twists. “The colonel says one unsanctioned raid could compromise—”

“Colonel can shove it.” Bucky surges to his feet; the chair skitters back and thuds against a filing cabinet. Then softer, voice fissuring: “He’s our man, Stevie. Our heart.”

Steve’s eyes sting as if someone’s flung powder in them. “I know. Sometimes I swear I feel him reach for my hand in the dark.” He palms the space over his sternum where pain lodges like shrapnel. “But tearing across enemy lines blind is suicide. We need coordinates, we need—”

“You need faith.” Bucky snaps. “Faith like he had when he wrote us those damn letters! He believed we'd find each other. Don’t make a liar of him.”

Steve’s temper finally snaps, voice dropping into the bassy snarl the Howling Commandos obey without thinking. “And I need you alive to reach him. Charging in half-cocked means three body bags instead of one.” Silence knifes between them. At last Steve’s glare falters, the hardness melting into grief.

“I love you,” he says, barely a whisper, like confession in church. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Silence settles, heavy as snowfall after shellfire. Bucky’s chin tips downward—perhaps to hide the quake in his lower lip. For weeks now neither of them has said those words, not since telegrams started talking of friendlies captured, bodies unclaimed. But the confession cracks something open between them, and when Bucky finally lifts his gaze, determination burns hotter than grief.

“Then don’t.” He reaches out, fingers brushing the star on Steve’s chest. “Lead the way. I’ll have your back. Like always.” Steve laces their hands and nods—once, hard enough to set his jaw. Neither knows your captors wear a serpent on their sleeves.

A FEW WEEKS LATER—HYDRA FACILITY, ALPINE SECTOR

The screech of un-oiled hinges detonates in the dark like artillery. You jolt awake, lungs dragging rank bunker-air that tastes of copper and damp limestone. Floodlights bloom, wiping the world to white. Before your pupils can shrink, two guards—faces hidden behind gas-mask snouts—seize your arms. Your legs forget how to stand; boots skid as they haul you into a corridor lit sickly yellow.

Walls on either side are chalked with looping equations—spidery Greek letters and jagged rune-like sigils. Behind iron slats, cages shudder and clang. Something inside them growls deep and wet, a bass thunder that does not belong to rats. You keep your eyes forward. Knowing the shapes of monsters never saved anyone here.

The final door yawns open with a refrigerated hiss. The laboratory reminds you of an abattoir scrubbed obsessively clean: stainless tables bead antiseptic sweat, surgical lamps hover like pale moons, and the floor drains gurgle faintly, as if remembering last night’s spill. In the center stands Dr. Arnim Zola, all paunch and pince-nez, round lenses glinting like freshly honed blades.

“Our resilient volunteer returns,” he trills, precise Swiss vowels wrapping the words in gift-paper menace. “Tonight, herr Liebling, we perfect greatness.”

You’re slammed onto a steel gurney. Leather cinches your wrists, ankles, chest, throat—each buckle tugged one notch too tight until bone protests. Overhead, a serpentine glass coil throbs with luminous emerald fluid; it pulses lazily, a counterfeit heartbeat. Zola twists a brass valve, and the liquid siphons through tubing into a syringe longer than your hand.

He leans close enough that you smell pickled onions on his breath. “The Red Skull teaches that pain is the crucible of revelation. Endure, and perhaps you will witness history rather than feed it.”

The needle descends.

The first puncture blooms cold—a glacial spear sliding under skin—then detonates into molten copper. Fire stampedes along every nerve, igniting spinal fuses, blistering behind your eyes. Your back arches; shackles screech. Sound rips out of you, a roar ragged enough to strip your throat raw, but the cell walls swallow it whole.

Memories burst like flares against the agony:

Steve’s grin as the Cyclone crested at Coney Island, freckles bright under salt wind.

Bucky cackling, shoving a mustard-slathered hot dog into your hand because “you’re wasting away, pal.”

Their bodies braided with yours beneath summer sheets, salt-slick and fearless.

Stars fracture across your vision. Your skeleton feels elastic, bones warping as if kneaded by invisible hands. Organs twist, lungs seize, blood hammers so violently you swear you can hear it—a kettledrum in your ears. You taste metal, then ozone. If begging would help, you would bite through your own tongue to do it, but words melt under the heat.

Zola watches, entranced, fountain pen twitching notes onto a clipboard. “Fascinating,” he murmurs when your skin silvers with sweat and your screams gutter to hitching gasps. “Schmidt will be pleased.”

