#This series is taking on a life of it's own...

[jbbuckybarnes]

Soulmate Subscription [LN4]

✨ Lando Norris x Reader (Y/N)

Author's note: Listen, the state of the world has become so ass that now after almost two years of not writing fanfic this 26yo is back at writing a bit to reduce stress. Don't expect me to be back fully because this unfortunately doesn't pay the bills (oh to be a nepo partner that can just do this on the side...i digress).

Warnings: Bro, I have never been to a GP, especially not as a VIP, so I have no clue how this shit works logistically. Reader is Lan's age because I said so, have fun being 25/26 y'all. Also zero proofreading and written past midnight. Formatting is bad because I posted from my phone...we run on vibes here the way Ferrari engineers do.

Prompt Used: Soulmate AU where you receive a monthly box containing clues to find your soulmate. (by @soulmate-au-bargain-bin) & "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you"

Since the day you turned 18 in 2017 you had gotten small things sent to you in the mail that hinted at your soulmate. Some people took the clues and figured out their soulmates pretty fast, others took well into their 50s because their soulmate had such an average and difficult to guess life. The problem with your boxes was that you could tell this soulmate had a very uncommon hobby, motorsports, but you couldn't pinpoint it much further.

You had gotten sketches of helmets, a rag with motor oil on it, a map of the Silverstone circuit in the UK, an F1 pass, a nameless boarding ticket for a flight to Las Vegas, a small container of hair gel and a black shirt. All of those things didn't narrow it down. You could tell the person was into racing, but if it was as a fan or a hobby driver themselves didn't quite get across. Anyone could go to a race somewhere and anyone could be into tuning their own car or driving karts every now and then. The small clues weren't of any help so far and at age 26 you wondered if your life was interesting enough to even get your soulmate any closer to your identity. You liked taking the occasional dance class and walks in nearby nature. A concert every couple months and writing personal essays also weren't very identifying.

This months package arrived at the expected time, but it was bigger this time. You took it to your bed and grabbed the way too oversized cutter knife. Inside the box was a blue and orange piece of cloth with a number four on it. It seems to have been cut out of something actually wearable but the material was thicker than a usual shirt or jacket. You looked at the striped orange design of the number and grabbed your phone to look up the couple racing series you were familiar with by now, Formula E, NASCAR, Indycar, WEC, MotoGP, F4, F3, F2, F1. Who has a number four? F1 – "Number 4, Lando Norris, driving for McLaren" you mumbled to yourself. So your soulmate must be a fan of him maybe. He looked cute, a little fuckboy-ish if you were honest.

You looked at the cut out of the cloth more closely and noticed something stuck to the back of it. A piece of paper with something bunched up behind it.

"One of these days it'll have to work. No clue if I can will into existence what the universe sends you, but I'll keep trying to get you to a race. Watch this arrive after the race..." you quietly read the semi-fucked up handwriting and grabbed what is stuck between the cloth and the note. A pass reading "All-Access VIP – Belgian GP in Spa-Francorchamps – Hosted by: McLaren F1 Team"

Your eyes went wide, "Holy..." You didn't know a lot about racing other than the basics but you knew these were probably worth thousands.

"Guess I'll have to figure out how to get to Belgium."

—

You were standing in the humid heat of the European summer. The denim jacket that you had sewn the #4 cloth to on the back was already tied around your hips because the heat was unbearable. How were people doing this three days in a row?

You finally entered the circuit, not a clue of where to go next, but you were sure you'd figure it out. After all, VIP means there aren't many places you couldn't go. And somehow asking someone in a VIP area for help felt less odd to you, there must be rich people here all the time that don't usually do this.

Orange and McLaren is all you knew to look out for. Not that you would mind accidentally ending up in Ferrari heaven, but at this point you had caught up a bit on the sport and knew they weren't doing as well this year as expected. You walked down a mini road full of people between the paddock and mini houses that the teams brought with them everywhere.

A stressed-looking man in blue and white team gear walked by you with a bit of an entourage. You knew that one from the algorithm playing out a video of his to you. Carlos something with S.

In the distance you could spot shiny orange on one side and a bustling entry to the garage on the other side. Like orange little worker bees. You knew the shiny home is most likely where you'd find some water aka what you were sweating out in buckets at that moment.

You dodged your way through media representatives and people making a thousand times what you make a day and finally made your way in and beelined for a worker next to a barebones bar setup.

"What can I get you, Miss?"

"Just cold water, it's like walking through soup today."

"July races will do that to you." The person answered politely.

"At least there's some cooling in here." You took the cup with a small thanks.

"Almost too cold." You looked at the worker noticing them wearing a long sleeve. And they were right, five more minutes in there and you'd probably feel like you're in Antarctica. That electricity bill must be insane.

You drank the water and put your jacket back on.

"I don't know how people do this almost every week. I'd go insane from all the sensory inputs."

"You get used to it." They shrugged with a smile.

You heard the entrance to the motorhome become louder and a man entered with his racing overall half down. You knew that one, he was leading the championship right now. You weren't very keen on asking for pictures here, it's not like you were a big motorsports fan. He also just looked like he wanted his peace, so you focused back on staring holes into the walls of the McLaren home. You didn't notice the little lookover he gave you once he had walked past you.

Free Practice wasn't interesting you that much if you were honest. You'd watch the second one today but cars going fast were just cars going fast at the end of the day, you had two more days to see that. Plus finding your way to a place where you could watch was another mission.

"What do you mean it worked?" "Look." You heard two voices going back and forth behind you.

"I think I might throw up." "God, you're so dramatic." You looked towards the entrance but not behind you. You were nosy but not THAT nosy.

"Oh my god, how would I even introduce myself?" "Like you usually do?" "Os, this isn't fucking usual, not everyone magically went to school with their forever person the way you did." "If you don't talk to her, I will." "Oh hell nah, mate." "Well, I tried. Good look, Lan."

It got quiet around you, the two bickering voices had stopped, many people were already heading out to go watch FP2 in a bit, the worker had struck up a conversation with a rich-looking older lady.

A male figure appeared next to, "Nice jacket. I mean, hi. I mean...ugh, I won't even attempt to save that first impression." You giggled and looked up. Oh, the cute fuckboy-ish guy looking thrown off was kinda adorable, you had to admit.

"Hi. Lando, right?" He gave a small nod.

"Can I ask where'd you get it from,..." "Y/N" "Y/N" He said it very carefully as if he would need to remember it.

"I don't know, just kind of arrived one day." "Like a certain box that arrives every month?" "Maybe..."

He eyed you more intently, "That's from a race suite in my first season of F1. I figured I'd try to attach something to it and lose it on purpose."

You blinked at him trying to process, "HUH?"

"I'll need a little more input than that." He gave a boyish little grin but looked unsure.

"I just thought my soulmate would be a big fan of yours or working for you or something." He shrugged innocently.

"Oh boy." You exhaled, making him raise an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry, are you expecting me to process that immediately surrounded by that much sensory input?" He chuckled and shook his head, "My bad, I should've expected absolute confusion."

There was a short silence, "I assume you're not much of a motorsports fan?"

"Eh...it's not my first choice, but some of the faces are hard to dodge in advertising." He gave a wide grin to you.

He looked down at his watch, "10 more minutes of being allowed to dodge my responsibilities. You wanna talk...uh, elsewhere." You nodded.

You weren't really expecting to be dragged into a tiny room while Oscar gave you a look that read as "He's always this idiotic."

"Well, uh, this is cozy..." You stood there, a bit too close to him.

"Yeah, they don't really make big drivers rooms." His hand went through his curly hair.

"At least it's more quiet." You exhaled at the relaxation level your nervous system reached.

"You need ear plugs for the weekend?" He grabbed a round little plastic casing and handed it to you.

"Uh, thanks." "If you needed it I'd literally give you what I'm wearing right now if I wasn't legally required to wear it." He chuckled.

You blinked at him again, processing.

"Sorry, that was a bit over the top. But I meant it as in 'I'd give my soulmate anything', you know?"

You nodded, still processing.

"Am I making this awkward or are you just overwhelmed?" He asked half concerned, half to lighten up the tension.

You exhaled, "Both."

"I'm not the best with first impressions I've heard." He admitted.

"No no, I think it's cute." Now both of you were flustered.

"I always expected there to be this ideal way I'd meet my soulmate. You know that moment some people talk about." "Oh, like the, we don't need to know each other, we'll kiss first and talk second kinda stories." You both giggled.

"I mean..." He looked at you clearly jokingly flirty.

"You excude too much fuckboy energy for that to ever have been a possibility." You laughed.

He feigned offense but instantly stopped and said, "Yeah no, I can see it, my PR people were working hard on that one."

"Oh, I have not seen any PR surrounding you, that's literally just your energy." "Okay NOW I'm offended, wow!"

You both broke into laughter.

"If I win this Sunday, will you change your mind?" He looked like he liked to play with fire.

"Things only a fuckboy would ask." "Well, would you?" "Are we still talking about a kiss or me not calling out your fuckboy energy?"

He caged you in a little, not in an overbearing way, you could easily leave.

"Bit of both." A short silence, "Blushing, are we?"

"Shut up." You mumbled looking away and he chuckled.

"I'll just assume that's a yes?" You met his gaze, "Yeah."

He looked at his wrist next to your head, "Well, gorgeous, wanna watch FP2 from the coolest place of all?"

"You're assuming that wouldn't be my couch for me." He laughed at that.

"I mean I guess that's nicer than in the garage with my headset on." He eyed you, "But that wouldn't be very future wife of you."

You hid your face behind your hands, "Stop it!"

"I'll think about it, darling." He grabbed one of your hands and opened the door of the drivers room again.

His hand switched to the small of your back, guiding you through way too many people to the garage and all the shebang in there.

"Lando!" Someone in the garage called out. "Gimme one second!" His face was focused putting his headphones on you, then he gave you a self-satisfied smile, "See you in a bit, Y/N."

You had to admit, a man in a race suit wasn't the worst person you could've gotten as a soulmate. You definitely didn't mind looking at him. Or his driving.

Or the way he still looked good while sweaty after the helmet came back off after the hour of free practice.

"Is it legal to still look good when sweaty?" You joked as he walked towards you.

"I don't know, you tell me." He brushed over your forehead with the towel he was holding.

"Didn't even give me the opportunity to be offended." He grinned self-satisfied at that.

"I should probably get you some team gear so you won't die out here tomorrow." He said more to himself than your while taking the headphones from you again.

"Ew, orange." "You could also wear my shirts." He shrugged and smirked as he watched you processing yet again.

You were dragged back to the driver's room, "I like the way your brain just short circuits when I flirt with you."

"You just wait until I feel comfortable enough to throw that back at you." You pretended to be offended as the door shut behind you.

"Looking forward to it." He winked at you before taking off his fireproofs. Act normal, act normal, act normal.

He put on a shirt before his hands went to the rest of his overalls...you turned around, this man was insane, unhinged, crazy.

"You can look again." He looked at you a bit sorry when you turned around again, but only a bit.

"You're unhinged." He giggled because you were right.

"You like it." "...unfortunately."

He caged you in again, "Please tell me you want to kiss me as much as want to kiss you right now."

"Dunno, it's giving kiss first, talk second soulmate stories." You teased, but put your arms around his neck.

"I still can't believe that deliberately losing something worked." You could feel his breath on you lips.

"Still can't believe my soulmate is a dumbass driving 300kph." You both giggled before closing the distance.

You didn't expect him to be so...soft and featherlight.

"I have a feeling I'll be in trouble if I don't win this week." You gave him a challenging smirk in response.

"I'd date you either way, but I'd say it's a bonus." "I feel like your existence in my life now is already a bonus."

"You're so corny." You laughed at him.

"Well, damn, I'm sorry?" He held his hands up.

"Don't be. I like it." Soft smiles were interchanged.

"Wanna sneak off and order food?" "As long as an AC is involved." He laughed and grabbed you, expertly sneaking you out of the circuit, into his hotel and spent all evening explaining his life to you between slices of pizza.

[guksfairy]

ALMOST MISSED YOU | JJK

how you made your way back to him

wc: 1.2k

drabble series masterlist

School was never one of Jungkook’s top priorities, especially now that his main focus was debuting as a solo artist under Wonijin Entertainment. A company that decided to take a chance on young 13 year old Jungkook. They saw the potential the day he walked into their audition room ready to sing his heart out for the world

At most, Jungkook would attend school no more than three days a week, with his parents allowing it only because he promised if he failed he would put school first and even apply to universities.

At this point, if you asked Jungkook what his math teacher’s name was, he’d take a wild guess and probably get it right 2/10 times. Besides his friends, Jungkook only ever noticed one other person in school. You.

You sat in the corner with your friends, minding your business. You weren’t loud like the popular girls but you weren’t so quiet to be an “invisible” person either.

You were beautiful in ways Jungkook didn’t even think could be possible outside of movies. He wishes he could say he befriended you and asked you out but, with him barely being at school, he didn’t feel like he had enough time.

A boyfriend that is too busy cooped up in an entertainment company building isn’t what you deserved.

And when Jungkook finally debuted at the young age of 15, one of the youngest at the time, he was left to wonder what happened to you. He left school and was privately educated by the company’s private educator. He graduated on a random Wednesday afternoon.

You never left his mind though. He’d randomly be practicing one day and think about the girl he was attracted to when he was 13. Or he’d be at a fan signing event and hope that you became a fan of his and were in the audience.

But news of you was a lost cause until that one Monday night. That glorious night you found your way back to his life.

One of his good model friends had reposted your post. It was a group photo. He knew Taehyung but he didn’t recognize the other five people. Except for you in the very center of the picture. Your smile outshining the others as you held a glass of champagne.

Your caption.

Happy Birthday to me! Thank you my loves for the surprise birthday dinner <3

Within seconds Jungkook finds himself scrolling through your account and finds you have become a well known content creator. Mostly vlogs where you show what you do on the average day.

Jungkook watches a handful of your videos that night, feeling like he’s a teenager all over again with the way he felt butterflies in his stomach every time you smiled or laughed.

He thought about following you that night but decided against it when he remembered who he was and the impact it could bring to you if his fans found out he followed you. There was nothing that could get past them. So instead, he texted Taehyung.

Jungkook 10:18PM

You know Y/N?

Taehyung 10:20 PM

Why do you ask?

You know her?

Jungkook 10:20 PM

went to school with her

always wondered what happened with her lol

Taehyung 10:21 PM

Jeon Jungkook wondering about a girl??

The same one that gave that model girl a fake number when he got asked out??

Jungkook 10:21 PM

that was different

i’m not giving my number to a stranger

Taehyung 10:22 PM

*a model

Jungkook 10:22 PM

whatever

Taehyung 10:22 PM

Well if you must know yes I’m friends with Y/N

Jungkook 10:23 PM

is she dating anyone

Taehyung 10:23 PM

lmaoooo smooth

ask her

xxx-xxx-xxxx

As Jungkook stared at the screen in panic, wondering if he should actually text you or not, Taehyung was already next to you excited to tell you about the conversation he just had.

“Do you know Jungkook?”

Everyone around the table was too occupied in their own conversations to notice your eyes widen at the question your dear friend had asked you.

“Jungkook? Oh my god I haven’t heard of him in years,” you chuckle remembering the boy who would show up to school every once in a while and copy off his friend because he was always behind on material.

You knew he was training to become an idol but were never too invested in it the way everyone else in the class was. You always thought he was cute and funny but if he was going to be an idol, there was no use in confessing to him the way you felt.

The stolen glances during class were just that.

“Gave him your number,” Tae says like it’s nothing, taking a sip of his own drink.

“What? Why?”

“Because he asked about you, that’s why,”

He asked about you?

“He asked about me? Why?”

“I don’t know he said something about how he recognized the pretty girl in the picture I reposted,” you roll your eyes not taking him seriously because you know your friend too well at this point.

“Ha ha you’re so funny,” he smiles and replies.

“I’m joking but he did say he knew you so I gave him your number. Maybe you guys could reconnect and maybe you can finally move on from Jongwoo,” Tae says mentioning your current crush that you know is going nowhere since you know he only sees you as a friend.

You stare at Jongwoo across the table talking with someone else and you sigh while looking back at Taehyung.

Ding.

“Couldn’t even wait a full day,” Taehyung chuckles and you read the notification on your phone.

xxx-xxx-xxxx 10:37 PM

Hey it’s Jungkook. Got your number from Tae

Hope you don’t mind

and that you remember me haha

“He texts like a loser,” Taehyung jokes and you gently shove him with a smile.

You don’t text him back in the moment, but hours later when your comfortable in bed you finally have the courage to reply.

You 12:11 PM

Omg hi !!

Sorry for the late reply I was out

Jungkook 12:11PM

don’t apologize i get it lol

happy belated birthday btw

i’m not a creep i just saw Tae’s story

You smile at his text and continue the conversation. One that didn’t end until 3 in the morning with the promise to get coffee in person soon and catch up properly.

You go to bed with a smile not knowing that Jungkook is doing the exact same thing.

He recalls the way he felt the following Monday after he officially left school and how he wouldn’t be able to see his friends now that he had a much stricter schedule, but more importantly he couldn’t see you anymore. Couldn’t look at the back of the class saying he’s just looking outside when really he’s watching you take notes with your glittery pens he knew you liked.

He let you slip out of his life once, and he swears he’s not going to let it happen again.

[rhettrosunsets]

Danger Zone - Bob Floyd X Fem! Retired F1 Driver

Pairing: Bob Floyd X Fem!Retired F1 Driver

Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff!

Summary: You've kept this part of your life held close to your chest for years, it doesn't matter that millions of people watched you live on TV. But when Bob Floyd wiggles his way into your secluded life, you realize that he deserves to know, and his reaction only makes you wish you would've told him sooner.

Based off this ask: here!

Warnings: Readers a bit of an over-thinker at times, mentions of F1 crash, illusions that reader has been used for being a driver in the past, mentions of reporters being assholes, no description of reader, no use of Y/N. Mentions of doctors, hospitals, bruises, etc, Mentions of reader having a scar across their forearm and wrist from the crash. Reader used to drive for Haas (yes, that deserves it's own warning.)

Notes: Thank you anon who requested this!! I hope I made it fluffy enough with all the world building I had going on here lol. I absolutely loved this request and am so happy that I got to write it. I had so much fun with this as it felt like my two worlds colliding. I hope I did the request justice :)

The crash didn’t end in screaming agony or dramatics like most thought, it had ended with silence.

You hadn’t raced since, the rehab had ended up taking months, with the doctors saying you were lucky you’d only shattered your wrist and not your spine considering the amount of bruising you had. Haas had sent you flowers, started working on press releases immediately, and gave you a contract release form buried under one too many thank you’s and “we’re so sorry, praying for your recovery” to make you actually appreciate any of it.

You had been just twenty-two years old at the time. You had come seventh place in Spain and your best result yet as you dragged your lifeless car as far as you could with what you could manage. You were the only woman in Formula One, barely into your early twenties, and clawing your way into points like your life depended on it, having a fire in your eyes, something to prove.

Then Monza happened.

Now, three years later at twenty-five, San Diego was the only place that didn’t make you feel like you were being haunted by memories you couldn’t run far enough from. You’d grown up here, before karting and the Formula Series had turned you into a never ending headline. 

You’d missed it while being gone for so much of your teenage years. You missed the gentle sea breeze that would cover your skin in a soft chill even on the warmest of San Diego nights. You missed hearing the aviator jets as you were lulled to sleep in your bed at night, the sound of crashing waves and the jets enough to knock you out instantly as a kid. You missed San Diego, and you missed who you used to be when you once lived here.

So here you were, barefoot in the sand as you stared out at the ocean, your hoodie sleeves rolled up just enough to expose the scar across your wrist and forearm that you didn’t bother hiding anymore.

You were trying your best to distance yourself from what you had lost, trying to focus intently on the way the seagulls were flying over squawking at anyone in sight, or the way that the water reflected the beautiful sunset happening in front of your eyes. But your wrist ached like it always did when the temperature dropped and you heard a loud engine backfire in the distance, giving you an instant reminder of everything you had lost all at once.

You needed something to pull you out of your own head, just something to distract you and make you forget about the last three years of your life, if even just for a moment. That’s when you heard music drifting from the beachside bar behind you. You heard loud joyous laughter, loud music, and the sound of Glasses clinking every so often. 

You turned toward it, brushing sand from your ankles and pulling your hood down. Just one drink, you told yourself. Just something to take the edge off for a minute. You didn’t know it yet, but that bar was about to change everything.

You walked into the bar and slid onto a barstool and quickly ordered a drink, quickly brushing excess sand off your calves with a soft groan at how the sand still tried to stick to you. And that’s when you heard a voice beside you, it was low, polite, and a little shy. Something you weren’t used to hearing much these days.

“You, uh..come from the beach?” 

You turned your head and blinked, looking up at the man next to you. He was tall, blonde, and had wire rimmed glasses that sat just a little crooked on him. You also noticed he had the kindest looking baby blue eyes you’d ever seen. He wore a flight suit, the name tag reading Floyd.

Something between the soft look in his eyes and the way he wore his quiet smile made your shoulders unclench from the tense state they always seem to be permanently locked in. “What gave me away?” you asked.

He chuckled quietly, lifting his drink. “Well, the sand spilling off of you may have given me a bit of a hint.” And you laughed, for what felt like the first time in weeks.

