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marvelwitchergilmore · 11 days ago

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Winter's Child

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and your daughter live across the hall from Bucky. However, one night when your daughter won't settle, you turn to him for help.

Disclaimer: A lot of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort vibes. This is also a long fic. Bucky is not a step-dad but a dad who steps up. Brief mentions of abandonment, heavy on the Found Family, cute fluffy date moments between Reader and Bucky. Yelena and Kate being a duo, slight swearing. Not fully proof read.

You were at your wits end. At least, you thought you were until a handwritten letter slipped under your door at nine am on the dot a week ago.

A noise complaint.

You were a single, new mom of one. And instead of helping, three of your neighbours – two of whom had children of their own – decided to file a noise complaint against you.

First, it was sleepless nights with a newborn. Then it was three weeks of convincing male doctors that your baby was, in fact, sick and it wasn’t you just being dramatic. And now…it was teething.

You’d barely had a minute to yourself in several months. Family helped you where they could, but one night was all they would do in terms of babysitting.

You had five piles of laundry that either needed washing, drying, folding or putting away. Your apartment was over-run with household chores that needed doing, you felt like you were on auto-pilot as you moved through your home.

And every time you’d just get your baby to sleep, someone upstairs decided that it was time for yet another rearrangement of furniture because it didn’t fit the ‘movement’ of his vibe.

“What?” You were practically crying yourself. “What is it? I’ve tried everything. Please, just tell me what to do. Please.”

Nothing was working. You didn’t want another noise complaint in fear of someone suggesting you should move out. It took years for you to find a safe place that was within walking distance of a good school.

Obviously, you’d planned the whole ‘having a baby’ thing happening differently than being single and alone the whole time. But it was the quiet moments, the moments where your baby laughed and smiled that made your heart lighten a little.

But at two am, exhausted and desperate – that was not one of those moments.

You’d never know why – you could only ever guess - but an idea popped into your head. And you could only pray it would work.

Bucky had just closed his front door when someone knocked on it. It was hurried and for a moment, he felt for his side-arm.

But when the knock was followed by a baby’s cry, he lowered his hand. By the time he opened the door, he was greeted with you - his neighbour.

“I’m so sorry, I really really am-”

You looked like Hell. Bucky had been on a ten day mission in Serbia and had the crap kicked out of him twice – and somehow you looked worse.

“But she won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want another noise complaint or to be kicked out. I know this is really rude and I am sorry but, please. Is there-”

Bucky stepped forward and scooped the baby from your arms for a moment. He held her up, letting her little legs dangle in the air for a moment whilst he checked her over.

It was like he’d performed some kind of miracle.

Your baby had stopped crying.

Bucky could see you in the corner of his eye. It looked like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, only to come crashing back down.

“How do you do that?”

Bucky shrugged with a small smile as he cradled your baby in his arms. “I had kid sisters growing up. Ma was always run off her feet.”

“I’m really sorry about this, Bucky.”

He just shook his head. “Don’t be. You said you got a noise complaint?”

You nodded, leaning against the wall beside his door. “A week ago. Someone slipped it under my door. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to sign it, I’ve not exactly been a quiet neighbour these last few months.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re doing your best. Ignore the noise complaint. If you get any more, give them to me, I’ll get it sorted.”

“No, you don’t-”

“If they’d bothered to help, then someone might be able to say they're just in their complaint. But they haven’t. So nothing is right about it. Want me to put her down?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”

As Bucky walked inside your apartment, cradling your sleeping daughter in his arms, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You were her mom. You should be able to do it without having to knock on your neighbour’s door in the middle of the night.

And you knew it wasn’t the first time he’d helped you, either.

At six months pregnant when she was kicking you like she was about to be the next World’s Greatest Football player, you had to pause outside your door, leaving your grocery bags on the floor for a moment.

Bucky had just left his apartment when he saw you. In your small exchange, which most of your conversations were, you helped him press his hand to your stomach.

It was one big kick.

“Kid, you’ve gotta be nice to your mom,” Bucky had warned.

The kicks stopped.

Bucky had also helped when your baby was five months old. You were carrying her on your hip whilst balancing the baby bag and two bags of groceries. Bucky had just, again, left his apartment when he asked if you needed any help.

“Can you hold her for a second?”

Bucky took her without question and the soft babbles had turned into quiet solitude as she laid her head on his shoulder. Bucky also took one of the grocery bags from you as you searched for your door key.

Once you’d thrown everything inside the door, you took your baby back who, within the space of sixty seconds, had grown rather attached to your neighbour.

Which was also clear in the way her little fists held onto his shirt as he carefully lowered her into her crib.

“I’m really sorry about this.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m happy to help.”

If Bucky was being honest, he was more than happy to help. When he’d first moved in, a lot of the tenants in the building had avoided him. A few even complained about him living there considering he was an ex-assassin. And he couldn’t blame them. He still blamed himself sometimes.

But you were one of the few that didn’t treat him like that. You treated him like he was just an average human living across the hall from you. So, helping you and your daughter where you asked him to – it gave him another sense of normalcy.

Something he found to be very rare in his line of work.

“You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask.” Bucky told you as you walked him to the door.

You shook your head. “I already feel bad asking you to help me get her to sleep.”

Bucky turned on his heel and looked at you. “You don’t have to feel bad about that. You’re a mom trying to do it all. You’re allowed to ask for help, Y/n.”

That still didn’t stop the guilt, though.