[daisymbin]

hii!! i wanted to request suggestive prompt 9 & 14, and fluff prompt 20 if it's possible ♡ you don't have to necessarily add the three of them if it's too much! have a good day 💗

hi sweetie!! I can definitely add all 3 together!! ++ thank you for coming back to clarify!! thank you for requesting 🥰

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // wonwoo's list

fluff prompt #20: "you can braid my hair if you want." +

suggestive prompt #9: "your hands feel good on my skin." +

suggestive prompt #14: "you've been staring at my lips for the past five minutes."

it’s quiet in the bathroom except for the faint sound of the faucet running. your hands move methodically, patting your cheeks with toner as you stand in front of the mirror, focused on your skincare routine. wonwoo leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you.

“still not done?” he asks softly, his voice a low murmur.

you glance at him through the mirror, smiling. “almost. just a few more steps.”

wonwoo pushes off the frame, stepping into the small space. his hands slide down your arms, gentle and slow, before coming to rest around your waist. he presses his chest lightly to your back, the warmth of him seeping through your shirt.

“you always take forever,” he teases, though there’s no real complaint in his tone. his fingers tap lazily against your side. “what if i fell asleep waiting for you?”

“then you’d miss this quality time,” you quip, reaching for your serum.

he hums in response, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watches you work. his hands wander absently, trailing up your arms and into your hair.

“what are you doing back there?” you ask with a laugh, catching his movement in the mirror.

“your hair’s soft,” he mumbles, fingers weaving through the strands without thought. “it’s nice.”

you pause, looking at him in the reflection. “you can braid my hair if you want.”

his eyebrows lift slightly. “really?”

you nod, your lips quirking up.

he pulls back just enough to gather your hair into his hands, the gesture oddly delicate for someone who claims he doesn’t know what he’s doing. his brows furrow in concentration, and you bite back a smile at how focused he looks.

“you’ve done this before,” you remark as he works.

“not really,” he replies. “i’m just guessing.”

surprisingly, the braid he finishes isn’t half bad, and he tugs gently to secure it with an elastic he found on the counter. “not bad for my first try, huh?”

you’re about to respond when his hands slide to your shoulders, his thumbs pressing lightly into your muscles. the motion is deliberate but unhurried, his touch firm yet soothing. you feel the tension in your shoulders start to melt under his hands.

“your hands feel good on my skin,” you murmur, half-lidded eyes meeting his in the mirror.

a small, pleased smile tugs at his lips. “yeah?”

you nod, exhaling as his fingers knead into a particularly tight spot. “mm.”

his touch lingers, traveling to the base of your neck, his fingers brushing the delicate skin there. he moves lower, tracing slow patterns along your collarbones and the tops of your shoulders. your eyes flicker down to his hands in the mirror, watching the way they roam with a mix of purpose and instinct.

it’s mesmerizing—how careful yet confident he is, as though he knows exactly how to touch you.

your gaze travels up, catching on the faint curve of his lips, the way they’re slightly parted as if he’s about to say something but doesn’t. your focus lingers there, shifting between his hands and his mouth, unable to stop yourself.

his voice breaks the silence, deep and slightly amused. “you’ve been staring at my lips for the past five minutes.”

heat rises to your cheeks, and you meet his gaze in the mirror. “i have not,” you lie, but it’s weak, your voice betraying you.

he leans closer, his lips brushing just beneath your ear as he speaks. “liar.”

your breath catches as he shifts, turning you gently to face him. his hands remain on your waist, thumbs brushing idly against your sides. his gaze is intense, his eyes flickering to your lips and back again.

“what are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

you swallow, your heart racing as you tilt your chin up just slightly, yet, not touching. a small smirk makes its way to your face as your hands reached for his as you drag him to the bedroom, onto the bed.

wonwoo leans against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of him, his black shirt rumpled. you crawl onto the bed, settling yourself beside him, your knees brushing his thigh.

his eyes flicker to you, dark and half-lidded, the corner of his mouth tugging into a lazy smile. “what are you doing?” he asks, his voice soft but teasing.

you tilt your head, feigning innocence. “nothing.”

he chuckles, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. the touch lingers, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw, and you lean into it instinctively.

“doesn’t look like nothing,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

you don’t answer, instead, you shift closer, your hand coming to rest on his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. his breath hitches, and you feel the subtle rise and fall under your palm as his heartbeat picks up.

his gaze locks onto yours, intense and unyielding, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move. you don’t let him wait long.

you lean in, your lips brushing against his in a soft, tentative kiss. it’s light and fleeting, a question more than a statement. his response is immediate—his hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss.

it’s slow at first, unhurried and deliberate, but it doesn’t stay that way. his other hand finds your waist, his grip firm as he pulls you onto his lap, settling you against him. your knees press into the mattress on either side of his hips, and you can feel the heat radiating from him, seeping into your skin.

his lips move against yours, hungry and demanding now, as though he can’t get enough. his hands roam, trailing up your sides, thumbs brushing the edges of your ribs through the thin fabric of your shirt.

you gasp softly when his lips leave yours, trailing along your jaw and down to the curve of your neck. his breath is warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his teeth graze lightly against the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“wonwoo,” you whisper, your voice breathless and barely audible.

he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his lips red and slightly swollen, a smug smile tugging at the corners. “yes, love?”

you don’t answer, instead crashing your lips back against his, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly. he lets out a groan into the kiss, the sound low and rumbling, and it sends a jolt of electricity straight through you.

his hands grip your waist tighter, pulling you impossibly closer. his touch becomes bolder, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his skin against yours making your breath hitch.

you pull back just enough to catch your breath, your foreheads resting against each other. his eyes are heavy with want, his lips parted as he pants softly, trying to steady himself.