“I’m Bob” he said, offering his hand. You hesitated slightly, so used to people asking you for things immediately, or asking you wildly inappropriate questions. But for some reason, this felt different. So after hesitating just a beat longer, you took his hand and smiled up at him, saying a soft  “Nice to meet you, Bob.”

The evening changed. You didn’t tell him your last name that night, still carrying fear with you everywhere you went. But instead you just talked, you talked about anything and everything. About what types of music you both like, about books you’re reading. He didn’t ask what you did, and he didn’t seem to care when you didn’t mention it at all throughout the evening. When he walked you to your car later, his hand brushing lightly against yours, as he insisted on opening your car door even if you were going to drive it home, you knew something had shifted.

Now, a few months later, you were nervous, something that you really hadn’t felt in years.

It was quite absurd when you considered the fact that you had driven 200 mph into corners with half an inch of space between you and the wall and hadn’t even blinked, deeming it second nature. You’d skidded through the rain at Monza and survived after hitting a barrier so hard that your wrist would never be the same and your career would be over. You went through Formula One as the only woman on the grid and had to learn how to deal with horrific interviewers, awkward questions and things that would make anyone shiver.

But meeting you boyfriends team? That's where you drew the line, that was absolutely terrifying to you.

The team was loud, close enough to be considered family, and extremely chaotic. Yet, they welcomed you at The Hard Deck like you were already one of their own, like you were family.

Phoenix had shot you a smile and whispered into your ear that “Bob’s one of the good ones, I'd keep him if I were you.” which made you giggle and automatically like the girl, feeling much more confident than when you walked in. While Rooster gave you a casual nod before tipping back his beer and grabbing the pool-stick from Fanboy. Hangman, however, leaned in with that trademark smirk of his and immediately asked you “So what do you do?”

“I used to drive, but I’ve always loved photography, so I'm pursuing that for now.” you said simply, not wanting to dive into your entire career story right now, not when the night had been going so good and you had been in such a good mood. “What, racing or something?” Hangman had teased, clearly not expecting you to say yes. You nodded, swallowing the strange twist of emotion in your chest that came into your throat and left a painful hitch. “Yeah. Something kinda like that.” 

You didn’t elaborate much further, your shoulder’s hunching slightly inwards, and Bob, your sweet, caring, ever observant boyfriend caught that immediately as his hand reached under the table to wrap around yours, giving it a firm squeeze and rubbing his thumb gently over yours without saying a word. You knew at this moment that you truly loved Bob Floyd. And he deserved to know about the other part of your life that you’ve kept so tightly hidden to yourself for the last few years, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to try to bring it up and talk about it, all the memories and emotions flooding back as you do.

A few weeks had passed since you had met the team, and you knew that you wanted Bob to meet your family. You wanted your family to meet the man who treated you like gold, massaged your wrist out for you when it started aching on bad days, the man who opens every door for you and hugs you like you’re all he ever needs. You decided it was finally time.

You invited him to dinner with your parents at their house, your nerves through the roof as you imagined how this would all go down.

 Bob had come straight from the base, his shirt half tucked into his jeans, and a bouquet of grocery store flowers in hand as he hugged your mom, and shook your dad’s hand, introducing himself before giving you a gentle kiss. Your mom had practically swooned at the sight, asking him all sorts of questions about his job, how he became an aviator, and all the questions about how you two met. Bob had just laughed and smiled that shy smile of his that makes your heart skip a beat and answered all your moms questions intently, not brushing over anything or making her feel like she asked a stupid question when it came to the mechanics of being a WSO. 

Your dad had grilled him with narrowed eyes, asking every question in the book that he could think of, and saying the normal "What are your intentions with my daughter?” before breaking into a grin halfway through dinner as he saw the way Bob interacted with your mom and the way he never let his hand falter from yours, seeing the way Bob constantly would give a nod to you as if to ask if you were okay. After that, Bob was met with a big “Welcome to the family, Son.” and a clap on the back as everyone gathered their dishes.

But then, then the part you’ve been dreading since the moment this evening happened.

Bob had gone to the bathroom, walking down the hallway you know has every photo, memory and award hung up gracing the wall. He came back five minutes later looking stunned.

 You followed his gaze to the hallway wall he was still glancing at, his eyes taking in every photo and memory. Dozens of framed photos lined the wall. Every race win since you were in karting, every podium you’ve ever had while being in the Formula Series, every photos of you each season with your team. There was one of you at eleven years old, it was your parents' favorite photo. It captured you grinning widely as you were in your tiny karting suit, holding your first ever trophy above your head. 

Others littered the wall, like one from when you were in Formula 3, your helmet under one arm and your racing suit smeared with grease and champagne as you smiled big at your team principal. Then one of you during your Formula 2 days, it was you on the podium, your smile so wide you felt like you were reliving the memory just by looking at it. And then, well then there was the photo that you never wanted to look at again. The photo that you had worked so hard to get to the point of being able to take, a photo that your parent’s cherished and you grimaced at. It was you in the Haas garage, arm slung around your engineer as you laughed just before your first ever F1 debut, the whole garage smiling at the fact that they had a women driver, and she was about to debut, not in a practice session, not in pre-season testing, no, she going to debut on track in a race.

Your body deflates slightly and Bob notices, walking away from the years worth of memories and gently wrapping his arm around your shoulder as he leads you back to the living room, where the rest of your family is waiting, eager to hear more about you two together. 

Soon you bid your family goodbye, and start heading back to your car, Bob’s hand firmly placed on your back grounding you despite the anxiety you feel about the inevitable questions he’s going to have.

Bob opens your car door, softly helping you in, before gently pressing a kiss to your forehead before closing your door and heading around to the drivers side, opening the door and getting in himself, and starting the car. 

As he pulls away from your parent’s house his hand finds yours, giving it a firm squeeze and softly saying “I’ve got questions Baby, I would love to know why my girlfriend is such a badass and hid it from me all this time. But, I can tell this is a sensitive topic for you and if you don’t want to talk about it yet then we aren’t going too. This is something I want you to tell me in your own time, Hun.”

Your eyes instantly well with tears, because Bob, your amazing boyfriend who has been nothing but thoughtful and caring to you since you met him just saw the hidden part of your life, the one you hide with a mask, and isn’t pushing you like others, isn’t drilling you with questions about what the rest of the drivers where like, asking what your crash felt like. Bob’s just there, holding you hand firmly, and letting you process how you need too. 

It’s at this moment that you decide to tell him, not because you feel the pressure too, but because you trust that he will accept every part of you. You know Bob, and he’s not going to compare you now, to the you that you once were. You know Bob doesn’t care about how many trophies you’ve won, how many podiums you’ve made, the people you’ve met, Bob just cares about you, and not because you were once a formula one driver, but because you're his girlfriend.  His girlfriend who tries to make him lunches when you stay over at his apartment, the one who always litters his face with kisses after a long day to make him smile. 

You know Bob wants you, all of you. As the car pulls into his apartment, and you guys go in, you tell him everything. 

How you started karting when you were six after a friend’s birthday party made you wanna keep doing it. How you rocked a barbie pink helmet at eight years old and never let anyone tell you different, how the boys never took you seriously in karting until you started winning big events, which made you only more determined to keep doing it. 

How as you got older and older you knew that this was what you wanted to do in life. How you fought your way through F3 and F2 as a teen, fighting to let everyone know that a girl could beat the best of the best, always giving interviews with grace even when you wished you would’ve punched some of them for the questions they’d ask you. You told him how you sobbed in your moms arms when you got the F1 call up saying you were going to be racing for Haas. You told him how everyone said a girl couldn’t make it, that you'd get cut from your seat within just a few races, and how your first finish in the points felt like spitting in their face, telling everyone who ever doubted you just because you were a woman to get fucked.

And then? Then you told him about the crash, about how when you turned that corner and felt the grip go and your car begin sliding, you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop the physics of what was going to happen. You told him about the sound of your car crumpling and how it’s something that’ll never leave your memories, and how after you crashed all you heard was ringing and then silence.

You told him the way you’ll never forget the smell of the burnt rubber and carbon fiber, and then you told him about the way your wrist shattered against the wheel as it got stuck, breaking your wrist and multiple fingers to the point where you needed five different surgeries to correct the nerve damage that had been created.

You told him about the pain when you woke up in the hospital after managing to climb in the ambulance before promptly passing out. You told him the pain of waking up and knowing you’d never race again, as you saw the state of your body and hands, knowing you were going to have to completely relearn how to use your right wrist, how to write, how to hold things, all of that was going to have to be completely redone.

Bob didn’t once interrupt you, ask you questions to go more in depth, he just listened. His presence calming, and his gaze on you firm with concern and love. “I miss it. so much” you said, your eyes on the ceiling as you lean back against the couch the tension in your body fading to something softer, something sadder. “That feeling, It was like flying. When I was in those cars nothing else mattered to me but the line I was going to take. Always trying to push the limit, go a bit further than the person before, take a risk and see the payoff from it.”

He doesn’t speak, he just keeps his hand warm on your thigh, gently squeezing it to let you know he was there when he could tell you were getting emotional. 

“I just. I really don’t like talking about it because I hate sounding bitter. I can see the way people pity me and look at me like I'm wasted potential, like they’re always wondering what could’ve been if I had continued, yet never acknowledging what I did do. I see those races on TV, or playing at the bar and it just guts me, because that should’ve been me, that was me, and now it’s all a faded away memory that I keep locked close to my chest.” You admitted softly

He finally turned toward you, his eyes full of quiet awe and something that looked like admiration. “You’re not bitter Baby, you’re brave, you changed the game darling. You became what little girls looked up to. You made it possible for someone else to believe they could do it too. Sure, you may have not ended the way you wanted, but what you’ve done can’t be erased”

You blinked hard, trying to fight the tears trying to escape your eyes, but failing as they began to wall. “And yeah” he continued, his thumb brushing away a stray tear on your cheek “Maybe your wrist doesn’t work the way it used to, but that doesn’t take away a single thing you’ve done. You’re still you, and I love every version of you because I want all of you, not just the girl who once raced, and not just the girl who I get to curl up with everything. I want you baby, all of you.”

You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him burying your face in his chest, while he held you on that couch while you fell apart in his arms, and not once did he make you feel bad for it.

Later that night, you're wrapped in his sheets and lying against his chest, your thoughts beginning to spiral again. “You okay?” Bob whispered, his voice raspy from exhaustion. 

You hesitated before humming a gentle “Just thinkin.” He pressed a kiss to your temple and softly asked “You ever think about driving again? Just for fun?” You tilted your head up a bit confused “What? Like sim racing?”

“No,” he said, a smirk quirking up in the corner of his mouth despite his tired eyes “Like go karting, the real kind. Maybe’ we take the team sometime. You know Hangman’s too competitive not to talk trash everyone. I’d pay to see my badass of a girl leave him in the dust.”

You snorted, a smile finally growing on your lips as you shake your head softly.

 “Oh come on baby, It’d be so much fun. You would get to be in your element again without all the stress, and I'd get to watch my girl absolutely destroy everyone's egos.” Bob say’s trying his best to convince you.

You laughed loudly, the real laughs that Bob always manages to pull out of you even when you think it’s impossible. You curled closer to him, burying yourself further into his hold, relishing in the way his arms gently squeezed you closer to him. “Thanks, Bobby” you whispered quietly.

 “For what?” He asks softly, peering down at you through tired eyes. You smile, meeting his gentle gaze and softly say “For making me feel like I still have a purpose, like I haven’t reached my full potential yet.”

He kissed your temple. “You haven’t, Baby. Not even close.”

[elliescoquettegirl]

Papercuts

ellie williams x fem reader

────────────────────── starting university you thought would fulfill you, the empty void inside you. that changing your whole life would solve your problems. it didn't, it actually made it worse. now you were completely alone, in a place far away from home and everything you once knew. you started working at a bar to fill your empty weekends. that's when you met ellie, your coworker and also someone that studied a year above you. would she perhaps help you fill this void of loneliness and uncertainty of yourself and your future? contains smut! mdni!

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Prologue: Series Next chapter:

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You thought starting university would somehow fill this void inside you. But it didn't. You're even more unsure of yourself and stuck in your own head. Away from your family and friends, in a city you've never been in before. You thought making friends would be easy, but everything feels like a wall around you slowly moving closer, trapping you there. Literature, films and stories of older generations painted it to be one of the best years of your life. Getting in felt good, even if applying there was done on a whim. You were drunk at a bar with your friends when you accepted it. Hearing whispers of something better ahead as you clicked accept.

People in class are passionate about their studies, already having a plan after getting their degree, while you're there planning the next day, hoping to survive. Everyone is so talkative, already hanging out during their free time. Talking about the crazy bar nights they've had during the weekend, when what you've done is just lay in bed. You did join them sometimes, you could tell they wanted to know you but when you were out, everything felt robotic. You laughed when they laughed even if you didn't find something funny. The conversations always ending up being background noise, you'd just nod to make them think you were listening. Your anxiety constantly hanging in the air — thick, inescapable and you breathed it in. Their way of speaking, always signaling how sure of themselves they were. Although there was a possibility of it being a fasade, it didn't stop the insecurity from sinking in.

You got a job at a bar just so you could occupy your weekends with something. The bar was perfect, far away from campus so there would be little to no chance of you running into familiar faces. The thought of having to make small talk, while being stuck there with a classmate making something clench deep in your gut. The only familiar face you'd encounter at work being Ellie, that studied a year above you. When you began working there you would usually leave work at the same time that she arrived, only throwing quick glances at each other. The glances evolving into intense eye contact that would last a bit longer than it should. You were always the one to break the eye contact. Each time you would break it by quickly looking away, give an awkward smile and go back to pretending to focus on whatever you were working on. You probably looked dumb half the time, trying to look focused while cutting up a lemon or cleaning up the bar counter, like that takes any effort.

After those small interactions you would always lay in bed thinking about her. The way she moved with such grace. How she charmed everyone around her, instantly pulling people towards her. She was beautiful, breathtaking even. You liked that her eyes were so expressive. She's every sapphics dream. Confident but humble, childish, always fooling around but not in an obnoxious way. The two of you barely spoke, just a casual hi or have a good night. She always had a cigarette tucked between her lips and her hair pulled into in a messy half bun. The tattoo on her arm, that she always left exposed with her rolled up shirt sleeve, you would sometimes by pure instinct start drawing in your journal. A moth. You would rip up the pages and throw it in the trash. Like that would change anything about the fact that she was on your mind too much. Someone you barely knew or hadn't even spoken to.

Last week your boss had approached you, asking if you would consider switching schedules with someone else. So now you have been rescheduled to work closing shifts with her every Sunday. Breathing heavily and your legs aching from pedaling on your bike like your life depended on it as you arrived at the bar. The summer's final warmth, your face damp causing your bangs to stick to your forehead. Before walking in you tried to adjust them, this exact moment being a reminder to not cut your bangs again. You had tried to grow them out for a year, failing every time. In a moment of weakness at three am you'd always end up in front of the bathroom, scissor in hand. When you walked into the bar, Ellie was crunched forward, both elbows resting against the table whilst talking to a regular. Ellie cursed, laughed loud and even hit the customer against their shoulder when they said something funny. You wished you could be that relaxed, instead you would just hand them their drinks and speak kindly. Throwing out thank yous. Sometimes, you tried to make an effort but it just seemed too fake and the customers would notice it too. She tilted her head towards you and when you were close enough for her to finally speak, all she said was the obvious, that you were late. Her voice, gentle and raspy. She wore the usual attire, pants and buttoned up shirt, with rolled up sleeves. You didn't bother replying, knowing you would not be quick enough with coming up with a lie as to why you were late. The truth is why you were late was because you kept fixing your appearance.

The bar was practically empty. Usually during shifts like these all you would do was clean off tables or scroll mindlessly on your phone. You start going around the tables and picking up empty glasses and asking if anyone wants something. Someone ordered a glass of wine and when you went behind the counter you couldn't find it.

“I cant find this bottle of wine, are we all out?” you said.

She was still making conversation with the regular, so she excused herself and started scanning the shelves.

“Did you check the wine fridge?” Ellie asked, with a tone that probably wasn't intentional, but one that made you feel stupid. You shook your head confused since you had never been there, which you also told her. She started walking off, signaling for you to go with her. She had such a distinct walking style, if you had seen her in a crowd of people you would know it was her from an instant. Ellie opened the door to a room with fridges filled with beverages. You let out a small laugh, Ellie played with her hands and looked at you.

“Well I feel stupid now” you said.

“Havent you been working here for weeks?”, she said.

“Yeah but nothings been empty?”, you said a bit annoyed. Your arms crossing over your chest, using them as a shield.

“That explains why I've had to fill the shelves a lot more recently” she mumbled, shaking her head jokingly. It was meant as a joke, but it still left you feeling anxious.

“Oh i’m sorry”, you mumbled back covering your mouth with your hand. She walked towards you, took your hand from your face, cupping it with her hands and reassured you that it's fine. She stood so close now, her facial features even prettier up close. She had a few scars, the eyebrow slit you had seen before, which was hot as fuck but she also had smaller ones across her cheek and one under her other eyebrow. You wondered where they came from, you wish you could ask her. She was also studying your features. The sudden ring of the bell at the counter shattered the tension, ending the silent stare off between you two. She let go of your hand, her eyes widening lightly, surprised at her own doing. She lifted her shoulders and tried to brace herself confidently. She let out a quiet awkward laugh, one you have not heard before, not tonight or all the times you have eavesdropped on conversations she had with regulars or other colleagues. This made you feel more sure of yourself in relation to her, having a glimpse of her vulnerability, even if it was just a hint of insecurity for a second.

The rest of the shift was quiet, not an awkward silence though. Her playlist played low throughout the bar speakers. Ellies hand, still imprinted on yours. When customers left and you began closing the tension in the room shifted quickly. Ellie felt tense and she kept dropping things, looking at you to see if you noticed and you pretended not to. You did not really understand what was going on but suddenly it felt like maybe she was feeling exactly like you were. But perhaps she was tired, it was past midnight after all. You're scrubbing off sticky liquor from a table when Ellie finally breaks the silence.

“Are you doing something tonight?” she said with a low tone, scratching her neck.

You replied with a "no" that sounded too desperate.

“Alright then let's go” she grinned and grabbed her leather jacket from a bar stool. The leatherjacket you had seen her wear once when she passed by you as you were heading home. The jacket looked worn but not by her, from someone else. Still, it sat on her like it was made for her. You tossed the rag into the sink and grabbed your things. You didn't know where you were going but she walked towards her car.

The drive was peaceful. The same playlist again and her humming along to the songs. One hand on the steering wheel and her tattooed arm rested on her thigh. She kept looking over and opening her mouth several times, like she was gonna say something but then decided not to. Eventually she did though.

"So why have you never tried to speak to me?” she asked, with one eyebrow tilted up slightly, teasingly.

“I don't know?” you said with the know drawn out. You knew why but of course you couldn't tell her. She studied you and it felt like she saw through that answer.

Just as you thought that she said “That's not an answer” while lighting a cigarette. This woman was like a goddamn chimney. She always smelt like cigarettes, a smell you usually hated, but on her it was fine. She also smelt like chestnut? Woody? You swore it smelled like this one margiela fragrance you had tried on once.

“I really don't know Ellie” you said with annoyance. The way her name rolled on your tongue felt so right.

Ellie didn't say anything, too focused on parking her car. And perhaps not in the mood to try getting a forced answer out of you — perhaps she already knew.

The bar was dark, echoes of drunk voices everywhere. Why were there so many people drunk on a sunday, you thought. But maybe just like you, they had just finished their shift with their hot coworker that they can't stop thinking about. The thought of that calms you down in some weird way. That everyone else in there, drowned their utter panic from the intimidation of someone else in alcohol just like you were about to. It was crowded and Ellie grabbed your hand as she guided you to the bar counter. It happened too fast, you didn't have time to react or even notice. The bartender recognized her and skipped other people waiting in line, just to take her order. She got you both whiskey neat which was bold of her to assume that is something you drink, but she was right. When you were seated you drank fast, big gulps, throat burning. Touching your hair, adjusting your clothes and looking around anxiously.

Ellie let out a tiny wheeze and said “relax”. You were being so easy to read right now.

You said “I am relaxed”.

Ellie shrugged and kept up to your drinking pace. Three glasses down and conversation suddenly was a lot easier. Not the conversation turning into background, no fake smiles. You could be yourself for the first time in a long time. Your whole body warm, drunk on her and the whiskey. She asked you about why you chose this major, instead of making it a simple answer you started rambling, because you felt comfortable with her, because you were drunk. You spoke about the major and everything else. You talked about how you were kind of regretting it. You told her about your other aspirations, that there were so many choices but only one life and so many opportunities. You spoke about Sylvia Plath's fig tree, how depressing it is that you only get to live so little in such a short time and that every choice you make is so important. How are you supposed to choose just one or a few things? Caught up in your own drunk slurring words, she interrupted you.

“Rather melodramatic aren't you?” she said as she leaned closer to you. Her green eyes pierced into yours. The tone in which she had said it had your thighs burning and her cold hand brushed against it in circular motions until it eventually stayed there. She studied your reaction as her other hand played with her glass. You literally cannot come up with a response, your mind completely blurred and body reacting in such a strong way it's affecting your cognitive function. She stood up, grabbing your hand again, leading you out the door of the bar.

The sound of drunk voices slowly disappearing, the closer you got to her car. She pinned you against it. Her hands, like clockwork, landed instantly on your hips. Her grip was hard, pinching your hipbone, like she was afraid you might run away. She smirked at you and leaned in slowly, her lips crashing into yours. You could taste the cigarette and liquor on her lips. Despite her mouth being filled with smoke at any given moment, her mouth was still damp and her tongue soft, in your mouth. Soft moans in between the wet noises of your lips clashing back and forth, exchanging saliva. You bit her lower lip gently and she whimpered. The kiss was interrupted by loud drunken laughs in the distance. Ellie looked back and then at you again. Her gaze shifting between your lips and eyes. She grabbed the side of your neck and gently rubbed it with her thumb. Her body, still pinned tightly against you. You were scared she could feel your pulsating clit through your two layers of fabric — which of course wasn't possible.

She opened the door to the backseat of her car and pushed you, getting on top of you. The kiss and the touching all felt so desperate. You had been yearning for this and so had Ellie. Her hands were moving everywhere frantically, going up and down your ribs, stroking over your breast. Your hands traveling up and down her back, grabbing her hair and stroking her jaw with your thumb. She stroked circles on your inner thigh while placing kisses down your jaw. The air in the car is humid, your bodies sweaty. Ellie took off your shirt and pants desperately and the sight of you in only your lingerie made her clit pulsate and her already damp underwear even more soaked. You were delusional enough that you had put on your sluttiest underwear, daydreaming of the possibility of her undressing you tonight — after all maybe you weren't delusional when you made that move. She took off your bra. Placing kisses on your breast, cupping the other with her hand, pinching your nipple. Soft moans escaping your mouth. She made soft hums with her raspy voice, you could literally come right there on the spot. You were high on the arousal, her hand drowsily moving towards your aching pussy. Your hips working their way towards her hand.

“So impatient” she murmured into your breasts leaning in to kiss you.

“Oh shut up”, was the only thing you could come up with as a response.

You unbuttoned her pants which made her gasp into your mouth. She slid down your panties, caressing your slick warmth with tenderness.

She moaned out “So wet for me already?” in between your kisses. Ellie was wet too and you both in sync started rubbing each others clit. The sound of messy moans and distant chatter from people outside the bar was the only thing you could hear. Every move Ellie made was completely right. You hadn't been this horny in months and if she didn't stop you would come. In order to save yourself from not ruining this sacred hot moment by already coming, you sat up and pinned her down instead. Quickly taking off her pants and unbuttoning her shirt. Revealing her whole tattoo and her toned stomach. You almost moaned at the sight. Ellie, so turned on by your sudden move to pin her down, watch as your hands travel across her body. You kiss down her neck and bite her ear lightly, causing her to whimper. Your drunk sloppy kisses traveled across her toned stomach. Murmurs of your name in between her soft moans. You pull off her soaking panties and start placing kisses on her inner thigh, her hips jolting towards your face in an attempt for her pussy to reach your mouth.

“So impatient” you say, face buried between her thighs, repeating what she had said to you before. You placed soft kisses across her soaked pussy, and slowly started using your tongue. Ellie grabbed your hair into a bun in her hand, grasping onto to it harder when your tongue found her right spots. You didn't mind the pain, it was proof of the pleasure you were giving her. You looked up, her eyes already piercing into you. She yanked your face into her pussy, buring you there.

“You look so good eating me out” she said, you whimper into her pussy from her intoxicating words. Her thighs pressed against your cheeks. The way they started to shake after a few minutes. Her moans becoming loudier and messier.

“Feels so good, keep going like that” she said. You moaned loud into her pussy, swaying and buckling your own hips, trying to chase any kind of stimulation. The pace of your tongue increasing, as you started rubbing with your fingers against her entrance. Her gaze never left you, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. You entered her slowly, watching her eyes roll back. Your fingers pumping in and out her, hitting that spongy spot. She didn't need to tell you she was coming, you could feel it. Her pussy clenching. You looked up to see her head leaned back, eyes closed, eyebrows furrowed and mouth agape. Messy moans and curse words are all that can be heard along with the wet noises from her pussy. The pace of your tongue and fingers slowing down, helping Ellie ride out her high.

When she came undone for you, you wiped off some of her residue off your face and reached for her lips. The kiss was sloppy, her lips warm and soft. She sat up slowly, eyes not leaving yours and clapped on her thigh lightly as she spread them.

“Come here” she said.

You did what you were told and you straddled her, kissing her passionately, her fingers entering inside you with no warning. She commented on how wet you were for her. You jolted back a bit and began swaying your hips in sync of her fingers pumping in and out of you. Ellies unoccupied hand cupping your ass, slapping it lightly. Strands of salvia between you when your lips part in inbetween kisses. And the taste of her pussy lingering on both your lips from before. She rubs your clit with her thumb in slow circular motions. Your mouth is dry from moaning so much. She watches you the whole time. The faces you make as desperate sounds come from you. How her tattooed arm looks placed between your thighs. The way your breasts bounce as you ride her fingers. You burrowed yourself in her neck, moaning into her ear. She grabbed your jaw and told you to open your mouth, when you did, she spit in it. You moaned, it was all you could do. You've never had something so filthy done to you before and it turned you on immensely. You break the kiss and look down at her. The sight of her beneath you, sweaty with her brows furrowed, her bottom lip in between her teeth, focused on your pleasure. She's so fucking beautiful. Your body is so tense, pleasure overwhelming, you could fall apart on her at any moment. She felt it too. Electricity sending throughout your whole body. Your eyes never leave hers. You moaned out her name and god knows what else, your mind clouded with pleasure.

You came, hard, Ellie praising you through it. “Thats it come for me” she said.

When you were done, she gently pulled her fingers out of you which caused you to shiver. You kissed, slowly, with no rush this time. The air and your lips filled with the aftertaste of both your orgasms and cigarettes.

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NOT PROOFREAD

wrote this a month ago but been too nervous to post but fuck it. second time ever writing smut or even a fic (for others to see). english isn't my first language and i'm still trying to find my own writing style, i'll gladly take constructive criticism.

also let me know if anyone would be interested in being tagged in the first chapter — if write one.

tag: @erensfart @anneboleynluvr @faggot1234

[orellazalonia]

Hii, i have a request. I recently just started reading the shatter me series again - idk if you know it - but the main character has a lethal touch, every person she touches - but one man - dies if she touches them, and I was wondering if you could hse that concept but the only person reader can touch is Bucky Barnes. So like, the avengers find her at hydra, and she's settling in at the tower, and gets close with bucky, and then she accidentally touches him, but nothing happens. Idk if you understand this but i hope you do!<3

Hello there! I absolutely loved this idea, has so much potential for angst to be honest. It fits well into the Whispers of the Gifted series as well. So, thank you for the request and I hope you enjoy! Happy reading!!!

Safe in His Hands

Summary: After being rescued from Hydra, you struggle to adjust to life at the Avengers Tower, haunted by your lethal touch that kills anyone you make skin contact with until Bucky Barnes catches you, and nothing happens. (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Disclaimer: Reader has the power to end the life of anyone she touches. Mentions of death & labs/experimentation. Angst. Hurt/Comfort.

Word Count: 2.4k+

Main Masterlist | Whispers of the Gifted Masterlist

You were seven years old when you first killed someone.

It wasn’t on purpose. You were just a kid. Scared, hungry, and cold. They’d come into your holding room. One of the guards, you didn’t recognize him. He was probably new. He knelt in front of you and told you to stand. You didn’t, so he grabbed your arm.

He didn’t even scream. He just dropped, went limp, and his life was gone.

They ran so many tests after that. Hooked you to wires, sliced open skin, injected chemicals, brought in more test subjects. They wanted to understand you. Your blood. Your skin. Your curse.

Because all it took was one touch, skin to skin. A brush of fingers, a hand on a wrist, a graze of your palm against someone’s cheek all resulted in instant death. There were no explanations. No control. You were death in the shape of a human. And Hydra thought that made you useful.

So they kept you, caged you. Covered you in thick gloves, containment suits, and glass walls. “For your own safety,” They always said. But you knew better. It wasn’t about protecting you. It was about protecting everyone else from you.

You stopped speaking eventually. What was the point? Words couldn’t undo what your hands did.

But then, one night, everything exploded.

You didn’t know who they were at first. The power cut out and all you heard were screams and gunshots that echoed through the halls. You stayed in your corner, knees pulled to your chest, not daring to move. You knew better than to open the door anyways.

But someone else did.

Blinding light flooded your cell, and a figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted by sparks and smoke, a shield strapped to his back. Others moved behind him. You thought you saw a red glow and a flash of metal.

Then his eyes landed on you. You couldn’t move, didn’t breathe, just waited for the orders, the fear, the recoil.

But none came.

“Hey,” He said gently, crouching just enough to be eye-level. “You okay?”

You stared back, not answering.

Another stepped beside him. A man with brown hair and a metal arm, tense but watchful. “She’s not chained,” He murmured. “But look at the gloves. She’s not here by choice.”

“She’s scared,” A third voice said. Female, distant, but knowing. You felt her inside your head like a whisper. “But not of us.”

They didn’t grab you, didn’t drag you. Just offered a hand and waited. You didn’t take it, of course. But you stood slowly and followed.

You didn’t know who they were yet. But you did know one thing: They weren’t Hydra.

Days passed in a blur after that. You were moved to a new facility, high in the sky, full of windows and white light. They called it the Avengers Tower. They gave you a room, food, and clothes that didn’t itch. There were no cells and no experiments.

But still… no touch.

You kept the gloves on and never sat too close to anyone. You didn’t speak at first and they didn’t push. But you could feel the caution in the air, the curiosity. They didn’t know. No one did. And you didn’t want them to.

Because you knew what would happen. They’d lock you up again. Maybe not in a lab, but in some new kind of prison. For their safety and for yours.

So you kept your head down. Ate your meals in silence. Avoided the common room when too many people were there. You stayed quiet and small.

But he kept showing up. The one with the metal arm. Bucky.

He never asked questions. Never pried. Just… existed near you. Sat with you across the room. Passed you a glass of water. Nodded when you acknowledged him. Said goodnight sometimes, soft and gruff. You didn’t know why, but it didn’t scare you.

In fact, he was the only one who didn’t make you feel like glass. Like a threat. And soon, you weren’t avoiding him. You began waiting for him.

As time passed, you had just started feeling like a person again.

You still kept your gloves on, still flinched when someone got too close. But you were sleeping more. Eating with the others, sometimes. Sitting in the common room without being asked. And you were talking to Bucky. Really talking.

He had this quiet way of making you feel seen without shining a spotlight. He didn’t ask invasive questions or try to dig up your trauma like it was some kind of prize. He let you sit beside him in silence, let you borrow his books, or let you eat the cherry from his drink when you thought no one saw.

You’d started laughing again. Just a little, especially with him. Which is why it hurt when everything shifted again.

It happened on a late Tuesday morning. You’d just made tea, still in one of those oversized sweatshirts Pepper had given you, trailing quietly into the common room with your gloves on.

The team was already there. And the air felt thick. It was too quiet. No jokes. No arguing. No music playing in the background.

You paused near the doorway and noticed everyone’s behavior and body language. Steve was sitting stiffly. Natasha leaned against the wall with her arms crossed. Sam looked like he was trying not to look at you. Wanda and Bruce wouldn’t meet your gaze at all.

And then there was Tony. Standing in front of a projection screen, a file hovering behind him in holographic light.

Your file. Hydra’s file. You didn’t need to see the text to recognize the red lettering. The Hydra seal with your photo and warnings stamped across every page.

“Subject shows consistent and immediate lethality through direct epidermal contact.” “High fatality rate confirmed through controlled experimentation.” “Extreme caution advised. Gloves required at all times.”

The word “Thanatos” was printed in bold near the top. Your old title, the one they gave you, and the one you hated.

“Right,” Tony said, exhaling as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “So. Now that everyone’s caught up, I figured we should have the ‘Don’t-Touch-the-New-Girl-or-You’ll-Die’ talk.”

Your heart stopped. No one looked at you.

“Well, technically, she’ll still be the last one standing,” He added, more to himself. “Silver lining.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t know what to say as you just stood there. The tea cooling in the cup still in your hands. The weight of the scene before you sinking in your chest.

Natasha was the first to say anything, sighing. “Tony, seriously?”

“What? Did I lie?” He snapped. “You all needed to know.”

“Not like that,” Steve said, his jaw clenched. “She has a right to her privacy–“

“She has a death-touch!” Tony said, throwing a hand toward the screen. “If any of you brushed her arm on the way to the coffee machine, you'd be dead, Rogers! I’m not saying kick her out, I’m saying awareness matters!”

They argued. You didn’t hear most of it.

You turned around before anyone could stop you. Walked straight back down the hall, the sound of their voices fading behind you. You didn’t cry. You just felt cold. Like your skin didn’t belong to you anymore. Like you were back in that white room at Hydra, gloves stapled to your wrists.

You didn’t see Bucky in the room. But hours later, he found you sitting on the floor of your room, knees pulled up to your chest.

He knocked once before entering and sat down slowly across from you.

“They know,” You said flatly, not looking at him.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“I’m not safe.” You swallowed. “Not for any of you.”

He didn’t respond right away. Then: “You’ve been safe the entire time I’ve known you.”

You looked at him then, really looked. “You didn’t read the file, did you?”

“No,” He said honestly. “I didn’t need to.”

You blinked. “Why not?”

He leaned forward slightly, eyes calm, and voice even. “Because I’ve seen the way you move through a room. I’ve seen how careful you are, how you never slip or let your guard down, not even by accident. You think I haven’t been watching? You think I don’t get it?”

He lifted his metal hand slowly, carefully.

“I’ve lived with hands that kill, too.”

Your throat closed.

“And for what it’s worth,” He said, his voice quieter now, “I want to be the one you trust to take that risk to be around.”

You couldn’t speak. Not yet.

But later that night, after everyone had gone quiet, you stepped into the kitchen and found him waiting. You sat beside him in silence.

Your gloved hand rested on the counter beside his. And even after everything… you didn’t pull away.

But then it happened three nights later.

You weren’t reckless. Not intentionally. You never were, but the compound was darker than usual. Backup generators hummed, and flickering lights made every corner look unfamiliar. You were alone in the library’s upper balcony, reaching for a book too far up. You thought you were alone and with the AC not working well, you had pushed your sleeves up for once.

You didn’t mean to fall. Because you never let yourself be careless. Never let yourself slip. Because you knew what happened when you did. Every part of your body was a loaded gun. Every uncovered inch of skin was a threat.

But you had reached too far and your footing gave way. You didn’t even scream. You just reached out, an instinct burned into your body since before you could remember, and then–

Hands caught you. Strong. Steady. One metal but one flesh. And you felt it, the bare skin on yours.

You froze. Air jammed in your lungs as panic rose fast.

“No–” You choked. “No no no no no– let go!”

You shoved him back hard. Harder than you meant to. You hit the floor on your side, gloves scattering across the room as your eyes went wild trying to find him.

But Bucky didn’t collapse.

He stumbled, yes. But he caught himself, and looked at you. Hands still open in the air where they’d caught your arms. Still alive.

Your vision tunneled. Breath stuttering, chest too tight to expand.

“You–” Your voice broke like glass. “I touched you–“

“I know.”

He said it too calmly. Like he didn’t understand the weight of what just happened. Like he hadn’t just died.

“I didn’t mean to–I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking, I wasn’t–“ You curled in on yourself, dragging your sleeves back down over your hands, trying to find air in a room that had too much of it. “I don’t want you to die–I always kill them–“

“Hey.” His voice was closer, lower and solid. “You didn’t kill me.”

You shook your head violently, barely hearing him. Your hands were trembling so hard it hurt. Your whole body buzzed with panic. Your mind raced ahead to things that hadn’t happened. Memories of bodies falling, the smell of burned skin, the lifeless weight of people you'd only brushed.

“Look at me,” Bucky said again, firm this time. “Look at me.”

You did.

He was knelt in front of you, not touching you now, but not afraid either. Still breathing. Still alive.

“Nothing happened,” He said, slower this time. “You didn’t hurt me. You didn’t even make me dizzy.”

“I’ve never…” You voice cracked. “No one ever survives it.”

“I did.”

You stared at him, unable to believe it. Skin still crawling like you were seconds away from watching his eyes go blank, his heart stutter and stop.

But he stayed there, breathing evenly, watching you with calm in his storm-blue eyes.

“I don’t know why,” He said, not trying to sugarcoat it. “But you can touch me.”

And somehow, that was the thing that finally broke you. Not the fear. Not the guilt. Not the flashbacks.

Hope.

Because if there was one person in the world you could touch… then maybe you weren’t a monster after all. And that was almost harder to believe.

You didn’t move for a long time and neither did Bucky. He stayed close but not too close. Never crossed the line, never reached out. He just waited. Like he knew you were still one breath away from bolting down the hall.

But he did shift just slightly. “You don’t have to talk,” He said quietly. “Not yet, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Your voice was raw when you answered: “It’s not supposed to be possible.”

He said nothing.

“I’ve killed people for less,” You whispered. “Brushed their wrist, bumped a shoulder. They all…”

The words fractured. Your breath hitched too hard to finish. And still, he didn’t speak. Not in that moment.

But then he exhaled slowly. “They did that to me, too, you know,” He said. “Hydra. Taught me my hands could only cause hurt. That I wasn’t allowed to have anything good, not without ruining it.”

Your gaze flicked toward him, blurry and sharp at once. He looked tired. Not pitiful, not fragile–just… weathered. Like he understood.

“I got used to keeping distance,” He went on, gaze softening. “Figured I didn’t deserve closeness anymore.”

Something tight pulled in your heart.

“I never thought I’d be the one someone like you was scared to hurt.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s not what this is.”

He tilted his head. “No?”

You looked away, unable to meet the weight in his eyes. “I wasn’t scared of hurting you,” You admitted, voice quieter now. “I knew I would.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t judgment. It was understanding. The kind you’d only felt a few times in your life, and never like this.

Eventually, you managed to crawl forward, slowly, moving with the hesitance of someone reaching across a minefield. Bucky stayed perfectly still, not guiding, not pushing.

You reached for his hand. Skin to skin. And still… nothing.

No death. No pain. Just warmth.

You let out a shaky breath.

“I’ve never touched anyone like this,” You admitted, more to yourself than him. “Without hurting them.”

Bucky’s fingers curled gently around yours.

“You’re not hurting me,” He said. “You never have.”

The sob built in your throat before you could stop it. Ugly, sudden, and sharp. Bucky didn’t flinch. Just waited, fingers still gently holding yours. Like it wasn’t dangerous. Like it was normal.

Like maybe, for once, you were allowed to be human. And for the first time since the day Hydra named you a weapon, you believed that might be true.

[bullet-prooflove]

The Farm Boi Series: Virtue - Dennis Whitaker x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @cosmic-psychickitty @sargeant-sad-eyes @caffeinatedwoman @hooks-martin

Summary: Dennis's mom makes her distaste for you known.

Companion piece to:

Peppermint - The taste of peppermint will always have a special place in Dennis’s heart.

The Morgue Thing - A miscommunication between you and Dennis almost ends things before they begin.

Written In The Stars - Your first date with Dennis takes place underneath the stars.

In The Park - Dennis reveals a secret after the two of you spend the night together in the park.

Virgin - There’s a rumour going around about Dennis.

Debauched (NSFW) - Karaoke night ends a lot differently than it did the first time around.

Symphony (NSFW) - Dennis has never eaten pussy before…

Pretty Boy (NSFW) - You and Dennis take the next step in your relationship.

Firsts (NSFW) - Dennis experiances alot of firsts during your first night together.

Permanent Marker - You find out about the betting pool.

Denny’s To Do List - Dennis realises he’s in the midst of a sexual awakening.

The Porn Boom (NSFW) - Dennis isn’t like the other man you’ve been with.

Bite (NSFW) - Dennis doesn’t mean to edge you.

Wild Flowers - A crown of wildflowers leads you and Dennis to discuss the issues he has with his family.

A Friend of Denny’s - Your relationship with Dennis takes a turn when his parents come to town.

A Cold Day In Hell - Dennis tries to make amends for his actions.

Gardens of Babylon - Dennis has made his choice, now it's time for you to make yours.

My Future Wife - Dennis makes a promise to you at Jana's celebration of life event.

Dennis’s mom hates you.

It’s abundantly clear from the way her face falls when you step into the arrivals lounge alongside Dennis. The ‘Doctor Denny’ sign lowers and her eyes narrow as her gaze falls down to your entwined fingers.

The thing is you know that Dennis has told her that you were accompanying him on this trip, the evidence is standing right next to her in the form of Nana Whitty who is holding her own sign with your name written on it, decorated with hearts and sparkles.

You’ve been here a grand total of 30 seconds and already you want her to adopt you.

“It’s lovely to finally meet you Lola.” She says gathering you up into a hug that makes your bones creak. She’s a strong little thing at 5’2, clasping you to her like you’re a long lost family member. “The screen on my phone doesn’t do you justice.”

There is no such greeting from Mrs Whitaker. She embraces Dennis and ignores you completely before taking off towards the parking lot, expecting the three of you to follow. Nana Whitty rolls her eyes before linking her arm through yours and telling you about the new baby bison that’s just been born called Phyllis.

You’ve been driving through town for ten minutes when Mrs Whitaker pulls the truck over outside the Charles Wesley Motor Lodge. You can see Dennis’s confusion as he looks up at the building from the backseat. The place has an old highway motel feel and outside décor that’s not been updated since the sixties. You shudder to think about what the rooms must be like inside.