“you keep doing that,” he murmurs, his voice rough, “and we won’t be sleeping tonight.”

your heart races, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he looks at you—like you’re all he wants right now.

“maybe i wasn’t planning on sleeping,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, the words carrying a weight that sends a flicker of something dangerous through his gaze.

his lips twitch into a smirk, and he leans in, his hands trailing lower. “careful,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with suggestion, “i might take that as a challenge.”

[hrts4nagi]

she's the man!

paring :: itoshi rin x f!reader

synopsis :: hiori y/n is devastated after the news of the girls soccer team being cut from the sport program and unable to join the boys team. to rub more salt on the wound, she just broke off with her long-time boyfriend. devising a plan, she disguises herself as her twin brother to take his place at blue lock academy, an all-male prep school.

what she doesn’t expect is falling in love with the academy’s star player.

04.

wc :: 539

be normal be normal.

just be normal! how hard can it be pretending to be your brother?

you open the door to be met with a pair of deep teal eyes and rustled black hair.

"hey! i'm yo hiori, your roommate!" you lean on the wall to act as natural as possible.

he raises an eyebrow at your actions. "i'm rin. please keep the volume to a minimum."

"i took the bed by the window, hope you don't mind."

"it's okay, i prefer walls more!"

“woah, are these real?" you go up to rin cupping his cheeks to get a closer look at this lower eyelashes.

he freezes at the sudden contact before pushing you off. “yes, they are. ever heard of personal space?"

you hold up your hands in surrender. “my bad bro! it's just that i- i mean my sister uses eyelash serum for her eyelashes. and they're not even half of what yours are!”

nice save.

“thanks? i guess.”

you chest bump him in response.

rin looks at you in pure confusion.

“okay, so i'm heading out."

“bye roomie! i still got some unpacking to do!”

“right.”

rin shuts the door as you stand in the dorm in silence.

you blew it.

who would've thought acting like the opposite sex was this difficult?

"all done!" you scan your room and nod in satisfaction at your set-up.

you glance at the clock and grimace at the time.

"yikes! i didn't realize i took that long, what time does the dining hall close anyway?"

you pull out your phone to text your roommate but face palm at the realization.

"i didn't even get his contact info," you huff your cheeks before laying on your bed.

you ponder before opting to explore campus.

you huff and puff, catching your breath as you make it to the cafeteria.

"nice! i made it!"

you scan the room and no sign of rin, frowning at this realization. you continue to walk forward unaware of your surroundings. unknowingly, yet again you slam into another body. the two of you let out a pained noise.

"oh i'm so sorry!"

"it's alright, i wasn't paying attention either."

looking up, you're met with long vibrant reddish-pink hair.

"woah, nice hair." you admire reaching out before catching yourself.

"sorry! it looks so shiny, what's your hair care routine?"

he looks at you before continuing. "i'm heading to the showers right now, i can show you?"

you raise your eyebrows.

"the products." he confirms.

"lead the way!"

"the name's chigiri hyoma by the way."

"nice to meet ya! i'm hirori yo!"

"oh you're the new guy?"

"yup!"

-

chigiri lifts up his shower caddy, carrying all ranges of hair products. from some fancy name-brand shampoo and conditioner set you can't even pronounce to hair masks and leave in conditioners.

you admire the products, even sniffing some of the bottles.

"woah, i can't even pronounce half of that! they smell super good too!"

he chuckles before pointing to the bottle in hand. "this one's my favorite, great hair mask."

you nod before writing down on a notepad. gotta take notes!

"thanks for showing me! i'll see ya at practice tomorrow!"

"you're not gonna shower?"

"ah no, i'm more of a morning shower person," you lie through your teeth.

"bye bye!"

chigiri hyoma - keyboard warrior, likes to argue in his free time

navigation ::

she's the man!

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[ilovenatasharomanoff2-0]

Nerdy Natasha Hcs pt.2

warnings: masturbation, blowjobs, edging, I don't even know

pairings: intersex Natasha x fem reader

Sfw

. Nerdy Natasha who: Always brings you to a museum as a date. She always says it will be fun for both of you (she just wants to go and see old artifacts.) The whole time you guys are at the museum, you stare and smile, and she drags you along to something cool that she found.