“Lola will have to stay here.” Mrs Whitaker informs the both of you. “There isn’t enough room at the house with the wedding and everything.”

“She can stay in my room-” Dennis protests but his mom is already raising her hand, cutting him off.

“I know the two of you are living in sin back in Pittsburgh but that’s not the way we conduct ourselves out here Dennis, you know that.” She rebukes him with a harshness that’s unwarranted.

“Alright.” Dennis says unfastening his seat belt. “Then I guess I’m staying here too.”

“Dennis! You are being a child. We need you at the house for the wedding prep-”

“No mom, I’m being an adult.” He responds his hand coming to rest on the door handle, gripping it so hard his knuckles turn white. “I’m making my own choices and my choice is her, you really need to come to terms with that.”

Mrs Whitaker tuts as she twists around in the front seat to face him.

“You have turned into a very rude young man Dennis.” She snaps at him. “You used to be such a good boy. Before you left Nebraska you wouldn’t have dreamed of giving up your virtue to the first pretty young thing that came along.”

It occurs to you then that Mrs Whitaker thinks you stole Dennis’s virginity. That her farm boy came to the big city and was seduced by some harlot with a nipple piercing, that likes to sing Joan Jett on karaoke nights. It must dawn on Nana Whitty too because she throws back her head and cackles like a witch as you try to hide a smile.

“I hate to break it to you Shirley but there is not a single one of your boys that remain pure. I caught Lowell in the basement at church when he was eighteen teaching Sally McNamara how to hit the high notes during choir practice. At least these two are in a committed relationship.” Nana Whitty jerks her thumb at the both of you in the back seat. “I thought you’d be a shrew about this so I’ve set up the guest room at my farmhouse. They are welcome to stay there so long as Dennis promises to fix up the shit that Charlie’s been too henpecked to do since all this wedding nonsense started.”

“I would be happy to do that Nana.” Dennis says, removing his palm from the door handle. “And thank you for being so supportive to both me and the love of my life.”

You see Mrs Whitaker rile at that, her eyebrows shoot up into her bangs before she turns off the engine of the truck, undoes her seatbelt and shoves open the driver’s side door.  

“Don’t bother coming back to the farm.” She snarls as she hops out the front seat, leaving the keys dangling in the ignition. “As long as you’re with her you aren’t welcome there.”

“Don’t worry they won’t.” Nana Whitty calls after her through the open window as she slips into the driver's seat. “I’ll host all the boys at mine instead, they’re just dying to meet their brother’s girlfriend.”

She turns the key in the ignition and the engine revs to life as you watch Mrs Whitaker storm off towards the centre of town.

“Oh man, she’s gonna put a pillow over my face while I sleep isn’t she?” You mutter as Nana Whitty skids away from the curb, directing the vehicle towards the outskirts of town.

“Yeah.” Dennis sighs, turning around in his seat to watch his mother’s retreating form. “But at least I’ll be sleeping next to you, ready to fend her off.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[talesofesther]

ten reasons not to kiss her

➥ Ch six: The sixth reason

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: Natasha slowly adapts to a life by your side, all the while thinking of all the reasons why she shouldn't kiss you.

A/N: The lines are getting blurred between the lovebirds. Hope you enjoy this one. <3

Masterlist | Previous chapter

Late autumn afternoons could easily be Natasha's favorite. The sky bathed in shades of orange and pink, clouds shining like liquid gold, and the last rays of sun embraced the city with warmth just before the cold breeze of night settled in.

Natasha loved days like these.

Or maybe, it was just you. Maybe it was just how the sun outlined the curves of your smile. Maybe it was how the wisps of your hair turned golden while you walked. Maybe it was how you leaned closer to her as the sun got lower.

Maybe Natasha would love all the days if they had you in them.

She scoffed at herself. Love is for children. Or so she had said once. You had a habit of proving her wrong in the best way.

In her line of work, it was dangerous to get attached to something that could so easily be taken from her. But, how could she live without her heart? Surely you'd keep it to yourself if she ever walked away.

Natasha felt a little silly, because she had an ice cream in her hand, to match yours. The evening only got colder, but you didn't care; you loved ice cream. And she walked the cobblestone path of the park with her heart beating outside her chest because your pinkie was hooked around hers, and your dog ran ahead of you and then looked back with the closest thing to a smile on his muzzle.

The last of the sunlight shaped itself in between tree leaves, creating a mosaic of shadows on the grass and over both of you. Natasha's ice cream had melted a little; she felt it dripping on her thumb.

But you were smiling, and telling her all about Brooklyn's first bath at the pet groomer and how he came back home smelling like roses and bubblegum.

Natasha loved this day.

"… Nat?"

Blinking multiple times, Natasha realized you had been calling her name a few times. She cleared her throat, feeling how her cheeks warmed up. "Sorry, yeah?"

Your smile became lopsided, something cheeky and teasing as you tilted your head to one side. "I was just asking if you wanted to come over for dinner?" You licked one side of your ice cream. Natasha tried not to follow the motion.

"I made lasagna earlier today. Too much for one person, though." You shrugged, swinging your joined hands back and forth.

Natasha's heart was so full of you. She could hardly call it her own.

Professional spy that she was, when it came to you, Natasha failed to notice that she, too, had a place in your heart no one else could occupy. Or maybe the thought just remained too dangerous to entertain.

Natasha bumped her shoulder against yours when you came to a stop at the top of a small hill in the park. "I would like that." Here, the view of the sun was clear between the buildings. The rich orange glow engulfed you and her.

You fully took Natasha's hand in yours, turning your body to face her. Her red hair shone like fire under the sun. Her green eyes became the brightest you'd ever seen them.

Natasha was bewitching, alluring. She drew you into her orbit, and you followed as naturally as breathing.

Since the first day you met her, Natasha had been both a mystery and the most genuine person you knew. You looked forward to the days she would wait for you to leave for work, and you'd take the short walk together, talking about anything and everything. You looked forward to that one day of the week, when Natasha would, without fail, walk through the coffee shop doors and wait for you to come to her.

Natasha captured your heart silently, timidly. The only way she knew how—letting her actions speak the words she couldn't say, even if she didn't realize it.

You caught the moment when Natasha's gaze slipped lower on your face. You caught the moment her lips parted in a sigh. And you felt it over your own, sharing the same breath.

As nothing but dark silhouettes against the last light of the sun, you came closer, closer, closer. Time came to a halt, and the cars on the streets and children playing in the park became nothing but background noise, muffled to your ears. There was only her.

Natasha's eyes became half-lidded. Eyelashes kissing her cheeks prettily.

You looked at each other like you were about to kiss.

There was a ghost of a touch. Your upper lip brushed hers, and you felt the thrill of having Natasha all to yourself.

Assassin. Spy. Hero. Avenger. Now holding tightly onto your hand as if you were the only thing that mattered.

And then Brooklyn barked and came running towards you, and a mother called her child's name. The spell was broken. Natasha pulled back as if you'd burned her. She let go of your hand, and you felt the coldness of the night seeping in.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as did her fists. Natasha hesitated; she didn't look you in the eyes. "We should… head back." She gulped, throwing you a smile that you saw right through. "It's only getting colder."

Sometimes, it felt like Natasha was slipping through your fingers. And you always had to watch her walk away, as your mind drowned in the possibility of you and her.

Natasha was a mystery. Because for each time she walked away, she came back one more.

You didn't know that for her, you were all bubblegum skies and ice cream sweetness, and she couldn't bring herself to ruin such a beautiful thing. It was her sixth reason not to kiss you.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

Natasha’s taglist is open; let me know if you’d like to be added. Or you can follow @talesofesther-library and turn notifications on to know when I’ve posted a new story/chapter.

Thank you for reading this chapter. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.

[eggrollforyou]

Wait For Me

Zoro x F!reader x Law

Summary: you, a fellow Straw Hat, and the crew are separated at Sabaody. Saved by Law, you have to decide if you’ll accept his help or cut your losses and handle things on your own until your crew reunites.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, Angst, slow burn, Canon divergent, eventual smut, AFAB reader, use of Y/N, hidden baby trope (kinda? Not by choice lol), descriptions of violence, blood, and vomit, pregnant reader, self doubt

This chapter: MDNI, NSFW, Angst, slow burn, Canon divergent, eventual smut, AFAB reader, use of Y/N, smut, possessive sex, p in v, unprotected sex

A/N: We're heeeere! This is the final chapter of this series. Thank you all for sticking around and sharing. I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I did writing it. Be sure to check out the poll at the end of the story! As usual, not proofread

Series masterlist : Previous chapter

Chapter 6

“Wh-what do you mean, my daughter?” he blinks at you in confusion. How could he not see it?! She’s clearly a spitting image of him. “W-when, The Heart Pirates saved me during our battle with the Pacafistas…..I was pregnant..” your voice trembled under his gaze. Before you had an opportunity to finish your thought, “And you knew?!” his voice raising slightly. He immediately regretted his reaction, seeing you wince, your body going rigid and beginning to pull back at his outburst.

He cleared his throat, “I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “No, Zoro….I didn’t know. I found out after Law triaged my injuries,” you meekly stated. “I…I know this throws your plans into disarray…I-I..I couldn’t NOT have her, though,” you peer up through wet lashes, your tears threatening to spill.  Your anxiety is heightened. A fireball sitting in your chest, your stomach nervous, as you await his response. Wiping your clammy hands on your pants, you reach over to Shakky and take Ayumi into your arms. Holding her on your hip. “She’s our daughter, Zoro. She and I wouldn’t be here without Law and the Heart Pirates. They saved us and they made me stronger…for Luffy…for you.”

Zoro’s expression changed from surprised to his stoic, unreadable stare. He glances at you and looks over at Ayumi currently playing with your hair, using it as a curtain to hide herself while giggling. You wish you could steal some of her innocence and obliviousness to the situation you found yourself in, under Zoro’s scrutinizing gaze. You waited with bated breath, his silence only a couple minutes, but felt like an eternity as your thoughts spiraled out of your control. This is it. This is where he tells me there’s no room for us in his life. He has to focus on other things that won’t slow down his or Luffy’s goals. Maybe I can ask Luffy to drop us off on an island where we’ll be safe. I’ll have to do this alone. 

Zoro can see your worry, as if your thoughts are being broadcast to anyone within a five mile radius. His silence continues to add to your anxiety, each second feeling like an added stone on a scale forcing it to fall lower and lower, threatening to topple and spill your worry for the world to see, shattering your heart in the process. 

His hand reaches out, grabbing your wrist. It’s warm, his callouses feel rough on your skin as he tugs you forward, wrapping his arms around you and Ayumi. He closes his eyes as he buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in. Your heart feels like it’s going to pound out of your chest, each thump climbing higher and higher into your throat as it tries to jump out of your body. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, “I guess I have another member of the crew to protect,” he whispers. His voice is low and gravely serious. 

And suddenly, the walls you attempted to put up to save yourself from the heartbreak topple. The tears threatening to spill finally fall as you catch your breath, pressing your face into his shoulder. Ayumi, confronting the scene unfolding before her, reaches out to get your attention, “Mama, sad?” she asks. Looking at you and then at Zoro with concern. She gives him his her signature scowl. His eyes widen when he’s confronted with a toddler death glare. 

The corner of his lip turns up as he smirks at her, which only adds fuel to her toddler rage. “Mama, mean man!” she attempts to push away from Zoro. You laugh, wiping the tear streaks from your face. “No, baby. This is your Dada. He’s not mean, I promise,” you assure her through your chuckle. She looks at you in disbelief and then back at him. “Dada?” she asks. The word is as foreign to her as Zoro is. Zoro pulls his head back to look at the both of you, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough to protect everyone… to protect you,” regret flashes across his face. “But I’m here now, and I promise, nothing will ever happen to you again,” he whispers as he presses a kiss to your forehead.  

Zoro releases you both from his grip, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. “Alright! Let’s go get Ayumi a training sword,” he grins. “WHAT!?” you laugh. “She’s WAY too young, Zoro.”

“Tch, says you! How else is she going to surpass her old man,” he winks as you roll your eyes, shaking your head in disbelief. “What have I done, Ayumi?” you look at her dramatically. “I gave him a clone.” She looks at you and then at Zoro who raises his arms to flex his biceps, wiggling his eyebrow at her and she laughs as she points at him. “Dada, silly.”

“Dada!?” Sanji yells, “Wh-wha-” he stumbles, his cigarette falls from between his lips as he sees the three of you standing together. Your head whips around as your eyes fall on the shell shocked cook. “Sanji! “ You shout, as you walk toward him to give him a hug. He returns your embrace, though clearly shaken, “My sweet, Y/N-chan. How, how could you let that brute put his beastly hands on you,” he gasps. “HEY! Shut it cook!” Zoro shouts from behind you, forcing another eyeroll from you. Already. It doesn’t stop with these two.

Ayumi watches curiously as she sees Zoro and Sanji arguing. Scrunching her face she looks at you and back at them, “I know, ‘Yumi….get used to it,” you mumble. “No!” she shrieks, “No fight!” Immediately they stop, Zoro’s fist releasing the handful of Sanji’s shirt from his grip. They look over at the two of you, both holding a judging scowl. Sanji leans back, fixes his tie and leans forward, “Please forgive me little lady,” he apologizes to Ayumi. “And who might this darling be?” he questions. “This is Ayumi. Turns out, the last time we were here, I was pregnant,” you smile as you look at her. “‘Yumi, this is Sanji.  He’s our family.” 

She looks at you and then back at Sanji quietly, processing yet another new face. Suddenly, Usopp and Nami storm in, breaking Sanji’s attention from you. Immediately he melts at the sight of Nami, fawning and proclaiming his undying love and devotion, blood threatening to trickle from his nostril with damn near hearts in his eyes. Ayumi giggles at his exaggerations. As the rest of the crew slowly pour into the bar, they’re met with shock as they see you standing with a mini-Zoro.

Shi-shi-shi-shi Luffy laughs, sitting on the floor, as he plays with Ayumi. “Hey, Y/N, baby Zoro is great!” he shouts, making you deadpan. “For the last time, her name is Ayumi, Luffy,” you groan. “Alright everyone, we’ve got one more night here, so please, keep a low profile. No inciting an Admiral back to Sabaody like last time. We’ve got the New World to explore!” Nami barks at everyone as she stares Luffy and Zoro down. Usopp and Franky are already planning on how to make the Sunny safer for more fun for Ayumi. As your eyes scan the room your heart for the first time in a long time feels so full. You found comfort with the Heart Pirates, but they weren’t your home.

The Heart Pirates…Law flashes across your thoughts and you feel a twist in your gut. I’ve got to talk to Zoro about what happened…but I’m fucking terrified. What is he going to say? Zoro can sense your shift in mood and he peers over at you. Reaching his hand out to grab your pink finger in an attempt to ground you. You snap out of your thoughts and make eye contact with him. Shoving a small forced smile on your face as he raises an eyebrow at you, silently questioning whether you’re okay or not.

With Ayumi occupied and being spoiled by Nami and Robin, you move your head toward the door signaling Zoro to go outside. He nods in agreement. Your hands are near trembling from nerves as you stand up, fixing your shirt and pushing away any lines in the fabric to give them something to do. You walk outside with him following closely. 

Walking out into the quiet, deserted grove. Zoro watches as you bring your arms up, crossing them over your chest in a poor attempt to soothe yourself. Picking the skin on your elbow, he pulls your arms down and holds your hands low stopping in front of you, “Talk to me, Y/N. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?” You look up at him, his intense gaze attempting to cover the concern underneath his expression making your heart nearly stop. 

You take a deep breath. “There’s something I have to tell you before we go further,” you pause, biting your lip. “In my time with the Heart Pirates, I got close to Law,” Zoro remains expressionless, but stops rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles. “I felt so lost for so long. I didn’t know at first if I would ever see everyone again. I didn’t know how you would take the news of fatherhood being thrust on you so suddenly. Law helped me with Ayumi- through all the late nights, the screaming and crying, and he comforted me on the nights I felt like I was going insane.” You close your eyes and take another deep breath to steady your trembling voice, “And I started to feel confused about what I was doing, about…everything. I started to…like him…and in a moment of vulnerability, I kissed him.”

Your vision goes blurry from tears that start to roll down your cheek and you begin to spiral. “I-I’m sorry, Zoro. I’ve been terrified of this moment. There’s nothing to excuse it, but I felt so overwhelmed, and alone, and terrified that I would have to do this alone with Ayumi and he offered comfort that I wanted from YOU and it just happened and, and…” you trail off as you begin to cry harder. “P-please, Zo’, please don’t hate me. I don’t want to do this with him, I need it with you.”

Zoro doesn’t move, his expression doesn’t change. He stands there watching you try to recompose yourself, your hands still in his. He lets them go and holds the sides of your face, using his thumbs to wipe your tears as he forces your gaze up at him. “P-please…say something,” you plead as you sniffle. He stares at you more intensely, and presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. Letting out a sharp breath through his nose, “I…I don’t hate you, Y/N. You don’t have to keep explaining. I get it. You’ve been through a lot, and you were forced to do it alone. I still have your heart, right?” Your lip trembles as you look back at him, “Y-yes. My heart is yours Zoro, as long as you’ll have it.” 

“Then that’s all I need to hear,” he whispers as he pulls you into a tight embrace. Your nerves finally settle after months of being on edge, feeling like they can finally begin to heal after being rubbed raw. “ You’re not alone, you and Ayumi. I will be here.” You pull him down into a kiss. It’s hungry and desperate like you’re fighting on borrowed time and if you stop now, you’ll never get the opportunity. Zoro returns the fervor, pulling you so close there is no space between you. He walks you back and presses you against one of the mangrove trees.

You gasp as he pushes one of his knees between your thighs, pressing his leg into your heat. His tongue slides between your lips, tasting you, your tongues rolling against each other matching the others rhythm and he groans in need. Your fingers find purchase in his green hair, tugging slightly, pulling him even closer if that were possible. He kisses along your jaw, down to your neck, nipping lightly at the top of your shoulders, “Zo’, I need you, please,” you beg between ragged breaths. 

“You don’t ever have to beg,” he mumbles between open mouthed kisses he litters on your neck and collarbone. He presses his thigh up harder, making you jump for a moment and watches as you furrow your brow in need, grinding on his leg to chase your high. As his hands roam your body, gripping your hips tightly, sliding them up your sides and finding your breasts, kneading and squishing them together. 

He continues to kiss down your chest, pulling your shirt down to expose your breasts. He pushes them up and takes one into his mouth, his tongue swirling around your hardened nipple, making you gasp as he nibbles gently while groping the other. Your back arches leaning into it. He pulls back, “God I missed you,” he whispers into your ear as he bites your earlobe. 

You both rush to remove your clothing, peering around quickly to ensure the grove was truly empty. Zoro picks you up again and you wrap your legs around his waist as he positions his throbbing cock at your entrance. Rubbing the tip in your slick, pressing it on your clit. “Mnh!” You cry out and in one fell swoop, he presses in, stretching you nearly to your limit. “F-fuuuhhhck” he whispers as he stops at the hilt, giving you a few seconds to adjust. 

You pant into his ear, losing yourself in the sensation of him filling you, the delicious stretch you missed so badly. He pulls back slowly and thrusts into you, shifting you up as he presses your back into the tree. 

Your grip around his neck tightens as he pounds up into you, holding you tightly against him. Each stroke punctuated with his tip hitting that spot that makes you melt into him. “M’close, Zo’ don't stop,” you cry out breathily. Your nails scraping against his shoulders. 

You're lost in the sensations. Your skin feels electric as that tightening sensation in your gut grows, ready to snap. He adjusts, rolling his hips just so to change the angle and with a rough thrust he pushes you over the edge. You cum hard, crying out your pleasure as your walls clench and flutter around his cock.

“Fuck, yes- give it to me,” he growls as he fucks you through your high. He pulls out of you and turns you around groping your ass and possessively pulling your back to his chest, his hand reaching across your chest grabbing your breast, “I'm all yours…and you're mine,” he says, deep and gravelly. He likes himself up and pushes in, to the hilt again. Your words are caught in your throat and all you can manage is a nod in agreement.

He thrusts into you again, desperately rutting into you as if being buried in your warmth is a fever dream. His pace becomes erratic as he chases his high. The sinful sounds of skin hitting skin fill the area as he groans at the grip you have on him. “Maybe we can try this again, give ‘Yumi a little brother or sister,” he whispers darkly in your ear. Your walls clench at his words, “Mmmf- f-fuck,” you cry out. And with a final thrust, he spills into you, groaning with each pulse as he fills you, slowing his thrusts to a near stop.

Your face and hands are pressed on the side of the tree, both of you catching your breath, as he rests the side of his cheek on your head. He turns slightly and presses a long kiss in your hair. “I love you Zoro,” you pant, your voice laced with exhaustion. “I love you too, Y/N.”

Law stands at the dock next to the Polar Tang as the last bit of supplies are loaded onto the ship. “Captain, we're ready to leave on your command. The course has been set for our next stop,” Bepo calls out as he approaches Law. He checks the time. I guess things worked out for her if she's not back by now. 

He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly through his nose. “Alright everyone, let's get going. Our business here is done.” 