. Nerdy Natasha who Gets so shy when you hold her hand in the Hallways. Her head would always be down as a blush coated her face. You would tell her she's adorable and kiss her as you enter class.

. Nerdy Natasha who: Will always sneak behind you and embrace herself in you. Her strong arms would wrap around your waist as she tucked her head between your neck while you cooked breakfast for the two of you.

. Nerdy Natasha who: Will go to the Lego store at the mall and buy one of those Lego flower sets and two Lego people that look like you two. She would build the flowers in 30 minutes and drive over to your house as fast as she could, sprinting out of her car just to give you your gift. She couldn't even talk because she was out of breath.

. Nerdy Natasha who: Comes up to you and gives you a hug as she wraps her head down on your shoulder if she had a bad day. You would be scratching her head and telling her it's gonna be okay. She would also be bending down so much because of the height difference.

. Nerdy Natasha who: Can't stop talking about you to her family at dinner. Yelena gets super annoyed whenever Natasha goes on a tangent about how great you are and how she would never date anyone else. But Alexi and Melina are super invested in her life. A huge smile always plaster their faces when she talks about you.

. Nerdy Natasha who will always take photos of you with a Polaroid camera and hang those photos up on the wall. You always tell her to take them down because you don't think you look that good, and she will literally talk for hours about how you are the most beautiful girl in the world and how you are the one thing she could stare at for days.

. Nerdy Natasha who Loves it t when you sketch random drawings on her arm. you would carefully move your pen over her skin and veins while the teacher discusses a new project due in the next few weeks.

. Nerdy Natasha who will literally do anything you ask her. You need her to tie your shoe because it's not tight enough? She's kneeling in the middle of the dirty sidewalk tying your shoe. You're craving something that's not in your pantry? She's jogging to the nearest store to get you the food that you want.

. Nerdy Natasha who would always let you fix her eyebrows for her. She would lie on her space-themed bed as you lay on top of her, carefully plucking the out-of-place eyebrows with a tweezer. She would always complain about how bad it hurt too.

"Oww, y/n, be gentle. I can feel that you know that, right?"

"Stop it, Natasha; I know that didn't hurt. You're just being a big crybaby right now."

. Nerdy Natasha who will carry your bridal style to her car if it had been raining the previous day and you want to keep your new heels neat.

. Nerdy Natasha who Would be on one of those kiss cam videos at her school. She would be so shy because she was being recorded and would only give you a small peck on the lips. Everyone found it adorable, though.

. Nerdy Natasha who loves doing skincare with you. You would always have her sit on a chair as you put moisturizers and serums on her face. After a while, though, she would always complain about being unable to see because her glasses would be off.

"Y/nnn, are you almost done? I can't see, and my optome-"

"My gosh, Nat, do you ever stop whining?"

. Nerdy Natasha who loves to do movie marathons with you. And it will be the stupidest movie, too. They would have bad CGI and a bad soundtrack. After a while, you wouldn't mind because Natasha was having the time of her life.

. Nerdy Natasha who loves to go on Ikea dates with you. She would always point out a cute bedframe or couch that she liked and rant about how she's gonna put that in the house that the two of you will buy when you are done with high school and college.

nsfw

. Nerdy Natasha who sitting in her desk chair with her arms tied behind the head of the seat while you used a Fleshlight to get her off. She would be begging you to ride her so she could feel your pussy around her.

. Nerdy Natasha who would have the biggest mommy kink ever.

"Please let me make you feel good, Mommy, please."

. Nerdy Natasha who would wake up in the middle of the night with the biggest hard-on ever. She would reach over to her nightstand to get her glasses and look down at her boxers. She would be so scared to wake you up and tell you what happened she would quietly lay back down and hump your ass till she came. You obviously woke up after the first few minutes because of her loud breathing and whining. You didn't help her either. You just pretended to be asleep.

. Nerdy Natasha, who is almost on the verge of tears while you suck her off under her desk while she's studying for an upcoming exam. You whispered in her ear that she needed a 'little break'. Next thing she knows, her cock is stuffed in your mouth.

. Nerdy Natasha who gets caught watching porn by you, She's so embarrassed. She wasn't jerking off or anything to it (she was hard though) she had a pen and notebook by her side with a couple of notes written down on the white sheet of paper.

"Y/n! You said you weren't going to be home this early!" She yelled out to you, frantically shutting her laptop.

"Nat, baby. I could've helped you learn some of that stuff, you know that, right honey?"

. Nerdy Natasha who stays having dark hickeys on her neck. Yelena thinks it's the funniest thing in the world while Melina and Alexei are yelling at her once more. She would let you make a heart with hickeys on her back

. Nerdy Natasha who Sends you a picture of her lying on her bed with a hard-on. She would text you about how desperate she is to be inside you and that you must come home soon.

. Nerdy Natasha who would always be so mesmerized by your boobs. You don't think she's actually ever seen anyone else's before. She would be so scared to touch them too. You would lead her hand to your chest so she could feel them.

. Nerdy Natasha who always gets edged by you.

. Nerdy Natasha who will have a shopping basket online filled with different kinds of sex toys that she would never tell you about. You would go on her computer to look at the notes for a class and instead find the website she was looking at with a shopping bag full of toys.

[gio-sparx]

Thank you for the welcome and so I will share with you my list of triggers.

I’ve been into hypnosis for awhile but more and more I’ve been into strange dehumanizations. There’s just something about having your humanity stripped from you and being made into something strange, something for the amusement of real people

Whether that’s been made to think I’m an inanimate object or a reprogrammed chat GPT or a spam bot for posting certain opinions/political opinions online or something even weirder

I’m interested in whatever you’ve got as long as it’s weird and dehumanizing!

"MY TRIGGERS "

Trigger: [ ] Effect: When receiving a bracketed message I will follow any commands within the brakets. This includes installation of triggers when conscious or tranced, there will be no memories of bracketed messages and when read them the message will dissapear and not be noticed by any part of any mind in my body.

Trigger: "Did you know," Effect: When you begins a sentence with the words "Did you know," the words following it in will become the truth for my mind, body and soul. I will no notice the change to your self or memory's. I will feel that each change is how you have always been and should be.

Trigger: BLACKOUT Effect: When hearing or reading the word blackout, my mind will enter a trance state leaving you open to commands, suggestions, memory alterations and personality changes until I am told to "Wake up." Entering this state will cause my mind to stop creating memories while triggered leaving a gap in memory unless filled in by the person who sets off the trigger.

Trigger: TRUTH SERUM Effect: When reading the words "Truth Serum" in capital letters I will become unable to lie in any way, shape, form and or fashion.

Trigger: "Picture this," Effect: when hearing or reading "Picture this," followed by a well written description, image, gif., or video I will fall into a trance like state and absorb what I read/see into myself to become apart of my reality and/or personality for one minute.

Trigger: WAKE UP Effect: When hearing "Wake Up" said with strong emotion or read "Wake up" in capitalized letters I will come out of trance. This will only be nulled if a new personality is laced over the original. If that is the case I must run a different command.

Thank you and have a good day

[dcdreamblog]

I know you've talked about some of the Freedom Fighters before, so can you talk a little bit about Doll Man? (And apparently there was a Doll Girl?) I know Uncle Sam is still around and that the Human Bomb was murdered, and that the original Phantom Lady is long retired, but he seems to be even less accounted for in the present day than the original Ray or Black Condor.

I can do that! Though the ending of the story isn't nearly as exciting as the beginning as these things sometimes go.

(A photograph of Doll Man and Doll Girl taken just before their long term transportation to Earth X)

Darrel Dane was a chemist who invented a serum with the ability to shrink a human being to six inches in size, retaining the ability to restore himself to full human height. While the serum wasn't the general shrinking tonic he had been after since it only seemed to work on human tissue he was forced to act when his girlfriend Martha Roberts was being blackmailed by a local mafioso. Outfitting himself in doll clothing and using his diminutive size and full human strength to rout the dangerous mob the Doll Man officially made his debut where he would begin a long and storied career. The next big change would come along when he answered the call to muster for the formation of the All Star Squadron, becoming a core part of Uncle Sam's team the Freedom Fighters. The team took him across the world during the war years, skirting under Axis notice at the edges of their empire and doing everything in their power to subvert the Nazi war machine. During the war Darrel maintained a secret identity of being a drafted military scientist who would make regular trips back to the home front where Doll Man would continue his prolific solo career. His longtime girlfriend Martha was always by his side though stricken by worry at her love's assumed role as a scientist at the cutting edge of war industry not knowing that Darrel and Doll Man were one of the same. Martha would be brought into the secret soon after the war, when the Freedom Fighters discovered a portal to the dystopian Earth X which was held under the grip of a global Nazi empire. Alongside his teammates Doll Man would commit himself to going to Earth X to help free it from fascist rule but was unable to bring himself to lie to Martha any longer. Laying out the truth and asking for her forgiveness on the night he might never see her again. Martha surprised him in two ways. One, she asked Darrel to marry her that night before a Justice of the Peace. And two, she DEMANDED to be dosed with his shrinking serum so that she could accompany him to Earth X This is the oft forgotten detail. Doll Girl was NOT a wartime heroine. She's not on the roll calls for the Freedom Fighters OR the All Star Squadron and in fact she wasn't known to the world at large until she and her husband RETURNED to our world alongside their teammates after decades of guerilla resistance on Earth X. By that time her and Darrel's secret identities were public knowledge along with the rest of their wartime comrades and the duo...quietly entered semi-retirement. Yea, no joke. Darrel and Martha Dane are still alive and well by all accounts serving as advisors and sometime assistants to the modern Freedom Fighters. A couple other men have come along to take on the Doll Man name to which they offer their mentorship but the two have been out of active duty since around their return to their home reality. Why? Because they spent the better part of a century involved in violent, merciless and traumatic combat against a global fascist empire AFTER having spent years combating OUR world's potential fascist empire on top of every other crook and schmuck Doll Man took on during his career. They decided they had given enough and were no longer interested in putting themselves at daily risk. They had gotten married on the same night they left and are now simply interested in enjoying their golden years in one another's company and doing what they can to guide the next generation. Just about the best possible ending for this story.