“Wh-what about Y/N? Is she really gone?” Bepo asks, missing the nerve of evident irritation on Law’s forehead. Penguin and Shachi behind Law trying to signal to Bepo to stop talking. “It’s what we came here to do, Bepo. She’s back with her crew, time for us to move on to our mission,” as he briskly walks past the Mink. “Oh…” he lowers his head, “I’m gonna miss her AND little Ayumi. It’ll be really quiet without them here,” he laments, his ears tucked. I’ll miss her more than you know, Bepo. “There’s bigger things to worry about,” Law barks, trying to mask his heavy heart. 

“Bepo!” Ayumi’s little shriek rings out across the dock as she sees him. She does her best to run, arms wide open to give him a hug as she approaches. His eyes light up as he turns around, catching her as he stumbles, “Ayumi!” he laughs. Law turns around in surprise to see the Straw Hat crew approaching him. Luffy leading with you and Zoro following with the rest of the crew. “Traffy!” Luffy calls out, holding his signature hat to his head as he animatedly waves his other arm, “We wanted to see you off. And I wanted to say thank you. For helping Y/N and Ayumi.”

“Tch,” Law sucks his teeth in annoyance, “We’re not friends, Straw Hat. We’re rivals. We don’t need a sendoff,” he grumbles. Looking up quickly, he sees you smiling with a small wave and Zoro standing next to you. He crosses his arms as he watches the conversation unfold. With a serious expression, he gives Law a curt nod in acknowledgement with Luffy’s sentiment. 

“Shi-shi-shi-shi. Ok, well I say we’re friends now, maybe we’ll run into you guys again out there,” Luffy points out to the sea with his thumb. Law shakes his head, completely frazzled by the chaos that is the Straw Hats. Law looks over everyone and briefly stops at you, nodding slightly, which you return with a warm smile as you reach out for Zoro’s arm. Locking yours into his. “Let’s go Ayumi. You got to say goodbye to Bepo. We have to go too, baby.” you reach out to her as Bepo sets her down carefully, wiping a tear from his eye. “Bye, ‘Yumi,” he sniffles, “See you next time,” he cries. “Next time.” you repeat as Law and the crew walk onto their ship and close the door behind them, disappearing into the water. 

Zoro grabs Ayumi and puts her up high on his shoulders, grabbing your hand and squeezing, he breaks your attention. “Let’s get going, yea? We still have to get ‘Yumi a training sword before we leave,” he says as he brings your hand up to his lips to press a light kiss on your knuckles. You roll your eyes, “Let’s go…but we’re NOT getting her a real blade Zoro, she’s not even TWO!” You both continue to playfully argue as you walk off into the grove back toward the Sunny, ready to set on your next adventure.

WOOOO! We're finally here. Thank you again to everyone that's joined me on this fic's journey. At one point, I couldn't decide on the ending. Do you all want the alternate ending??

Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!

Tags: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @guridoodles @ibuch7 @praline357 @chaixsherlock @lunafrisk303999 @starchild-unnamed @windblownwinston @hopelesslover06 @lunamoonbby

MDNI banner by @cafekitsune

Heart banner by @saradika-graphics

[idkyetxoxo]

Two | Thin Lines | The Ruin

Pairing - Rhysand x reader (Mafia Boss Rhysand x Nurse Reader)

Word count - 2.2k

Warnings - None

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Another shift. Another day of pretending.

Pretending the long hours weren't dragging the life out of me. Pretending the hollow ache in my chest wasn't growing heavier every time I passed another silent room, another patient too far gone. Pretending that the smiles I wore were anything but armour—thin and cracking.

Only this time... 

This time, I saw him. Rhysand.

It started slowly. Like a shadow out of place, a scent I couldn't name lingering too long. He was always just there, a step behind, a figure leaning against the wall, a flash of violet eyes watching quietly from the other end of the corridor.

I told myself it was nothing. He was just visiting his friend. Nothing unusual about that. Except he wasn't anywhere near his friend's room. He was everywhere I was.

Every shift, I found him. Or maybe he found me.

And now, here I was. Again.

I turned the corner, clutching my too-light lunch, a container of cold pasta and a dog-eared notebook filled with half-finished scribbles carefully. 

The hallway was dimly lit, quiet. My spot. My break.

Except tonight, he was already there. He was sitting on my gurney—my damn gurney like he owned it. 

Still in that charcoal suit that looked custom-cut to his frame, the lapels sharp, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to make me forget how to walk in a straight line.

My pulse jumped. I stopped short. He didn't move.

"You always take the second-floor stairs," he said, voice smooth as dark velvet, lounging back slightly with the kind of casual elegance I'd only ever seen in movies. "Habit?"

I blinked, barely keeping my footing. Was he... studying me?

"I just... prefer it to the elevator," I mumbled, trying to sound indifferent as I moved to the edge of the gurney—far from him and peeled back the lid on my Tupperware.

Eat. Just eat. I still have eight hours left on this shift.

"That's cold?" he asked, watching me.

I nodded, cheeks warming. "Yeah. Too tired to heat it up."

His brow furrowed, and something unreadable passed over his expression. Not quite disapproval. Not quite concern. Something deeper. Warmer. Stranger.

"How do you take care of others," he asked quietly, "when you can't even take care of yourself?"

I froze, my fork halfway to my mouth.

For a long moment, I didn't answer. I didn't move. His voice wasn't cruel. There was no judgment in it. But it cracked through something in me all the same.

I lifted my gaze and collided with his.

Those violet eyes. They were arresting. Ancient and endless, like they held storms and stars both. I couldn't look away, even when I wanted to.

"Are you saying..." I said slowly, quietly, "that I look bad?"

His eyes widened just a little. Just enough to tell me he hadn't meant it that way.

"No," he said at once, voice lower now. More careful. "Of course not, bunny."

I blinked. "Bunny?"

He smiled then. It was barely there, but it did something to me, made my stomach tighten, made the air thinner. 

"Yeah. You're a young, sweet little skittish thing," he said. "Always looking like you're ready to bolt."

I didn't know what to say to that. The silence stretched. I stared down at my pasta like it might offer answers.

"You don't even know me," I said finally, smiling despite myself.

"I could," he replied. "That can change, bunny."

And then he stood. Just like that.

No goodbye. No explanation. Just the sound of expensive shoes against linoleum as he walked down the hall, disappearing into the shadows he always seemed to belong to.

I stared after him long after he left.

I was almost at the end of my shift now, exhaustion weighing heavy on my bones, when something caught my eye, a steaming cup of coffee resting on top of a neat bundle of violet tulips, carefully placed on my locker.

My brow furrowed as I glanced around, the sterile hum of the hospital fading into the background. No one else was near. 

Next to the flowers and coffee lay a small, crisply folded note. I unfolded it, fingers trembling slightly.

You look like someone who forgets to eat when she's working too hard.

The message was penned in delicate, flowing script—elegant, deliberate. It was signed simply with an R.

I looked down at the cup, inhaling the rich aroma. It was from my favourite coffee shop, the one tucked away miles from the hospital, all the way across Velaris, where I often went when I had rare days off.

A sudden sound drew my attention. The locker room door creaked open, and in stepped someone familiar—Lucien. 

His fiery red hair caught the overhead light, and the calm, easy confidence that seemed to follow him like a shadow immediately settled the fluttering nerves inside me.

"Looks like you've got a mysterious admirer," Lucien said with a teasing smile as he tossed his scrub top onto the bench, completely unbothered by my presence.

I laughed, though there was a strange, shaky sensation twisting in my chest. 

Was this romantic or a little... unsettling? The line felt thin and blurred.

"Luc, next time you decide to start taking your clothes off, maybe give me a heads-up? Some of us might be traumatised," I joked, turning away to give him some privacy, cradling the warm cup in my hands.

I took a sip and it was perfect. My exact order, a caramel latte with oat milk, no cream, just how I liked it. 

A small, thoughtful detail that made my heart race a little faster.

"Darling, I'm just giving you a show," Lucien replied smoothly once he was dressed, grabbing my wrist and spinning me around before linking our arms. 

Together, we walked toward the hospital exit, his presence a steady anchor amidst the swirl of my thoughts.

Lucien was the only person I truly trusted. 

We met during nursing school, two lost souls who bonded instantly over shared stories of fractured families and a fierce, stubborn kindness that never quite fit anywhere else. 

Lucien was the only man in my life who hadn't wanted something from me. 

Not my body, not my time—just my friendship. Maybe that's why I never let myself see what was under the surface with him. Maybe that's why I trusted him too much.

Somehow, by a stroke of luck or fate, we ended up working in the same hospital, and without him, I'm pretty sure I'd have lost my mind long ago.

We chatted easily, laughter and light teasing filling the spaces between exhausted breaths. But then, through the glass doors at the hospital entrance, my heart stopped. 

There he was again. Rhysand.

"I'll catch up with you later, Luc. Just remembered something," I said, trying to keep my voice casual, light.

Lucien paused, brows knitting slightly in concern. "I can wait."

I smiled, softening it with a gentle shake of my head. "No, really—it's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

Before he could argue, I leaned up and pressed a light, familiar kiss to his cheek. He relaxed, giving me a nod, and turned away.

I took a slow, steadying breath and pivoted, heading toward the figure leaning far too casually against the stone wall.

He didn't move, didn't call out, but he watched me approach like he had all the time in the world, his gaze steady, gleaming with that mix of amusement and something darker.

When I was close enough that others couldn't overhear, I lifted my chin and asked, carefully, "why are you always here?" 

My voice was sweeter than I intended, touched with nervousness I couldn't quite swallow.

Rhysand tilted his head slightly, that unreadable smile ghosting over his lips. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you." His voice was low, smooth, like silk draped over a blade.

I resisted the urge to fidget. "I know your friend—Helion was discharged. He's already gone home. So I'm not sure why you're still... hanging around."

I hesitated for half a second too long before pushing forward. "Try me."

His smile widened, slow and deliberate, the kind that could unmake a girl if she let it. His eyes gleamed, equal parts mischief and danger.

"Because," he said, voice dipping just above a whisper, "there's something here worth watching."

The air between us seemed to shift and thicken. That look he gave me, sharp and wickedly beautiful, made my breath catch. 

My knees went weak, shamefully so, and I had to ground myself with the curl of my fingers into my palm to stay upright.

There was something terrifying about how much I wanted him. Terrifying, because I didn't even know him. Because no one who looks at you like that wants anything good.

He looked at me like he was already planning what to do with me—like I was a piece on a board he was already winning.

Rhysand said nothing more, he didn't need to.

And gods help me, I couldn't look away.

Rhysand's POV - 

I felt it the moment she turned toward me.

A slow, simmering satisfaction uncoiled in my chest, dark and indulgent, like aged whiskey sliding over a bruise as her gaze locked on mine and her feet began moving in my direction. 

Voluntarily. Finally.

Lucien, ever the golden boy, lingered at her side. His brows lifted slightly in question, his stance soft with concern. 

I watched him too carefully, I'll admit that. Every subtle shift of his expression, every twitch of his jaw, was committed to memory. 

He leaned in just slightly—too familiar and I noted the quiet intimacy of it with cold precision. The tight line of his shoulders. The furrow between his brows. The way he looked at her like she was precious.

They were just friends. I knew that. 

But when she leaned in, pressing those sweet, unthinking lips to his cheek in a gesture so casual it might've killed me, something sharp twisted in my gut. Not quite rage. But something just as volatile.

It should've been me. Her mouth. On my skin. Even for a breath of a second.

My jaw tensed so hard I thought I'd crack a molar. I let the emotion crash through me like a wave slamming into stone, violent and inevitable. 

But I didn't let it show. Not on the surface. Never on the surface.

Lucien finally walked away. And then she was there—standing in front of me.

She was beautiful in the kind of way that made men stupid. Dangerous. Willing to start wars. Hair loose and windblown. Lips slightly parted. The tulips I'd left for her cradled gently in her arms like something sacred.

Violet tulips, her favourite. Of course I knew that. I knew everything.

Where she went to college. Her grades. The café she stops at when she's had a hard shift. The playlist she falls asleep to. The name of her childhood cat. Her first pet—Bubbles, a goldfish that lasted all of two weeks.

She told someone once that losing Bubbles was the first time she understood death.

That stuck with me. Everything about her did.

She didn't belong to me. Not officially. Not yet. But I'd memorised her like a blueprint. 

And I never study something unless I intend to own it.

When she looked up at me with those wide, wary eyes and asked, "Why are you always here?" as if she didn't already feel the gravity between us—I nearly smiled. Almost.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," I had said, letting the words roll off my tongue in that easy, unaffected way I'd perfected over years of backroom deals and blood-slick negotiations.

But it wasn't easy. Because then she said his name. Helion.

I arched a brow, letting my irritation bleed through before I could stop it. "You keep tabs on all patients that aren't yours, bunny?" 

The nickname came out before I could suppress it. Sharp and sweet, just like her.

Her brows drew together, confusion flashing across her face in that lovely, honest way of hers. Innocent. Unaware. It only made it worse. 

That look she gave me—like she didn't know how tightly I was wound around her little finger.

"Helion wasn't one of yours," I clarified, voice lower now. Firmer.

She smiled then. The smile. Not the one she gave to strangers. Not the polite, practised one.

No, this one was hers. The real one. It split her face open like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It was pure, and warm, and unintentional. I'd kill to see it again.

"We always remember the sweet ones," she said, gaze drifting out toward the horizon as she adjusted the tulips in her hand—my tulips.

She had no idea what she was doing to me.

"He was super charming, too," she went on, her voice light with admiration. "And so patient. I was almost envious he wasn't one of mine."

Charming. Patient. Sweet.

I will bury him alive.

"That's Helion for you," I muttered, barely keeping the venom out of my tone.

I was already calculating how quickly I could get him reassigned. Far away. Somewhere colder. Somewhere quieter. Or maybe just... gone.

I've done worse for less.

She shivered then. A small movement. Barely perceptible. But I caught it. Of course I did.

Immediately, I straightened. "Do you want a ride home?" The offer came out more clipped than I intended, but the concern underneath it was real.

She looked up at me and shook her head, too quickly. "No, I'll walk. Thank you for the offer."

And then—just like that she turned and walked away.

I didn't call after her. I didn't follow. I stood there, silent and still, watching the soft sway of her steps disappear into the dusk like a knife sliding into water.

She didn't belong to me. Not yet.

But I wasn't the kind of man who let something slip through his fingers. Not when I'd already claimed it. Not when I'd bled for far less.

And gods help anyone who stood in my way because they would not stand long.

A/n - I ended up going with "bunny" for the nickname—I toyed with "Bambi" for a while, but it didn't quite hit the right tone for the dynamic I wanted between them :)

Lucien's officially the best friend in this AU. I needed someone who felt safe, warm, and grounding for her and who better than our favourite redhead with emotional depth?

This parts more of a filler—less action, more atmosphere. It's her beginning to notice Rhys, starting to feel that pull, but also questioning if what he's doing is romantic or unsettling. That blurred line was intentional. I wanted it to feel intoxicating but disorienting, too!

And honestly, if someone left coffee and tulips on my locker IRL, I'd probably freak out. Working in a hospital, you get hit on way too often, and most of us just pretend it didn't happen and move on. So yeah—realism meets fantasy here.

Thank you so much for reading <3

The Ruin tag list - @queenoffeysand @sttvrdustt @wedonttalkaboutvoldemort @coeurdeveea @maltemp @sillyfreakfanparty @justtryingtosurvive02 @bosssliv5g @hyruledemigod20 @sstrohma @zoeisdreaming6

[weaver77]

Ready player 2

Gamer Shiesty!Mark x Reader

Part 1

Inspired by @clairewritesfanfics version of Shiesty, I didn't know i needed gamer Shiesty until now.

If Mark were to go back in time and told his past self, that he would one day. Buy Animal crossing, Stardew Valley and even the Sims. He would have promptly laugh in his face and tell him to fuck off

And really, Mark couldn't blame him. Because after all he hadn't meet you yet.

When the two of you started dating he didn't expect it to last long.

At best, he thought it would last for a week or two. Before ultimately the two of you would part ways due to respective differences.

But that never happen.

Instead he was surprise when not only did you made an effort to know the things he liked. But you remembered them too.

He mentioned offhandedly about an anime character he liked and you got him a keychain of said character.

Before he knew it, the two of you started talking about all his favorite series, games. Heck, he even showed you the cosplays he made and the figurines he collected.

For the first time in his life, Mark felt like could just be himself around someone. Not Invincible the masked hero or Mark the resident bad boy who gets in trouble with the cops.

Just Mark Grayson who likes to read Seance dog and learned how to sew so he can cosplay his favorite character.

So when he accidentally insult you, he knew he fucked up

You had invite him over to your place, its the first time his been inside your house. And Mark was trying his best to hid how nervous he actually was

He lowkey regrets not doing any romance routes in his games. Maybe it would better prepare him for these stage

Maybe you picked up on his nerves because low and behold you set up a game console for the two of you.

How did he get so lucky?

He toke his respective seat ready to play the game you set up. Mark already decided he would go easy on you on the first round

When the game boot up and the title screen appeared. It toke a minute for Mark to register the name. Mario Kart

"What's so funny?" You ask carrying a bowl of popcorn catching the tail end of Mark's snicker.

"I'm sorry Babe, its just-" Mark bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing again as he reach for the popcorn bowl "I think you bought the wrong game"

You stilled for a moment processing what he said "What do you mean?"

"Its a racing game, you nailed that part sweetheart but it's for kids"

You didn't say anything

"It's okay" He paused to munch on the popcorn "We've all been deceived by good cover art "

You watch Mark pop more popcorn in his mouth

"We can exchange it for a real game so you didn't waste your money, or if you like I'll find a way to get your money back babe"

".. Mark" You spoke softly drawing his attention immediately "I didn't buy these game for you"

He blinked "What?"

"I owned these game for a while now, i played a version of it when i was a kid. And when i saw they're releasing a new version, i got it for myself"

Oh "Oh" Mark looked between you and the tv screen

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"I don't understand, how can you like these?" Mark ask waving his hand towards the screen like it has personal offended him "I understand liking it as a kid but how can you still like it now, is it the nostalgia?"

You toke in a deep breath before responding "I had fun playing it by myself and with friends. You like racing games so i thought we could have fun playing it together"

Mark remembers when he introduced you to one of his favourite anime, you haven't watched the show before and despite it not being in your genre. You watched it with him and listen to him gush about it.

And here he was interrogating you on why you like Mario Kart when you set it up as a cute co-op gaming date with your boyfriend.

"Its fine" You sigh snapping Mark back into the present "We can just watch a movie or something"

Before you can take away the controllers Mark stopped you "Y/n- baby wait" grasping your hand Mark inhaled looking up at you with his sad puppy dog eyes "I'm sorry, i shouldn't have said that too you. I meant not like these game but i shouldn't be an ass about you liking it"

Your expression soften as you hear out Mark's apology, due you didn't respond right away. Letting him sweat for a moment before ultimately bringing him into a hug "Apology accepted". Mark sighed sagging in relief as he returned the hug tenfold, nuzzling his face into your neck before separating.

"Do you still want to play?" Mark asked holding up the controller

"Mark we don't need to play Mario Kart if you don't like it" You replied not wanting Mark to feel pressured into playing it with you

"I know but you like it. And if it's something you enjoy playing then I'm happy to play it with you" Mark replied blushing at how sappy he sounds, but it was no less true.

And that was how Mark mange to salvage the date, only to lose the battle that was Mario Kart.

It seemed simple enough, cross the finish line. Something Mark is familiar with

What Mark didn't account for was how brutal you were with the turtle shell

Mark can figure out the best route of the race course but it was the power ups that got to him

He wasn't familer with them and even when you explained what each were he was still getting use to them

Meanwhile you were incredible experience in the game and it shows

Mark used the squid to ink up your side of the screen, limiting your vision in hopes of catching up

But you were still able to navigate through the course from the small clean gap the power up didn't cover

Which Mark is impressed by and finds attractive as hell

"I can't believe i lost" Mark stares in disbelief at the screen as you cross the finish like first

"Well that's not true you came in second place, that's a good first try" You point out patting him on the back

"Yeah but I'm usually come first" He muttered with a pout "I swear I'm usually good at these"

"Hmm i don't know" You hummed thoughtfully "Sounds like an excuse to cover up your skill issue"

"You did not just say that" Mark gasp

"Oh but i did, what are you gonna do about it Bowser?" You smirked raising your controller

"Oh now it's on!" Mark grinned in return starting round 2

Mark ended up winning that round and both of you ended up having a competition too see who can get the much wins

Mark knew some of the characters, like Peach, Mario and Luigi. But he was surprise there was more then one Mario and Luigi who apparently called Wario and Waluigi

You start to explain the characters history as the two of you played, even going into the other Mario games.

"I'm not sure if they kept these in the new release but in the original Mario and the thousand year door. The robot who was Princess Peach jailer fell in love with her when he watch her take a shower"

".. What?"

"And in another section she had to take off her clothes when she turned invisible to sneak around the castle she's in"

"What!?"