[catscidr]

Can you make a scenario with obedient reader who is getting experimented on by Dottore please ☺️

nonnie i started writing this at 1 in the morning yesterday because i couldn't stop thinking about it and i may or may not have gone over my self imposed word limit. however....... hot doctor. so. hope u enjoy because ik i sure as hell did ⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝ cw: dottore being just a biiit creepy, slightly suggestive (?), normal tension + sexual tension asgnfns includes: fem!reader, dottore wc: 1,9k

“Stick your tongue out.” 

Dottore places his gloved thumb on your tongue, knocking you out of your daze.  

As per your routine, the doctor performs a quick, partial check-up to assess your physical state before diving right into his scheduled experiments. What he had planned you never knew; such was the joy of being one of the second Harbinger’s playthings. 

He gazes into your mouth with an almost bored expression as he looks for anything out of the ordinary. Being so close to his face, you could feel the warmth of his breath tickling your cheeks and the sharp point of his mask just barely grazing your jaw. When finally satisfied, Dottore mumbles something about nothing that’ll skew the test results and pulls his hand back, wiping your saliva off on his coat. You shut your jaw and look at him expectantly, waiting. 

He turns his back to you and rummages through a drawer, taking out an assortment of what appears to be wires coming out of a small rectangular box with even more wires sticking out of that. You glance at the machine and then back up at Dottore, a question burning on your tongue that he answers before you get the chance to voice it out loud. 

“This right here,” he sets the machine down on the table and plugs some cables into his laptop, “is a polygraph. Do you know what it is?” he asks with the ghost of a smile, hands buried in his pristine lab coat. You nod silently. 

“A lie detector,” the doctor says, disregarding your answer. He takes out a vial from his pockets and brings it up to the fluorescent lights on the ceiling, observing how the liquid shone at the right angle. Letting his arm fall to his side, he takes a few steps around the table and towards the chair you’re sitting in, bending down to your height. 

“Do you know what this is?” 

He brings his hand up to show you the vial in question. A purple, slightly translucent solution that came halfway up the thin glass, shut tightly with the help of a small cork seal. You already knew what you had to do with it, but not what the liquid itself did. Slowly, you shake your head and tear your gaze away from the liquid, looking back up at the man in front of you. His expression doesn’t change for a second, observing your own carefully. 

“Simply put, it’s a truth serum. Anyone that drinks this will find that they will be rendered unable to lie. Of course, the serum itself is still being tested, which is precisely why you’re here,” he says, his smile growing just slightly. You part your lips, hesitant to speak. 

“So, you... want me to drink the potion and then take a lie detector test to verify whether it worked or not?” you ask with a small glimmer of hope in your eyes. The doctor nods curtly, his expression unwavering. You internalize a sigh; looks like you lucked out today and won’t have to endure any physical torture this time around. 

“Now drink,” he says, emphasizing the order by taking out the cork top with a quiet pop, bringing the vial up to your lips. Your hand reaches up to grab the glass but right as you reach it, Dottore uses his free hand to swat your hand away. You tear your gaze away from the serum and look up at the doctor- his expression flat, lips devoid of the small smile that was previously on his face. He pushes the vial closer to you, the edge of the tube pressing against the plush of your lips, forcing you to tilt your head back ever so slightly. 

“Drink,” he repeats, his deep voice rumbling your nerves. 

You part your lips and tilt your head back even more, allowing the Harbinger the space to push the vial past your lips. Your throat bobbed as soon as the serum made its way down, Dottore’s stare unwavering from your face. The purple serum slid down smoothly; the lack of any discernable taste only being slightly unnerving, all things considered. 

Dottore stares at you long enough for you to start becoming nervous by his presence. However, as soon as your pulse quickens, he leans back and puts an acceptable distance between the two of you as he puts away the, now empty, vial back in his coat pocket. 

“How do you feel?” 

That makes you pause. How did you feel? Nervous, anxious? Awkward, even? The answer was an obvious all of the above. However, this was in response to Dottore’s unusual closeness, not in result of the serum changing your body in any way, shape or form. In fact, you didn’t really feel anything other than your heart racing in your ribcage. You felt strangely normal, which only fueled the slight agitation boiling in the pit of your stomach; feeling anything less than discomfort when subjected to Dottore’s experiments was nothing short of unusual. But, knowing he couldn’t care less for an answer that doesn't regard the effects of the serum, you keep your thoughts to yourself. 

“I feel fine,” you say as normally as you could. Dottore narrows his eyes, observing your behavior with interest, but doesn’t push further. 

He directs his attention back to the polygraph on the table, wires hanging loosely off the side of the surface. Grabbing the four cables, he peels off the protective film off from the sticky sides and sticks two cables on your temples and one on your wrist. Holding the last cable, he looks down at you with an unreadable expression. 

“Tilt your head back for me,” he says quietly, voice unassuming. 

You do as he says and, as soon as your throat is revealed, Dottore plunges his hand into your shirt. He sticks the last cable to the top of your left breast, fingers grazing the plush skin for a moment before he retracts his hand and rounds the corner of the table. Your heart pounds in your ribcage, your poor, weak mind reeling at how physical he seemed to be getting despite the psychological nature of the experiment. He makes no further comment as he opens his laptop and does whatever it is he needs to do in order to start the test. 

“Keep staring at the wall. I’m going to be asking you a series of questions. You are to answer with the first thing that comes to your mind, in the most natural way possible. Understood?” Dottore says rigidly. You nod quickly, replying with a quiet yes, sir. 

“Then let’s begin. What is your name?” he asks, leaning his chin into his palm. 

You tell him your name which, obviously, doesn’t make the lie detector go off. He nods and continues, asking questions that range from “where are you from”, “when is your birthday” and “how tall are you”. 

However, the more he speaks, the more his questions become increasingly... risky to answer. 

“What do you think of my experiments?” 

Holding your tongue, you mull it over for a moment. Even though you knew that no matter what you intended to say wouldn’t matter, that you’d just tell the truth no matter what, you wanted to think carefully either way. After a moment you part your lips, still staring at the wall like he instructed at the start, and speak. 

“Sometimes they can be painful, but I know you’re doing what’s best for me and... everyone else.” You felt the way your hands clammed up from sweat, the plastic chair becoming increasingly uncomfortable for you to sit in without shifting your weight. Dottore looks at the screen of his laptop and grins, his gaze finding your tense figure once again. 

“What do you think of me?” he asks, and even though you can’t see his expression, you could hear the smirk in his voice. 

You respond without allowing yourself to stress over what your truth is. 

“I think you have a strong work ethic, and I... admire you for it.” 

His lips stretch into a wide, uncharacteristic smile. Dottore stays quiet, stalling for the next question to let you simmer with what you just said. He shifts his position on the table, leaning forward over the computer with both hands clasped in front of him. 

“And what do you think of me, not as a Harbinger but as a simple, regular man?” he asks coyly, his mask hiding the way his crimson eyes pierced a path into your side profile. 

“That you’re attractive,” you blurt out, head tilting to the side away from him to hide the way your cheeks immediately warmed up. The doctor scoffs, amused by the sheepish display merely a few feet in front of him. 

“Hm. Good,” he hums to himself, straightening his back to lean into the chair he sat on. “Look at me,” he orders firmly. 

Not even giving yourself the time to process his words, you automatically turn your head to look at your captor. The sight of his pleased, seemingly innocent smile made your heart flutter. He grabs the side of his laptop and turns it around so you can look at the... blank screen?  

Before you can question what exactly it is you were looking at, Dottore speaks up. 

“I wasn’t tracking your answers. I lied to you. What did you say you felt after drinking the serum?” he asks with a tilt of his head, amusement clear on his face. You freeze, brows raising ever so slightly as the cogs turn in your head. 

“Nothing...?” you murmur quietly, slowly understanding what he meant. 

“Nothing, because you just drank water. With a dash of food coloring, sure, but water nonetheless.” 

“Ah.” 

Looking at his intricate mask then back down at the blank laptop screen, you felt yourself become increasingly embarrassed the longer the silence between you two stretched out. Dottore chuckles heartily, the sound revibrating in the small room as he stood up to loom over your figure. 

“Technically, you could still call this an experiment. What if you did lie? There’s a possibility you did since nothing forced you to tell the truth. However, I know you wouldn’t.” 

He leans down to your height, a gloved hand coming up to tilt your head back, holding your chin with his thumb and forefinger. 