"Yeah it happened"

"Why- wait no go back, rewind. Tell me more about what happened with these perv robot"

By the end of the night not only did Mark have fun playing Mario Kart but he also takes back the Mario franchise being a game only for kids

[reverd-ck]

a digital knock pt 2

read part one here if you didnt yet !!!

syp: bored out of your mind, you try texting your number neighbor- someone who’s number is just one off from yours.

cw: chronically online x chronically online, kenma x reader, smau, extremely self-indulgent, probably ooc, a lot of online references, timestamps do not matter. at all.

a/n:

- hello from copenhagen

- im the biggest liar bro i said i would be on hiatus cus im on vacation but i lowkey dont sleep on flights and what better thing to pass time with than make fanfiction with offline apps :33

- im gonna be so jet lagged.. when i finished the smau they were handing out BREAKFAST and i didnt sleep an inch

- “ouran cross” DIRECTLY taken from ohshc idc i had no ideas and sakura kiss was blasting in my ears so

- also idk if the grow a garden bit was accurate bc i have a life and i didnt play it (im too busy TIERING on PROJECT SEKAI 💔💔💔)

- sigh i wouldve included better pictures if i had internet and could download them but i had to survive off my own camera roll bc.. yk.. airplane mode…

- also the reason kenma has so much more engagement on his posts is… cus he has more followers WOW WHAT A GOOD REASON

- i didnt even screenshot the profiles bruh i didnt want to make this a full on smau series

- yapped too hard i had to make a part two 😔😔

- this was a hassle to format bc i didnt have my laptop with me so i didnt have copy and paste privileges 💔

- i wanted to make this before i left for vacay with my og idea then i saw a post that had the EXACT SAME IDEA WITH KENMA so i lowkey gave up… then i thoufht of number neighbors on the flight and i was like “wait i can make this work”

- i feel addicted to my phone smh

- my mom next to me thought i was texting someone and she was like “how r u still texting on the flight” how do i explain im texting myself but the other person is pretending to be a character

- she thinks i wont make it in life but whatevs

- reya @xianji if youre reading this YES that ask of “ken (you take a shower) ma (n)” i made a week ago was forshadowing this

- i thought i was so funny for coming that up

- okay holy yapptron bro

- btw “top dawg // SLAPPED BY KIYOKO ON 04/27” is nishinoya if you couldnt tell 😔 NOT tanaka bc he didnt get slapped

- instead bro got married so ig he won

- ily jf you read all of this

main m.list // hq m.list

dividers by @uzmacchiato

all rights reserved. do not copy, steal or feed into ai my works.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Non-Linear Storytelling

Non-linear Narrative - a narrative technique in which the storyline is told out of chronological order.

That can take many forms by using:

flashforwards

flashbacks

dream sequences

foreshadowing

Non-linear plotlines can mimic the recall of human memory, or weave in fantastical elements like time travel or clairvoyance.

Advantages of Using a Non-Linear Narrative

Non-linearity as a narrative structure might be a challenge to pull off—the order in which everything is presented must still be logical, if not chronological—but when done well, it allows a more nuanced, masterful story to emerge.

Intrigue. By disorienting the reader, a nonlinear structure creates a puzzle that requires more engagement with the individual pieces of the story. Cause and effect cease to be predictable or immediately visible, allowing the reader to curate their own logic. When a novel opens with a murder, the series of events that follow carry greater weight and add to the anticipation of the final (known) outcome. When the reader knows more about a character’s fate than they do, opportunities also arise for moments of irony, be they tragic or comic.

Worldbuilding. Not only can you use a non-linear structure to incorporate different time periods into your story, taking a momentarily different point of view can give the reader more insight into other aspects of the setting—think subplots unfolding on the other side of the world that will eventually become meaningful, or perhaps historical events that come to bear on the lives of your characters.

Depth of character. The more the reader learns of your main character’s backstory, the better they understand the choices they make throughout the narrative. Instead of simply telling the reader your character is an orphan, send them back to the moment they became one. Those experiences stay with the reader as they continue through the story.

Flow. Nonlinear storytelling moves your narrative form into something closer to art. While humans might be instinctually drawn to the neatness of chronological order, they are enchanted by the complex. Interchanging the main plot with a non-linear plot allows you to capture more of what it means to be human, and then some: giving shape to all the connections that bind a group a people together, though they themselves remain blind to it.

Examples of Non-Linear Narrative

Non-linear storytelling goes as far back as the 5th century, with flashbacks peppering the timeline of the Indian epic, the Mahabharata, which tells of two clashing groups of cousins. Homer’s Iliad used a technique called in medias res, where the story starts at its mid-point.

The non-linear is still going strong in the 21st century: here are a few new and noteworthy examples.

Virginia Woolf’s To The Lighthouse follows a family’s visit to the Isle of Skye over a ten-year period. Featuring no dialogue and almost no action, the novel unfolds in thoughts, observations, and childhood memories reflected against the present moment.

In William Faulkner’s The Sound and The Fury, the narrative is pieced together by separate members of a fractured aristocratic family. Each section jumps forward and back in time, covering the events whose ripples have led to the present fate of the family.

Kurt Vonnegut, whose book Slaughterhouse-Five utilizes flashback and time travel to illustrate the life of American soldier Billy Pilgrim.

Science-fiction writer Ted Chiang’s first-person short story, Story of Your Life (which was later made into the film Arrival) examines the existence of free will in the face of the inevitable. Told from the point of view of a Louise, a linguist who learns an alien language that allows her to view her future and comprehend time in a nonlinear way, the story opens with the birth of her daughter; the reader only learns later that she knew the child would die young and still chose to fulfill that destiny.

In Audrey Niffenegger’s The Time Traveler's Wife, protagonist Henry De Tamble lives with a genetic disorder that forces him to sporadically travel through time with no warning. He falls in love with an artist (who lives an ordinary life on a standard linear timeline) and continues to jump in and out of moments in his own life, sometimes with dangerous consequences.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[ruebossanova]

professor o'connell: the mini series - 3

college prof!billie x student!reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: older!billie x younger!reader, slowslowslow burn, eventual smut, college life, hella tension, quiet/shy reader

summary: the rain outside brought them close under a single umbrella again, a moment of unspoken tension broken only by billie's sudden distance. a brief, almost clinical text from billie followed, leaving liora to wonder what had shifted. their next music room session was more reserved, with billie revealing her teaching motivation. a brief, accidental touch of hands reignited the fragile connection, but billie quickly pulled away, emphasizing boundaries, leaving liora to navigate the lingering silence and the unspoken question of what had changed.

masterlist

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

monday felt sharper than usual.

the sky outside was pale and flat, clouds stretched thin like paper, and the classroom lights buzzed faintly above the hum of conversation. liora sat in her usual seat, back straight, notebook open, pen idle between her fingers.

she hadn't spoken to billie since the rain. since the umbrella. since the soft brush of fingers against her temple like it was nothing. except it wasn't.

billie walked in just as the clock hit the hour, dressed in black jeans and a rust-colored tee under an open flannel, sleeves rolled to her elbows. her hair was half up, strands tucked behind one ear, eyes shadowed in a way that didn't look tired, just distant.

liora watched her from under her lashes.

billie didn't look back.

"okay," she said, setting her laptop down. "new assignment. this one's gonna be weird."

someone in the front groaned. billie smirked, just a little.

"you're working in pairs. or trios, if you're scared of intimacy."

that got a few laughs. liora's heart jumped.

"the goal's simple: take a piece of music — any genre, any decade, i don't care — and write something with it. inspired by it, woven through it, around it. a spoken word piece. lyrics. a duet. even just a mood board with voiceover. whatever feels honest."

liora scribbled down the instructions. her hand trembled slightly.

"you'll perform or present in three weeks," billie continued. "live, in class. i know, terrifying. you'll survive."

billie started reading out names from a list on her phone. liora's name didn't come until the very end.

"rai, you were paired with dua jenkins, but she dropped the course this morning," billie said, eyes skimming the list. "so you'll either get reassigned or—"

she paused. looked up.

and something shifted.

"—i'll help you brainstorm until you do."

liora blinked.

billie moved on to the next names without further comment, but the words sat heavy in the air.

until you do.

like a promise. or a threat. or something worse — hope.

by the time class ended, liora hadn't heard anything else. not really. just her own pulse and the faint memory of rain in her ears.

as everyone filed out, she lingered again, just a little. but billie didn't ask her to stay.

she just looked up once, right before liora walked out, and said softly, "wednesday. after class. music room four."

liora nodded.

and left.

her whole body humming.

the hallway was dim when liora arrived.

music building four was older than the rest — narrower halls, soundproofed doors, yellowing floors that creaked just enough to make everything feel more secret. the overhead lights flickered in the corners, and the carpet smelled like varnish and dust.

liora stood outside the door for a second before knocking.

a soft voice from inside: "yeah."

she pushed it open.

the room was small, lit only by a single floor lamp in the corner, its light warm and low. thick rugs covered most of the space, muffling footsteps. a beat-up upright piano sat against one wall, and billie sat on the floor next to it, cross-legged, a notebook in her lap and a half-empty iced coffee beside her.

she looked up, and for a second, she just stared.

not surprised. not cold.

just looked at her. like she was trying to place her in a song.

"hey," she said. quiet.

liora nodded and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. the click echoed too loudly. she sat down a few feet away, legs tucked underneath her.

"you're on time," billie said, almost teasing.

"i was early," liora said before she could stop herself. "i walked around the building first."

billie's mouth tugged slightly. not quite a smile. "why?"

liora picked at a thread on her sleeve. "nerves, i think."

billie's gaze dropped to her hands for a second. "don't be nervous. this is just… ideas. that's all."

"it doesn't feel like just anything."

another pause. longer this time. billie leaned back on her palms, eyes soft.

"you always talk like that?" she asked.

"like what?"

"like the words are heavier than you."

liora looked down. "sorry."

"don't be. it's rare."

the silence between them stretched.

billie reached behind her and pulled her notebook closer. flipped to a page.

"so," she said, changing gears. "any song stuck in your head lately?"

liora hesitated. then: "'mirrorball.' by taylor swift."

billie's eyebrows lifted slightly. "interesting."

"what?"

"nothing," she said. "just… that song's all vulnerability and no armor. wasn't expecting it from you."

liora tucked her hair behind her ear, self-conscious. "should i pick something else?"

"no," billie said gently. "i like it."

she stood, moved to the piano, and tapped out the opening chords—soft, simple, imperfect.

liora watched her hands move. long fingers, unpainted nails. quiet control.

"you play by ear?" liora asked.

"mostly."

"i could never do that."

billie glanced at her. "you could. you just haven't tried hard enough."

liora felt the words land somewhere deeper than they should've.

billie kept playing. same phrase, over and over. it filled the room with a low, longing echo.

then she stopped. turned on the bench. rested her elbow on the keys.

"what does that song mean to you?" she asked.

liora swallowed. "it sounds like being looked at. and still feeling invisible."

billie's eyes lingered.

"write that down," she said softly.

liora blinked. "what?"

"that sentence. 'looked at and still feeling invisible.' write it down before you forget."

liora reached into her bag and pulled out her journal. flipped to a blank page.

her hand trembled slightly as she wrote.

billie watched her.

"good," she said. quiet again. "it's honest."

liora didn't look up. she couldn't.

because the space between them was too full. of music. of words. of everything they weren't saying.

they stayed another forty minutes.

talking about songs, writing down fragments, humming melodies under their breath. at one point, billie leaned so close that liora could smell the faint warmth of coffee on her breath. at another, liora forgot what she was saying because she was watching billie's hands — long fingers tapping rhythm against her notebook, absentminded, like music just lived under her skin.

by the time they stood to leave, the room felt smaller. quieter. like something had shifted, but neither of them wanted to look at it too closely.

liora followed her out into the hallway. it was darker now. cooler. the windows near the stairwell rattled softly, and outside—

rain.

not a drizzle. not a storm. that steady, soaking kind of rain that turned the pavement to mirrors and made everything smell like wet leaves and metal.

billie stopped at the door. sighed.

"of course."

she reached into her bag, pulled out a small black umbrella — barely big enough for one.

"guess we're getting cozy," she said, not quite teasing.

liora's pulse skipped.

"you don't have to—" she started, but billie was already unfolding the umbrella and opening the door with her other hand.

"come on, rai."

and something about the way she said her name — rai, not liora — low and familiar, like a nickname she'd always had but never heard aloud, made liora move without thinking.

they stepped out together. close. too close. the umbrella barely covered them. their arms brushed. their hands almost touched. their footsteps were the only sound besides the hush of rain all around them.

billie didn't say anything at first. neither did liora.

the world around them blurred — buildings, trees, the dim glow of a streetlamp through fog. everything softened, except the air between them.

then billie said, "you're a little stormy, you know."

liora blinked. "what?"

billie looked straight ahead. "you carry things. quietly. but loud."

liora didn't answer. she couldn't.

a few more steps. a few more seconds of shoulder to shoulder, breath to breath.

they reached the door to liora's dorm. the light above it buzzed faintly, flickering in and out like it didn't want to interrupt.

billie turned to her. close now, the umbrella still above them.

a drop of rain slid from her hairline down to her cheek. liora reached out — without thinking, barely breathing — and wiped it away with the side of her finger.

billie didn't move. just watched her.

"you're wet," she said, stupidly.

billie huffed a breath of a laugh. "so are you."

they stood there, suspended in a moment too fragile to name.

then billie stepped back. lowered the umbrella.

"get some sleep, rai."

she said it gently, but there was something tight in it. something held back.

then she turned. walked into the rain without looking back.

liora didn't move for a long time. not until the sky cracked with lightning in the distance. not until the space beside her went cold again.

the rain had stopped sometime after midnight, but liora hadn't noticed. she lay in bed with her eyes open, headphones in, the same song looping for hours — soft strings, minimal lyrics, too much space between the notes.

her roommate snored faintly from the other side of the room. outside, the world was still damp, sidewalks glossy under lamplight. everything smelled like wet concrete and the inside of a coat that had been worn too long.

she couldn't stop thinking about billie.

about the umbrella.

about the way her hand had lifted — instinctive, gentle — to wipe a drop of rain from billie's cheek.

about the way billie hadn't flinched. hadn't smiled. hadn't looked away.

and then she had.

walked off like it hadn't happened.

like it didn't mean anything.

liora turned onto her side, pulled the blanket over her head, and whispered the words she hadn't said out loud:

"you felt it too."

except maybe she hadn't. maybe liora had imagined the weight behind the glances, the softness in her voice, the quiet way she said rai like she was letting her guard down.

maybe liora had misread the moment.

by morning, her chest felt hollow.

she dressed without thinking — jeans, hoodie, no makeup. her braid was loose, uneven. she didn't care.

the classroom smelled like old coffee and dry marker. the lights buzzed again. students filtered in, sleepy and slow. liora sat down in her usual seat. second from the front. notebook closed. pen resting flat against the desk.

the door opened.

billie walked in.

no umbrella this time. no music in her ears. she looked the same, mostly — loose cardigan, vintage tee, high-waisted trousers, boots with worn laces — but her expression was unreadable. she didn't glance at liora. didn't pause. just moved to the desk and opened her laptop like it was any other day.

liora watched her.

billie didn't look up.

not once.

not even when she said, "okay, let's start."

something in liora's stomach tightened.

class moved on like nothing had happened.

billie taught the same way — hands steady, voice low and sure. she talked about dissonance in harmony, how contrast in tone could mirror contrast in narrative. she played a clip from a nina simone performance and wrote fracture = tension on the board in uneven print.

she didn't call on liora. didn't say her name. didn't even look in her direction.

liora stopped taking notes after the first ten minutes.

her pen hovered. her throat ached.

the room felt colder than usual.

when the clock hit the hour, billie closed her laptop with a soft click and said, "that's it for today."

students rustled to their feet. bags zipped. someone dropped a water bottle, and it clattered across the tile.

liora didn't move.

she waited. waited for billie to say something. to glance her way. to nod or lift a hand or—anything.

but billie just packed her things and walked out.

not fast. not cold.

just… deliberate.

and liora sat there, staring at the door like it had betrayed her.

something had shifted.

and it wasn't just the weather.

liora spent the afternoon in the library, though she didn't read a single page.

her notebook sat open beside a stack of untouched textbooks, half-filled with words she couldn't finish. fragments. lines that started strong and fizzled. metaphors that felt thin. everything sounded fake when she read it back.

her phone sat face-down next to her laptop, screen dark.

she tried not to touch it.

failed.

at 3:47, she flipped it over, opened messages, and stared at the empty thread longer than she meant to.

thank you for earlier

she typed it. deleted it. typed it again. added a period. removed it.

finally, she hit send.

and instantly regretted it.

it felt too small. too exposed. too late.

she tucked her phone under her leg like hiding it would undo the message.

forty-two minutes passed.

nothing.

by then she had changed study locations twice. her brain refused to stay still. she'd reread the same sentence in a textbook about five times before realizing she had no idea what it said.

finally, at 4:29, her phone buzzed.

billie: anytime

that was it.

no punctuation. no emoji. not even her name.

just: anytime.

liora stared at it like it might mean something else if she tilted the screen.

it didn't.

it felt polite. casual. nothing.

but it didn't read casual. not to her.

she reread it. once. twice. ten times.

maybe it was kindness. maybe it was distance. maybe billie had meant it as a brush-off — soft and neutral.

or maybe she didn't know what to say.

either way, it sank like a stone in liora's stomach.

her roommate came in around five, dropped her bag on the floor, and said, "you good?"

liora nodded. "just tired."

"you look like you're being haunted."

liora gave a weak smile. "maybe i am."

later that night, she pulled out her violin for the first time in weeks.

she didn't tune it. didn't set up the stand. just held it.

the strings were out of pitch. the bow felt wrong in her hand. but she didn't care.

she played mirrorball from memory — slow, quiet, full of hesitations.

not perfect. not even close.

but honest.

afterward, her fingers were sore.

her phone stayed silent.

and the only thing louder than the music was the question still echoing in her chest:

what had changed?

and why did it hurt so much?

the hallway outside music room four smelled like dust and leftover coffee. the overhead lights flickered in their usual way — too yellow, too dim — and the linoleum under liora's boots squeaked once when she shifted her weight.

she stood outside the door for almost a full minute before knocking.

a pause. then billie's voice, muffled but clear: "yeah."

liora opened the door slowly.

the room looked exactly the same as before — warm lamplight, worn rugs, upright piano tucked against the far wall. billie sat on the floor again, one knee pulled up, her arm draped over it, notebook balanced in her lap.

she looked up.

not surprised. not smiling. just… there.

present, but distant.

liora stepped inside. closed the door behind her.

"hi," she said softly.

"hey."

billie's voice was even. unreadable.

liora crossed the room, sank into the same spot as last time. a few feet apart. close, but not close enough.

silence stretched between them like thread. fine, taut, fragile.

billie didn't look at her notebook. just stared at the rug, tapping her pen against the corner.

"you bring anything?" she asked after a moment.

liora nodded, pulling a folded sheet of paper from her bag. "just a start."

billie reached for it.

their fingers didn't touch this time.

she read it silently. her eyes moved slowly, like she was hearing it more than reading. then she handed it back.

"i like the part about the sky cracking," she said. "it felt lived in."

"it was," liora said before thinking.

billie looked at her, just briefly. "when?"

"friday night."

another pause.

billie nodded once, like that explained everything.

then she stood, moved to the piano, and played the first few bars of mirrorball again — slower this time. hesitant. like memory.

"you've been quiet," liora said, not looking at her.

billie kept playing. her fingers didn't falter.

"you noticed."

"kind of hard not to."

another note rang out. then silence.

billie let her hand fall into her lap. "sorry."

liora looked up. "why?"

a beat passed. billie didn't answer right away.

then, quieter: "just been in my head."

liora hesitated. then: "about what?"

billie's jaw moved slightly. not a smile. not a frown.

"boundaries."

the word hung between them like smoke.

liora's heart kicked once, then stalled.

she nodded. slowly. "right."

billie looked at her. eyes soft. "not because of you."

liora didn't answer.

billie set her hands on the keys again. didn't play. just rested there.

"it's easy to forget i'm the adult in the room," she said quietly.

liora's throat tightened.

"i'm not trying to make it hard," she whispered.

"i know."

the air felt thinner. sharper. like they were walking a wire.

liora stared at the floor. "can i ask you something?"

billie didn't move. "yeah."

"what made you want to teach?"

billie's eyes lifted, surprised by the question.

she leaned back, folding her arms loosely. "honestly?"

"always."

a faint smile tugged at the corner of billie's mouth.

"because i hated school," she said. "and music was the only thing that made me feel like i wasn't wasting oxygen."

liora blinked. "so you came back to it?"

"came back. stayed close. took the long way around."

billie looked down at her lap.

"i thought if i taught it right, maybe someone else wouldn't feel as invisible as i did."

liora swallowed.

billie met her eyes.

and for a second, the room wasn't a room.

it was something else. something suspended. quiet. waiting.

then billie looked away.

"we should probably work," she said, voice lower now. "before the weird tension ruins the whole project."

liora almost laughed.

almost.

but instead, she nodded.

and they started again. they worked in near silence for fifteen minutes.

billie sketched lines in her notebook — phrases, shapes, chord progressions, arrows pointing from one emotion to another like a map that almost made sense. liora sat cross-legged, watching, sometimes adding a word, sometimes striking one out. the energy between them was fragile. effortful. like trying to fold paper that was already damp.

"this line," billie said finally, tapping the page, "feels too neat. you ever feel something that wasn't pretty?"

liora frowned. "all the time."

"then write like that."

"i thought that's what i was doing."

billie looked up. her eyes were sharper now.

"no," she said. "you're writing like you want it to make sense."

"and that's bad?"

"it's not real."

liora's mouth tightened. "it's my real."

silence.

billie sat back, resting her weight on one hand. her expression didn't change, but something in her shoulders did — a pull, a shift.