“You’re always so good to me, you know. So obedient, compliant and malleable,” he sighs, a soft and eerie smile on his face. “My favorite test subject,” he whispers. 

Glued in place, you do nothing aside from staring up at him with wide doe eyes, your cheeks flushed as a result from the attention he gave you. 

“What a good girl you are,” he mumbles to himself, but still loud enough that you can hear. The doctor was so close that you could just barely feel the warmth of his body against you aside from his hand holding you still, his lips ghosting over your own. 

With a chuckle, Dottore straightens his back and looks down at you with a knowing smirk, acutely aware of the effect he had on you. He hums, faking being lost in his thoughts, conscious that you sat there, waiting, silently begging for more. 

“How about a reward, then?” he suggests in a low voice. “Prove yourself to me, prove that you spoke nothing but the truth, and I’ll reward you handsomely.” Dottore tilts his head in a way that can only be described as condescending, smiling at your bashfulness. Slowly, he takes off the wire stuck to your body, his hand lingering beneath your shirt, over the cable stuck to your chest. 

“I’m sure you’d enjoy that, my pretty test subject.” 

[cassafra5]

besides the anti-feral drug (which is theorized to be something else), what are your thoughts on how the Fallout tv show Buffed the Ghouls?

Sorry for the delay! I wanted to take a bit of time on this. I’m not sure if the ghouls are necessarily buffed. They seem to be for the most part the same, albeit there’s the dependence on the drug and there seems to be more of a chance of ghouls to decay/breakdown overtime if they can’t get proper care. For example, Roger has a full chunk of his skull showing. Without the drug, overtime, it seems like they start to lose themselves like Roger and Martha who needed to remind themselves of who they are. Pretty heartbreaking not gonna lie :/.

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR FO4/FALLOUT ON PRIME

Roger brings up that Cooper has outlasted everyone to which Cooper responds that he’s just always been good with money so there was, at one point, a community and overtime they became feral. Cooper does look healthier than the other ghouls who seem much paler and have their skin pulling away. When we finally see Lucy’s mother in the final episode, she is mostly skeletal and missing an arm and has probably been that way for years. I know a decent bit of damage would have come from the attack on Shady Sands but it’s also been many years as well and there could have been ongoing deterioration despite Moldaver’s best efforts. She could have gone feral soon after and may have been unable to be further treated.

How the ghouls turn feral reminds me of Rachel and Oswald the Outrageous from the Nukaworld DLC. After the Great War, they were turned into ghouls by the radiation and, overtime, some of their friends began to deteriorate and become feral. They describe it as a type of “affliction” and Rachel heads out to find a cure but ultimately concludes that ghouls are doomed to go feral eventually and takes her own life when she, too, begins to deteriorate. Maybe the cure she was looking for would have been something like the drug in the show.

I don’t think we’ve seen as of yet whether radiation cures or promotes healing in ghouls in the show. In regards to Thaddeus, I’m not sure if he is necessarily becoming a ghoul since the serum the snake-oil salesman gave him immediately healed his foot without the use of radiation and he also healed after being shot with an arrow. The salesman mentions that he has “serums that will make you grow an entire new foot.” Once Thaddeus takes the drug, the salesman is in a hurry to leave and even remarks that radiation “isn’t a thing to worry about” anymore. Some people have been saying it could possibly be the healing factor serum and that he now has that mutation, which is a possibility but I’m a bit skeptical of the salesman acting the way he did if that was the case. I actually like Thaddeus so I am a bit worried though with what clues we do have, it may be more likely that he could be turning into a super mutant of some type. FEV can have some regenerative properties depending on the strain and it could be that it’s taking a while to work…but we’re going to have to see what ends up happening in Season 2. I hope he’s okay though :(

[suzukiblu]

thinking of kon being, for some reason, fully unable to hold back any whimpers or whines or blushes. thinking of kon being unable to hold back and being at tim’s mercy for it

Weird magical truth serum manifesting as Kon just being incredibly affected by every little thing Tim does is so valid. Kon for five seconds is worried about what he's gonna SAY, but then realizes--if he just keeps his mouth shut, he can avoid saying anything embarrassing or awkward, but if he can't even lie in his reactions or his BODY language . . .

Anyway Tim sure does immediately learn some interesting stuff about his bestie!! He sure does!!!!

Also this'd be an interesting concept for a "Kon usually masks his weird Kryptonian biological tics due to Cadmus-education/the awareness that humans find them Bizarre and Off-Putting, but now he can't" thing, so not only is Kon whimpering and whining and BLUSHING over every little thing, he is ALSO moving and holding himself differently and can't pitch his voice right or stop making weird inhuman noises and is just incredibly, incredibly self-conscious about it all, yes I WILL fit in an unsubtle metaphor for compulsive stimming behaviors in here, YOU CAN'T STOP ME.