"i'm not trying to rewrite your voice," she said, quieter now.

liora swallowed the defensive heat rising in her throat. "i know. i just—i don't always know what the realest version sounds like. sometimes i have to clean it up to even look at it."

billie blinked once.

and then the tension dropped.

not all of it. just enough.

"yeah," she said. softer. "i get that."

liora looked down at the notebook between them. her fingers were curled too tightly around her pen.

"sorry," she murmured.

billie shook her head. "don't be."

they sat there a moment longer. the lamp buzzed faintly in the corner. outside, the rain had started again — softer this time, more like a hush than a warning.

liora reached for her water bottle. missed. her hand brushed billie's instead.

they both froze.

not a dramatic freeze. just… still.

billie looked down at their hands. then up at liora.

"you okay?" she asked. not as a teacher. not even as a friend.

just as billie.

liora nodded.

but she didn't pull her hand away.

neither did billie.

the moment lasted three seconds. maybe four.

then billie exhaled — slow, steady — and stood.

"we should call it for today," she said, not quite meeting her eyes.

liora nodded again. stood too. packed her things without speaking.

at the door, billie paused. one hand on the knob. her back to liora.

"you didn't do anything wrong," she said.

liora stared at the back of her head. at the slope of her shoulder. at the way her hand tensed slightly against the metal.

"okay," she said.

billie opened the door.

the hallway was dim.

the silence followed liora all the way home.

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tags; @bxllxebxtch @st0nerlesb0 @dousleepanymore @mxmsuki

[ameidala]

Gives You Hell [I]

Figure Eight was suffocating. You had your step-brother to thank for that. And you thought you could borrow something— call it a favor, brush it off for your friends. But Rafe made it damn sure you wouldn’t try it again.

tags: dark!rafe cameron, stepbrother!rafe cameron, eventual smut, rated 18+ extreme (eventual) non-consensual themes, toxic step-sibling dynamics, drug use, verbal degradation, eventual incest, blackmailing

finally got around to finishing the first half of obx so dark rafe requests are welcomed! :)

this would be part one to a really mini series. leave your comments and thoughts. i'd gladly appreciate it!

You weren’t born into riches. Not the white-picket-fence lifestyle, not legacy money, not anything close to what they call a ‘Kook’. And you definitely didn’t see yourself as a true Cameron. Maybe by law. Maybe by name. But in every other sense, you were a stranger to Figure Eight.

That thought never really left your mind. Not even after the adoption papers were signed, not after your last name changed, and not when you moved into a house most people could only dream of. The whitewashed walls, the wraparound porches, the expensive glass windows. None of it convinced you this place was some version of paradise.

Ward had called it a “second chance.” Rose, ever more polished and composed, treated it like a move toward stability for you and for the family. You didn’t expect much. But when life throws you a lifeline, you take it. Who wouldn’t?

The Camerons had everything. Money, power, structure. Ward had already built his empire. Your step-siblings? Their futures were practically pre-written with trust funds, private school resumes, and vacation homes. Anything they wanted could be theirs with the snap of a finger.

And you? You had a suitcase and a deeply ingrained habit of not trusting anyone— especially Kooks, if you were honest with yourself.

From the outside, it looked like you hit the jackpot. People told you, more than once, how lucky you were. How you got the chance to rewrite your story, to elevate yourself. The golden ticket. A success story. But being surrounded by people who lived in their own bubble of wealth and privilege wasn’t exactly the dream people made it out to be, it had its certain darkness to it.

You were born a Pogue. No amount of cash, comfort, or status could change that. Not really.

There were no price tags that could erase the feeling of being a stranger in a house they kept calling a home.

Ward and Rose tried in their own, detached ways. They were busy, distracted by business and appearances, but they made an effort. Sarah and Wheezie were better, warmer, easier to talk to, more curious than critical.

But Rafe?

Rafe was something else entirely.

He was the epitome and exact example of a Kook Prince. All charm and cruelty. Legacy and arrogance. He embodied everything about Figure Eight that made your skin crawl.

You weren’t born a Kook. Not like Rafe. And he made sure you never forgot it.

Not just with words, though he had plenty of those. But with the way he looked at you like you were trespassing their home. The way he kept you on one side of an imaginary line only he could see. The way he never let you forget you didn’t really belong with them.

Not here. And especially not with him.

You weren’t sure when it shifted. When indifference became disdain. When silence became something heavier. But looking back, things were almost easier when you first moved in. At least then Rafe barely acknowledged your presence in the household. And it wasn’t passive-aggressive indifference. It was something sharper. Deliberate. Calculated. Like you were an insignificant piece of porcelain brought home from a vacation. Something decorative. Fragile. Forgettable.

But then there were the days when he’d stare too long. Not in curiosity but like he was trying to figure out what kind of threat you were. Like you could either be dangerous or pathetic, and he hadn’t made up his mind yet.

Honestly, you preferred it when he didn’t speak at all.

Because when he did, he made damn sure the words stuck.

“Foster brat,” he scoffs with a smug look by the end, “They should’ve picked a stray dog instead. At least it knows how to do tricks.” 

That was Rafe. Cruel just to see if you’d flinch.

But the thing is, you didn’t easily do so. You were used to people trying to put you down before they even knew you. You came from a system built on survival, not etiquette. And survival meant knowing how to bite back.

So you did.

Sometimes it came out in a sharp comment about his financial habits. How he wasted money on appearances and coke, and still thought he was better than everyone else. Other times it was petty, about stealing his last drink in the fridge just to watch him unravel over something small and stupid. Anything to remind him that you weren’t going to bow to whatever invisible hierarchy he thought he ruled.

Over time, the tension between you evolved. The slammed doors got louder. The looks lingered longer. It stopped feeling like a typical step-sibling rivalry.

It felt personal. Unspoken. Coiled and waiting.

But to balance it out, Sarah was different. 

From the start, she actually tried. She didn’t look at you like you were a charity case. She didn’t treat you like a burden nor a favor her parents had done for someone else. With her, you felt like a person and not a project. She started inviting you to hang out with her friends, and for once, it felt like someone wanted you around because of you not out of guilt or image control.

Her kindness initially caught you off guard. Almost made you suspicious.

You kept your distance at first. You weren’t interested in afternoon teas and pretending to enjoy gourmet finger food in over-decorated living rooms. The Kook parties were exhausting. All of it filled with curated smiles and subtle jabs, especially the way they spoke about Pogues like they were insects crawling too close to their property lines.

You hated how you started to see yourself through their eyes.

But when Sarah started spending time with John B and his circle, everything shifted.

At first, you went with her just to escape the house. But quickly, you found yourself wanting to go with no pressure, no judgment, just laughter around bonfires, boat rides at dusk, music that made sense, and jokes that didn’t come with a price.

Sarah asked you to keep it quiet. Ward wouldn’t approve. Rafe definitely wouldn’t. But you didn’t mind the secrecy. Some things were better when they didn’t have Kook eyes all over them.

And with the Pogues, you didn’t have to shrink yourself to fit.

You didn’t have to explain your past or apologize for it. They didn’t care if your last name was Cameron— well initially they did and it took a few conversations before the others had warmed up. But they didn’t care that you’d never fully fit into the country club mold. They just just let you be.

Somewhere in that mix, something softened in Sarah too.

Kiara had your back. Pope respected your intelligence. JJ made you laugh harder than anyone had in a long time. And John B? He understood without needing the details.

Even Sarah started to understand you better. Better in ways she probably never would’ve if you both stayed locked in the bubble of Figure Eight.

Their bond saved you. They made you feel seen. But it only made the divide between you and the Kooks grow deeper, especially with your own stepsibling, Rafe.

It felt easy to walk away from a world that acted so pretentious. You never wanted to be part of such an ecosystem in the first place. Their parties were plastic. The people were bored. The money was loud and empty. Even when you were dressed up, smiling, and technically welcome, it never felt like acceptance.

You were polished enough to attend,  but not enough to belong or fit with them.

The girls smiled at you like you were cute, then turned around and made a face when they thought you weren’t looking. The boys stared too long. Asked where you were "really from" like they couldn’t wrap their heads around someone like you existing in their world.

You weren’t a peer nor a person.

You were an exotic pet. Something to observe, to talk about in whispers. They loved the idea of you. The novelty of you. As if adopting you gave them a moral high ground. As if they could say, ‘See? We’re inclusive. We’re good people.’

But they didn’t want to be your friend. They wanted to feel like your savior.

You didn’t need saving, not anything, and not from them. And you especially didn’t need Rafe looking at you like you were the dirt his family tracked in. Even though half the time he couldn’t seem to stop staring.

There were days, but definitely the rarest ones where you told yourself it might be different. That maybe if you just showed up, dressed right, smiled enough, it would stop feeling like you didn’t belong. 

You would spend too long choosing what to wear. You’d avoid asking Sarah for help, trying to prove that you could blend in without being coached. But Kook parties weren’t made for people like you. But the moment you stepped into one of Rafe’s parties, it clung to you like smoke.

Sometimes you tried to show up to one of the parties. Maybe just with the hope to prove yourself wrong. But you couldn’t deny the instant feeling of eyes at you and you always got to prove yourself right. Not only when you presented yourself, but the stares dragged along and followed you as if attending such an event was a crime. Conversations became shallow when you would pass by them.

And so you only get to station yourself by the wall. You leaned against it while sipping whatever drink you could take, pretending that you didn’t care whatever impression you had set on these people. You pretended not to care and wished that you were invisible— normal— instead.

But always does Rafe see you. 

You could fade into the background for the entire night, practically invisible to everyone else. But not to him.

He would watch you from across the room, even with girls draped all over him and his friends roaring with laughter. With the music too loud and the coke already numbing half his thoughts, Rafe always saw you.

And he never said anything.

He just stares. Expression unreadable, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth twitching like he was holding back something cruel. Like he pitied you. Or maybe like he expected you to crack.

The worst part? He never helped. Not that you needed him to. But he stood there and watched, as if your discomfort entertained him.

You stopped trying to fit in after a while. But sometimes you still showed up to the parties, hoping the night might go differently. Hoping you might feel different.

You never did.

You’d wake up the next morning feeling like a ghost. Makeup smudged all over your face, head aching, the silence louder than the bass the night before ever was. Nothing stuck except the stares. The way the Kooks looked at you like you’d wandered into the wrong house. Like you’d never belong.

After a night of pretending, it was those quiet mornings that hurt the most. And somehow, he was always there for them.

He always looked the same. Bored. Buzzed. Half-glowing under the low hallway light. Hair tousled. Shirtless, sometimes. Always smug.

But when his eyes met yours, the energy shifted. It sometimes becomes sharp, unspoken, and almost too still.

And then there were days, rare ones, when the tension between you simmered just beneath the surface. When the air felt too thick. When the sunlight was too warm. When you passed each other in a hallway and the world seemed to go quiet.

You’d brush past his shoulder, and it would feel like static. Charged. Wrong.

He’d lean in. Not enough to touch, but enough to get under your skin and drop a comment that clung to your ribs for the rest of the day.

“Shouldn’t you be with your real friends down on the Cut?” 

You never knew if his intentions or his words had meant to hurt you, or if he just wanted to see what would happen or how you would react if he did.

But eventually you stopped trying to understand. Stopped looking for meaning in every glance, every smirk, every insult that echoed down the hall long after he’d gone.

You decided you weren’t going to flinch anymore. You didn’t want to keep giving him the satisfaction of watching you shrink— or honestly have any reaction to him as it seemed like anything from you could set him off.

So instead, you started pushing back. Not with words as that was a battle you'd never win, but in other ways. Quiet ones. Petty ones. Intentional ones. You walked a little slower through the rooms to let him know that you weren’t shying your presence away. You left your things on shared counters. You started borrowing things, not because you essentially needed it, but because it made you feel like you belonged and were welcomed to the property of the family.

Maybe that was the subtle point you wanted to relay. You weren’t moving out of his way anymore. You weren’t stepping around whatever thing he had brewing between the two of you. You didn’t care if it was about power, or pride, or something darker.

You just wanted him to know one thing: you were here. And you weren’t going anywhere.

Whatever line he thought he drew between you, you stopped pretending it existed.

And that, more than anything, started to get to him.

☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★゜・。。・゜゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜

The smell of brewed coffee lingered around the house, drawing you in until your feet had reached the source of it. You stood in the kitchen, staring into space. It looked too clean. You hated how empty the house always was. It felt like going to an art museum where you were not allowed to touch any of its exhibits. Everything seemed to come at a price, and so every move you had to make should be thought of.

Your bare feet were flat against the cold floors while your eyes stared blankly at the coffee machine that was slowly dripping, inch by inch until it got to fill up your mug. You didn’t expect that a cup could entirely and magically fix your day, but it was a start to look forward for something at least. Glancing outside, the sun was just starting to rise and further cut through the ocean line.

Getting enough sleep has always been hard. You weren’t one to have a routine that you followed religiously.

And as the coffee machine makes one final sound before completely stopping to drip, you heard a buzzing noise subsequent to it. Your phone had buzzed against the marble island. 

With one hand, you held the mug of coffee and brought it steadily towards your lips. And with the other hand, you reached for the phone to unlock and see what notification you got at this early in the morning.

It was a text from Sarah.

Sarah: Heard that dad’s staying in today. Rafe too. Can’t leave with u. Meet me at the dock around 30?

Your face scrunched, confused if Sarah was already gone already this early— you were still recovering from waking up and your brain hadn’t fully adjusted yet. And yet you typed a quick reply to her without hesitating or even realizing what you really were going to do. 

But it’s Sarah. So you kind of started trusting her enough.

As if right on cue with the questions starting to form in your thoughts, Sarah had walked past through the side door. She was wearing her usual soft knitted cardigan over a crop top and high waisted shorts, already looking like she was ready to leave anytime soon now.

“Good morning,” she smiles, “you’re up early, huh.”  She grabs a snack from a bowl placed on the counter and unwraps it to take a bite.

“Barely slept.”

Sarah then leans against the marbled countertop while continuing to chew on a protein bar. Her voice slightly lowers down as she whispers, “So… we can’t leave together today. I heard dad’s staying in and Rafe is probably already lurking around somewhere.”

You roll your eyes at the sound of his name, “Of course he would be.”

“So you’ll have to sneak out at the back. And like… actually sneak.”  She adds in a softer tone, “You can make it out without them noticing or becoming suspicious if you leave before nine.”

“Mhmm.” You take another sip at your coffee, trying to process all of the instructions and words she was telling.

“John B’s already out to go there. JJ confirmed too. I told them to wait.” Sarah made it seem like a mission you had to do this morning. It sort of was, if only your other family members were not as crazy and acted normal then both of you shouldn’t have to worry about this situation.

Nonetheless since the Pogues had felt like a place where you could only be true to yourself, you didn’t have to be persuaded or forced to agree. All the trouble you had to go through in order to feel the ironic warmth in their chaotic dynamics was always worth it. But getting to them was the difficult part acknowledging that you lived in a house that wanted to control your image and keep you polished and trapped.

You nodded once as she was finally finished with her morning snack. “Fine. I’ll find a way out of it.”

Sarah smiles at you and then leans in with arms ready to embrace you. She excitedly whispers to your ear, “That’s my girl.” 

The warmth of the air and moment still hung as you took it in and appreciated how genuine Sarah was with you. And like a stinging breeze in the air that passed by, you felt an unwanted presence and heard footsteps becoming louder towards the kitchen.

Both you girls stood still, eyes breaking the look at each other and advancing to your sides at the threshold. There he stood.

His figure was there and leaning against the frame of the doorway. He had one hand stuck in a pocket, seeming like he was fiddling something. He seemed to have just woken up, still dressed in gray sweats and dirty blond hair in a mess. 

Rafe didn’t try to hide his surmise, making sure to let the both of you feel that he was staring tensely. As if he didn’t know how to even act casually in his own home. His eyes scanned the kitchen but eventually landed on where both of you stood. You and Sarah.

But you felt his stare more intensely at you.

“Wow,” he says with a voice still scratchy with sleep, “How come I wasn’t invited to the family breakfast?”

Both of you knew better than to express any reaction or say any reply to him. None of you answered his snarky comment as it was always better to act like you didn’t hear anything your older step sibling was saying— nor was it worth responding to.

And so you turned your back to him while reaching for the rest of the coffee that was remaining. While you poured it into your mug, you couldn’t help but feel his stare still at you. The weight of it.

He wasn’t saying anything, just taking one quick look around the kitchen to grab a fruit on the countertop and walked off like he didn’t just try to rattle the two of you so early in the morning. As his presence disappears, you hear yourself and Sarah exhale at the same time.

“Such an asshole,” she mutters with a look still glued to the entry of the kitchen. 

You shake your head, looking at what was remaining in your mug before finally finishing it all in. Your heart was beating a little too fast and you couldn’t tell if it was because of the caffeine or for another reason.

Time does fly by fast because as you prepared yourself after having breakfast, you eventually looked at the clock the displayed the time. 08:50. You knew it was time to make your move.

The hallways of the house was quiet. Ward’s office door was shut, either still being asleep or on a business call. Wheezie was still asleep. And Rafe’s room was dead silent, making you a bit suspicious.

Nonetheless you tiptoed through the back of the house with a small shoulder bag slung to one side of your body. The door was in sight as you were almost there.

But as the wind had hit past the glass, making you shiver that raced up to your arms, you realized that it might not hurt to bring a sweater. You didn’t know how long you’ll be out and it might get colder at night

You glanced around the area knowing it would be much of a hassle to take more steps back to return to your room. Making more movement or noises was too risky and you didn’t want to answer any more questions.

Your eyes flicked around the room before catching on the chair by the hallway. There was a gray zip-up jacket that hung over the back, looking carelessly tossed with the sleeves all bunched and creased like someone hadn’t even thought twice to leave and forget it there. It looked familiar—too familiar. Like something you might’ve left in your closet and forgotten.

This was probably the one you were looking for. Same color. Same shape— kind of. Same washed-out shade of gray and soft-sleeved fabric. Yeah, close enough.

You grabbed it without thinking anymore. Your mission was to sneak out and that was what your mind had been set. And so you shoved the piece of apparel deep into your bag, zipped it halfway, and dashed out the door without looking back.

The sun had eventually crept up over land and was now casting its light amongst the neighborhood. You cut across the backyards and driveways from Figure Eight as you let your shoes be dragged along the pavement with soft urgency. Once you got somewhat of a distance far enough from home, you finally got to breathe a bit normally without having to worry if someone might notice you and snitch it to your family. 

The familiar breeze of the salt of the sea welcomes you as you become closer to the meeting spot. After some time, the marina came into your view from meters away and you couldn’t help but smile seeing the old wooden planks.

There your friends were.

JJ was already being himself as he boldly balanced on the edge of a dock like it was some sort of challenge not to straight into the water. Pope sat with a notebook on his thigh, scribbling something onto it which was probably his homework. Kiara was just talking and laughing with the circle. And Sarah was already there too, seated in between John B’s legs with her head casually relaxed on the side of his face.

All of them paused for a moment, heads turning into the direction where you were coming from as the sound of your footsteps approached them.

“There she is!” JJ points both his index fingers, arms raised as if announcing it like a game show host presenting their winner. Your stepsister had smiled and waved you over, “You made it.”

“Yeah, obviously,” You said with a smug expression.

“Took you some time. We thought you got caught or something.” Pope says without breaking his attention away from his worn-out notebook.

“Nah,” you say as you set your bag down beside you, “Just did it in time. Everyone was still asleep. But Rafe was definitely lurking though.”

JJ gagged at the name of him, “When does that dude not?”

And Sarah didn’t even try to hide her slightly disgusted face before John B had tossed you a can of beer from their cooler. “You good?”

“Never been better,” you lied. “I just needed to get away from that place.” 

You didn’t have to say anything more and no one had to push for details. They didn’t need to hear an entire dialogue before they could understand or read the room. It was something you actually appreciated from them. They actually knew how to read between the lines and knowing when to say something or not.

Your skin settled against the texture of the wooden dock while letting the salted air drown you throughout the whole afternoon. JJ’s ideas didn’t end as he continued to theorize over haunted houses in The Cut— to which Pope could only argue was some weird lights and shadows.

However eventually, somewhere in between the jokes and laughter, the mood had shifted. “Okay, okay,” John B leaned forward as he called everyone's attention, “So we’ve been hearing that crazy rumor again, right?”

JJ had his eyebrows raised, “About the wreck?”

“About the Royal Merchant, dude,” Pope shook his head at his friend while setting his notebook aside. “You know… That someone was trying to pull or steal parts of it illegally. Bribing divers and all. I don’t know— Sarah heard it from someone working at the docks.”

You furrowed your brows, “What? Wait— Seriously?” 

Sarah nodded. “Something about salvaging gold that never made it on the reports. Like another haul.”

Obviously, JJ couldn’t help but grin at the sound of a new adventure. “A secret stash? Are we really going to do this again?”

“So.. what?” You said, “Will we be going for gold? Or whatever the hell you guys are talking about?”

John B grinned, “We are thinking about it.” He emphasized the tone of thinking knowing that it was simpler said than done.

Sarah added, “I’m not saying we should do it immediately tonight. Though it wouldn’t hurt to consider or check out the area sooner or later. Quiet recon if I must say.”

“I’m down,” you say almost immediately. And JJ clinked the can of beer in his hand against the side of yours like it was a binding contract. “Hell yeah. That’s the spirit.”

Again, time slipped swiftly in between the joy. The laughs, plans, and soft hums of music playing from Sarah’s phone had all of you forgetting what time it was until you realized that the sun had eventually set. 

The beers still hadn’t run out from the cooler.  You weren’t sure if it was only JJ who brought the shit ton of beer. You were just happy to be far away from Figure Eight and the people that came with it.

The golden streaks of sunlight disappeared and were replaced by the dark blue and starred sky. Along with it was also a breeze that crawled its way to your skin.

You could feel the air becoming cooler and sharper as it brushed past your arms, sending pricks all over as you tried to adjust to the change in temperature. You couldn’t help but shiver, arms trying to rub against the skin to create some sort of heat from the friction that didn’t do much to be honest. 

Ultimately, your eyes squinted to try and see where your bag was. You remembered you brought a jacket.

Your hands grasp onto the soft fabric, shaking it loose after being crumpled into a ball from earlier. It definitely had more creases now after being stuffed carelessly into the bottom of your bag. But it still was the same and you didn’t care as long as it serves it purpose.

And so you slip your arms through the sleeves one at a time. Then you tugged it over your head and shoulders. 

As it clings to your body, you couldn't help but wonder how it hung with a little more weight than how you could remember. The fabric was just as soft, but now realizing the garterized end of the sleeves extended longer than it did before.

Your expression wavered somewhere between confusion and disappointment. But then, as another cool breeze of air drifted past by, you caught a whiff of the jacket. Essentially it had you frozen.

It didn’t smell like your usual detergent that was more toned down and softer. Nor did it smell like any of your perfumes.

It definitely smelled like cologne. Expensive. Musk. Sharp. 

Familiar.

And even beneath all of that, you could smell something more. Like the hems of the fabric burned out and bitter. It surely had hit you without a warning.

Cocaine. It was a man’s cologne and cocaine.

So it hit you like a bus. This wasn’t your jacket.

This jacket was Rafe’s.

You froze. You didn’t look down. You didn’t need to further inspect to confirm anything more or less.

You’d felt this fabric before. Brushed past it in the hallway. Smelled it in passing. It smelled like something dangerous and too familiar. As if tension held in fabric and stitched in silence.

“Everything okay?” Sarah asked gently, her voice breaking through the quiet hum of waves.

You looked up too fast. “Yeah. The air is just really cold.”

There wasn’t any other choice than to pull the jacket tighter around yourself or else you would freeze yourself to death. But now as you did, you were under the impression that the fabric felt like it could burn into your skin any moment. Just like that, the mood easily shifted and the evening wasn’t so chill anymore.

The cool air grew heavier at night with the salty air and smoke entangled. A low hum of background music you could barely discern the lyrics of played from a phone. 

Meanwhile you stayed quiet and distracted. A little too quiet that could easily be noticed by others if they stared at you long enough. 

You couldn’t relax over a damn sweater. Not when its scent was continuously clinging onto your body like it was going to stick and sink into your skin. The weight of it had nothing to do with the fabric and everything to do with how you caught the edge of Rafe’s cologne that made your stomach tie in knots.

It really was unmistakably his. 

It made you stare a little too long out at the calm water, beer in your hand, while trying to tag along with the occasional laugh. You weren’t too sure if it was because of the beer that had your head buzzing around like static.

You weren’t shivering anymore, but you didn’t take the jacket off either. You didn’t want to see if anyone might recognize or comment about anything on it. Especially not from Sarah. She knew her own brother well and you didn’t want to be thrown any looks once she noticed it.

You stayed still with thoughts spiraling to nowhere. And the night blurred around its edges

By the time the second batch of beers had gone empty, the dock became way too quiet. Kiara started gathering around the empty cans and grouping them all into the cooler. Pope yawned as he told that he had to go home before his dad had to text again.

Meanwhile John B looked at Sarah, murmuring something that was only for them. Sarah stood up with a soft groan, stretching her arms out wide and brushed the palms of her hands on the sides of her shorts. “We should head out too.”

You nodded, barely processing again. 

She looks at you longer than necessary, “You still good?”

“Yeah,” you yawned, “Just tired.”

Your stepsister gives you a soft smile before asking, “You want to head back together or…?”

You turn your head around and looked at the dirt path leading from the dock. The view curved out past the boat sheds and into a neighborhood. If you walked back side by side together with her, it might be suspicious. Rafe might be awake. Ward might ask questions. “No, I think it’s better if you go ahead of me,” you say, “Less suspicious that way.”

Sarah didn’t argue with your idea, further even nodded like she had been expecting you would answer that way. “Alright, I’ll leave the gate open for you.”

“Thanks.” You smiled faintly. She reaches for your shoulder to give a gentle squeeze before slipping away with John B into the trail. 

Their figures eventually disappeared within the path and you felt yourself deflate slightly. It was so quiet and dark.

“Want me to walk with you?” The voice came from your back. JJ was still lingering at the edge of the dock with his hands in his pockets and a smile that seemed like he could see right through you.

You blinked, “What?”

“I’ll walk with you. At least halfway to the road,” he offered with a shrug in his voice to show it wasn’t a big deal for him to go out his way at this time. “Not tryna get you grounded for sneakin’ out by yourself, Ma’am.”

Again, you smile faintly, “Thanks. But I’ll be fine.”

“You allergic to good company?” He teases.

It made you smile gratefully but you didn’t want to let him suck it all up. “You’re scared of being left alone with raccoons, aren’t you?”

“Hey, those bastards are territorial,” he jokes, “One of ‘em stared me down last week. Little shit had murder in its eyes.”

You laugh at him. “Fine, but I won’t be saving your ass if they start to attack.”

He hums in agreement, reaching to step beside you as both of you head off the dock. The gravel made a crunching sound under your feet each step you took as it echoed around the open space. JJ didn’t ask questions nor did you talk too much— assuming both of you had been exhausted from today already. Both of you just walked close enough to have your arms brushing past each other at times.

Windows rustled through the trees and you could hear static from the leaves. You adjusted the jacket together around your frame as the breeze slid up your legs.

Then for a second JJ’s nose had wrinkled subtly. It made him sniff one again. Then another one. “...Huh,” he muttered under his breath.

You gave a side eye, “What?”

“Didn’t think you were someone into cologne.” He sniffed again butthis time a bit more exaggerated. “Fancy stuff too. Smells like–” he pauses and makes an unimpressed face, “Smells like something trying way too hard.”

Your footsteps faltered. “Hmm?”

JJ gave a curious look, “I mean, it’s kind of intense. Thought it would really be something like you at first, but—” he leans in almost near the crook of your neck as if trying to prove a point. “Nah, that’s definitely a guy’s scent. Didn’t seem to come from your body wash aisle.”

You forced out an awkwardly soft laugh, “Maybe it rubbed off from someone. Or a seat cushion or… whatever.”

JJ raised a brow and probably read through you but didn’t say anything else after. Didn’t tease you either anymore. He just stuffed his hands into his pockets and continued to walk with you.

You looked away, the pulse at your neck probably ticking a little too loud now.

Crisp linen, musk, something weirdly expensive and bitter underneath. This was always the scent that clung to a room that he would spend a bit more time in. The kind that made you feel like someone had just walked over your grave.

Rafe’s scent was all over you.

The silence ironically felt so loud. And now your mind was clouded with your step brother all over again.

You didn’t mean to take his jacket. Didn’t mean for anyone to notice or be suspicious either.

And now you just couldn’t un-notice it either.

At length, both of you finally got to the edge of the main road which was a sign to part ways. JJ gave you a lazy two-finger salute with his signature lopsided grin before vanishing within the trees.

Eventually after a few more walks, you arrived at the house. And as Sarah had promised, you were able to slip through the back gate that she left open. There weren’t any lights from the windows nor any sounds or talking coming from the inside. 

The house looked asleep. Which was good.

And so you gently pushed the back door open little by little, making sure to be careful not so as to make any noises or let it creak a little too loud. The hallway was dim except for a very faint, flickering spill of light coming from a small source in the kitchen.

You froze after sensing that there was definitely some movement coming from the area. It was subtle just as you. A shadow. For a second you thought that it might have been Rose getting a glass of wine or Wheezie looking for a midnight snack. 

But when you further stepped in, the jacket half-zipped with shoulders tense. Your eyes finally landed on him.

Rafe was standing by the marble counter. He hadn’t seen you yet as his back was turned. You could see that he had a glass in one hand filled with something clear with ice. His other free hand was then carrying his figure as it rested on the surface. His pose as if he was waiting or anticipating something in the dark— probably even been there for some time.

He didn’t have to turn around as there wasn’t even an ounce of astonishment in his mood.

“Thought you might try the back gate,” he said lazily while pushing the rim of the glass up to his lips to take a sip, “My sister has never been really subtle when she leaves things conveniently unlocked.” 

You didn’t say anything. You just felt a lump in your throat and felt that your heart was racing again. You didn’t know why your body was always reacting like this when it came to interactions with Rafe.

He turned now. Slowly, smoothly, and deliberately. His gaze dropped the moment he saw you. And then he saw what you were wearing.

It instantly made him smirk. Knowing.

“Well,” he said with a tone thick with mockery, “Would you look at that.”

You shifted uncontrollably under the weight of it. The soft fabric was somewhat replaced with static that felt like pins and needles. “Today was cold.”

“Uh-huh.” He took another sip but with his gaze not breaking away from you. “Of all the jackets in this house, you accidentally had to pick that one up.”

You held your ground. “It looked like mine.”

Rafe chuckled, already sure of what to say. “Doesn’t smell like yours.”

The tension grew further as you knew that he made his point. He knew that you knew that too. You clutched the front of the jacket by its zipper, suddenly hyper-aware of how his cologne still clung to the fabric. It even further became intense as he stood a few feet away from you.

“You know what’s funny,” he says, stepping closer, “That you walked around in that jacket. All day. With those bottom-feeding friends of yours like it was nothing.”

“I didn’t—” you started but he immediately cut you off with a scoff.

“Bet they loved seeing it. Bet they thought you were making some kind of statement. Wearing a Cameron jacket like you were branded. Smelled like one too…”

He adds, “Or maybe it was some twisted kink thing.” With a tilt to his head to the side. “Playing house with Pogues like you weren’t just a stray we dragged in and cleaned up.”

“That’s not what it was,” you said quietly.

Rafe raised a teasing brow as if accepting a challenge. “No?” 

You bit the inside of your cheek. “You think I wore it on purpose?”

“I think,” he said, voice low now, “you didn’t not want to be seen in it.”

He continues on “I think.. I think you knew what you were doing.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And what exactly was I doing?”

He took another step, closing the already-suffocating distance. “Sending a message.”

You snorted, trying to cover the way your breath hitched. “To who?”

“Me,” Rafe said plainly. “Who else?”

“I didn’t even know it was yours,” you whispered.

“But now you do.” His hand braced against the wall beside you. He wasn’t touching it but somehow close to say you could feel his warmth. “And you’re still wearing it.”

Silence laced the space between you. And then he leaned in. Just a little more with eyes locked to yours purposely. His voice dropped to something almost venomously soft. “Feels kind of pathetic, doesn’t it?” he murmured. “Wearing something that doesn’t belong to you. Pretending like it fits.”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “You think that’s what I’m doing? Pretending?”

“I think you don’t know where the hell you belong,” Rafe said. “You put on the jacket, hang out with your little Pogue boyfriends, and walk back into this house like you’re still one of us.”

He tilted his head, his breath ghosting against your cheek now. “But you’re not.”

“You keep talking like you hate the idea of me but you never shut up about it.” You snapped back.

That shut him up just for a millisecond. Made his jaw tense with a hand on the wall curled into a fist seeming like he was trying to hold himself back from doing or saying something even worse. But it eventually relaxed again.

You knew you hit something. Whether it was pride, guilt, or a nerve still raw from whatever ghosts haunted him, you weren’t sure. But it landed. His laugh came slower this time. Darker. "Careful."

"Or what?" you said with a voice tight but trying to make it less obvious. "You'll make another shitty comment and then go sulk in the pool house again?"

“You ever wonder why it was there?” he asked, voice suddenly quiet. “Out in the open like that?”

You frowned. “What?”

“That jacket. Couch. Right by the hallway. Practically laid out for you.”

“Are you saying you left it there?” you asked slowly.

He didn’t confirm. But the look in his eye was smug and almost cruel was enough to hint at something.

“You’re delusional,” you said, unsure if the tone you let out was disgusted or confused.

He smiled. "And you’re the one still wearing it."

[cafedragons]

Thoughts on Previous "Final Fusion"

Heads up at a brief sui mention, nothing graphic nor detailed.

Hi, sysblr! I've had a lot of these thoughts for a while. I fully fused in sometime around May-August of 2024.

It fell apart around February-March 2025 after a series of unexpected life events and the unfortunate beginning of post-viral trigeminal neuralgia.

Literally, it peeled apart. Dissociative barriers between parts increased a little bit, and we split three new alters. Overall, we mainly have four: Theo, Sunburst, Relic, and a half-fragment guy who we're trying to elaborate a little more for stability.

Theo is the closest to our "fused whole" self, made up of Max, Mocha, Toby, Virtue, Jukebox, and Cirrus. Sometimes, they function as "multiple", but they're mostly fully integrated.

Sunburst, Relic, and the fragment guy were all new. Sunburst and Relic split as compliments or foils, while the fragment is still just kind of hanging out. There's not severe blackout amnesia like there was before recovery, even between them and Theo. It's mostly greyout and emotional amnesia, and it's not hugely distressing 99% of the time.

The main difference in our system now as opposed to before "final fusion" is that we actually function quite a bit better this way than as one whole. As I mentioned before, I recently developed trigeminal neuralgia. I already had chronic pain that was tough to manage due to a condition since birth, but I'd had that for so long it mostly didn't bother me. TN is a whole different beast. It is the worst pain I have ever experienced, second to nothing, and it incapacitates me entirely when it flares. I cannot move, speak, or eat when it's at its worst. I can only lay down and sob until I eventually am too exhausted to be awake.

We all need breaks to handle it. Without that level of dissociation, I don't think I'd be alive (genuinely, the pain is bad enough that I've made an attempt on my life). No medications I can have are very helpful, and I can't take the ones that might be helpful without aggravating my other conditions and risking a sharp decline in usable vision (of which I have very little), so dissociating into the void is... kind of the best I have. I can handle the pain in short bursts since I'm slowly sort of getting used to it, but I need to tap out every once in a while because it really starts weighing on my mental state. (This doesn't apply when it's in full swing. At that point, consider me dead to the world because even painkillers at the hospital do absolutely nothing. Those points are somewhat uncommon as long as I'm careful not to touch my face too much or get too stressed.)

Finding this point in my life was a fine balancing act. I don't want to suffer from my pre-recovered DID like I did in the past. (Thankfully, I don't! None of my parts are scary to me anymore since... all of us have been all of them and I don't have the awful night terrors or flashbacks I used to deal with.) At the same time, I don't want to be fully fused again. It quite literally hurt too bad to be alive and I doubt I'll seek FF again unless some sort of breakthrough treatment gets inserted directly into my body.

All this to say... final fusion isn't always final, nor is it the best path for everyone. There are a lot of factors to consider. Your recovery is your own, and nobody else's business.

(At the same time, if you start demonizing final fusion in my notes, I will block you and also kick you into orbit. Final fusion is beautiful and valid even if it's not for you.)

[pressgforgoodgirl]

Arthur's Painting

Summary: You and Arthur enjoy a laid back afternoon on the ranch, each taking time to enjoy your own hobbies. In recent months, Arthur has taken up a new artistic venture. After enjoying some time alone, you find Arthur working on his new project. 

Pairing: modern!arthur x female reader

Word count: 1,297

Warnings/tags: suggestiveness at the end, Arthur’s self esteem issues show up a tad again

previous chapter - A Morning on the Lake

series masterlist

The sun was just beginning to fall after having risen to its noontime peak overhead. The air was comfortably warm, a light breeze passing by to tickle your skin and hair. You and your husband Arthur spent the morning and early afternoon completing your daily chores. The horses had been fed and watered, turned out, exercised, and clean stalls awaited their return at nightfall. You were even able to enjoy a quick horse ride with Arthur through the woods and fields surrounding your remote property. 

After grooming the horses and returning them to the pasture, the two of you strolled over to the Marstons’ to see if you could help with anything on the farm. They put down their work when you approached, allowing you to enjoy each other’s company for a while. Eventually, they returned to their chores, indicating that they were almost done and that there was no need for the two of you to stick around today, though they always appreciated your offer.

When you and Arthur returned to the ranch, you decided to split off, allowing each other time to enjoy your own hobbies. You adored and loved each other deeply, but you also appreciated moments of solitude, allowing yourself to focus solely on your interests, to let your mind water, to spend time exploring your individuality. You felt wholly connected, as if he really was a part of you, and you him. Spending time alone allowed you and Arthur to reunite feeling as though you were truly an inseperable union composed of two individual souls. 

You often described yourself as a hobby “explorer.” You were amazed, sometimes overwhelmed, by the possibilities life offered you. You found yourself drawn to learn and discover as many things as you could, never committing yourself wholly to one hobby. Today, you had set your mind on making jewelry. You hoped to make a nature-based piece, using as many items as you could from the land surrounding you. 

You started by finding some long blades of grass. You pulled them up and tied them together at one end. Then, you began to braid down the strands until you had the base of a necklace. Next, you would find flowers to weave into the grass. You went on through fields and down by the lake for a while, soaking in the sunshine and clean, crisp air. You watched fish leaping in the water, birds flying overhead, and dragonflies buzzing around you. 

Arthur had been an artist nearly all of his life. It started with sketches from his day to day life. These soon made their way into journals he came to keep consistently, adding notes of memories, thoughts, happenings, etc. When you had first discovered Arthur’s journal, he was incredibly shy, and it took lots of coaxing to let you see even one of his drawings. But as your relationship developed, he opened himself and his work up to you. It was a continuing effort to bolster his confidence and self-esteem, but you were making progress.

Arthur had returned from a trip to town one day with a bag labeled “Leroy’s Fine Arts and Crafts.” Your eyes caught the print, astonished and excited that Arthur had bought something for himself, and art supplies at that. When you asked him what he had purchased, he tried to wave you off, claiming it was “just a few things for his journal.” But you could always see through Arthur’s fibs. 

“Oh really now?” you had challenged, a wide grin covering your face. “Why don’t you show me then, if it’s just a few things for your journal?”

“Well, you see… now I…” Arthur had stammered back, hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck while a rosy red crept up his hot cheeks, avoiding eye contact. You had been married several years now and been together for even longer. “Why am I so nervous to show her?” he had thought to himself. It wasn’t like him to hide things from you, but he still felt vulnerable when it came to his artwork, no matter how safe he felt with you. 

Sensing the insecurity he felt, you softened your approach. You walked up to him gently, wrapping your hands around his neck. Arthur returned your embrace, resting his hands on your hips, his bag still in one hand. You stroked the back of his neck reassuringly and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You know I love your drawings Arthur, and I love you even more. I’m just excited to see what piqued your interest, is all.”

Arthur’s chest swelled with warmth at your words. He planted a loving kiss on your forehead, then pulled back to show you the contents of the bag. “I saw some oil paintings on the wall at the bar when we were there the other night. I thought I’d give it a shot” Arthur shrugged. “I probably won’t be any good at it, but maybe I’ll enjoy it.” 

You smiled up at him, excited to hear about his new hobby, but sad to hear the self doubt he had voiced. “Whether you enjoy it or not is all that really matters, Arthur” you encouraged. You were sure Arthur would be an amazing oil painter, too, though you didn’t want him to feel any more pressure than he was already giving himself, and you knew it truly wasn’t the point of pursuing a new interest anyhow. So for now, you let his comments about “not being any good” slide. 

Time revealed your predictions to be true. With lots of time and practice, Arthur had become quite adept with oil, creating beautiful paintings of the horses and the landscape surrounding your home. These were the paintings that now adorned the walls of your cabin. 

And so, it was no surprise when after having finished your necklace and again desiring Arthur’s company, you found him at the edge of a field, sitting on a stool, easel propped up in front, painting the sights before him. He heard you approaching, turning around and beaming you a smile. You swore your heart stopped a little bit each time he looked at you like that, no matter how many times he had done it. You came up next to him, placing a gentle hand on his non-dominant shoulder, being sure not to disturb his brush strokes. It was a piece he had been working on for a few weeks now, and it was finally coming together. You stood there, awestruck, unsure if you were captivated more by the canvas or the handsome stud sitting before it.  

You placed a kiss behind his ear. He lowered his brush a moment to turn and plant a kiss on your lips. Returning his gaze to the painting, he said, “Not too bad, huh?”

“Not too bad?” you asked incredulously. “It’s amazing, Arthur. You should be incredibly proud of your work.”

“Aw, you’re just saying that to get me into bed later, ain’tcha?” Arthur joked, still learning how to accept your praises, still learning how to believe them. 

“Oh I know it doesn't take much to get you under my sheets” you teased back with a wink. “But really, Arthur. Just take the compliment, because truly, I mean it. I’m lucky to be with someone as incredibly talented as you.”

“Oh, alright then, pretty lady” Arthur said, letting you have your way and picking up the hand you had placed on his shoulder to plant a kiss on the back of it. “You hungry? Whaddya say I cook you some dinner?”

“Oh I don’t know, cowboy. Will it come with dessert?” you replied with a wicked grin. 

“You dirty woman,” Arthur chuckled back, shaking his head. 

You guessed you would have to wait and see.