You’d opted to have the baby on your own. There had been other options, but they just simply were options you didn’t want to take. You’d chosen to do it on your own, which meant continuing to do it on your own.

“Thank you, Bucky. For everything you’ve done so far.”

You bid him goodnight, feeling the continuing guilt settle in your stomach but gratitude wash over your home. Your baby was fast asleep, and for the first time in months, you got a full night’s sleep.

When you woke up, you checked on your daughter to find her still fast asleep. So, you took the time you had to finish cleaning your apartment.

You were folding the third pile of clean laundry when someone knocked on your door. When you answered it, you stalled for a moment.

“Bucky, what are you-”

“I know you’re not gonna ask unless you’re out of options, so I’m giving you an option to take,” he told you. “When you need help, or need a break, call me.”

He handed you a post-it note with his phone number on.

“Bucky, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. And I want you to.” Bucky pressed. “You’re one of the few people outside of my job that treats me like a person. And, just because you’re a mom, doesn’t mean you should constantly be treated like one. You’re a person, too, Y/n. You deserve the help.”

You were completely shocked. Bucky was…an Avenger. He was someone who helped save the world, twice. But he was offering to help you and your baby.

You lowered the post-it note. “Would you have any idea how to fix a kitchen cupboard?”

Bucky smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him that you were actually asking.

He nodded, “Let me get my tools.”

Your brows furrowed. “You have tools?”

He laughed, “I have tools.”

What you thought was just going to be an afternoon turned into two years of frequent help – even when you never asked – and a growing friendship.

The routine of helping you and your daughter also helped Bucky. It helped ground him after a tough mission. One that, if he went home alone, would be playing over in his mind until the nightmares all mixed into one.

Even the team noticed the change in Bucky. He seemed lighter, happier and calmer. But the only one who knew the truth behind the change was Sam. Mainly because he’d seen the photo on Bucky’s desk at work.

A picture of himself, you and a toddler who was holding the camera.

“You should invite them over for dinner,” Sam told him one afternoon.

“You think so?”

Sam nodded, taking the beer from Bucky. “Yeah, why not? She’s been your neighbour for years. I know you’ve had a crush on her, for like, ever.”

“I don’t have a crush-”

“You’ve got a crush.” Sam told him. “And, it’s about time we meet your future wife.”

“Sam.”

Sam just laughed. “Oh, come on, man. You know I’m right. I’ve seen the way you look at your phone when she calls you. I’ve also seen the look on your face when you find out it’s her daughter wanting to update you about her day. What a two year old has going on in her life, other than apple sauce packets, is beyond me.”

“She went on her first playdate and helped someone make friends. It was a big day for her.”

“Ha, see! Buck – accept it or deny it, they’re your family. Which makes them ours, too.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll ask, but if she says no-”

“Then we’ll let it slide.”

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket. “And you’ll make sure Kate doesn’t stalk her online.”

Sam held up his hands. “You have my word.”

Thankfully for everyone involved, you agreed. A week later, you were unbuckling your daughter from her car seat whilst she tried to scramble away and towards the crowd of Avengers who were laughing and chatting over a barbeque.

That was when a small pair of lungs squealed at the top of their voice, “Bucky!”

Your daughter was running, ignoring your call of being careful before she fell, towards her favourite person. And you had to admit, aside from your daughter, he was yours, too.

You watched as Bucky stopped his conversation with Sam Wilson and turned to jog towards your daughter. By the time they reached each other, Bucky lifted her into the air as she squealed with more happiness.

“Hey, firecracker. How was pre-school?”

“Good!”

Resting her on his arm, Bucky talked to her and waited for you to reach him. “Really? You gonna tell me about it?”

You smiled, “Only if you want your ears to fall off.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t need them anyway.”

You stopped just short of him and he led the way over to the table that was still being set up. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

You’d had anxiety for a week over agreeing to the BBQ. What would they think? Would they hate you? Would it be awkward?

But after twenty minutes, everything felt…normal. You helped a very chatting Kate Bishop and a calmer Laura Bishop set the table for the multitude of Avengers and kids that were attending the BBQ.

People hugged, laughed, asked as many questions as they could – most of them coming from your daughter who, despite attaching herself to Bucky for most of the day, wanted to know everything she could about everyone she was with.

And they answered every one of her questions.

By the time the stars were peeking out behind the few clouds that remained in the sky, your daughter waddled her way over to you from where Kate had let her back onto her feet, and you picked her up.

As you finished your conversation with Natasha, you started packing away what you could with a sleeping child on your shoulder when Tony appeared.

“Why don’t you stay? You should stay. We’ve got plenty of room and the roads can be dangerous, really, at night. You should stay.”

You tried to shake your head, but Natasha stood. “Just say yes before he says he found a fault with your car.”

“That’s a generous offer, Mr Stark-”

“Tony, please. And don’t sweat it. Come on, I’ll show you.”

You don’t remember agreeing but somewhere between Tony showing you inside to the compound and a sudden new message alert that a scan of your car had resulted in a few, rather dangerous faults being found, you were putting your daughter to be at the Avengers Compound.

And then you were being led back into the living area where everyone was sitting around the coffee table talking. And the only available spot left was right beside Bucky.

He sat you beside him with ease. Too much ease to be normal between friends. Not that you were complaining. There was safety with Bucky, in a way you couldn’t describe.

Of course, when you felt his fingers trace up and down your arm lightly, you felt your cheeks heat. But you still felt safe. Not so nervous where you felt like running in the opposite direction, but nervous enough to enjoy being with him.

And after an hour or so, Yelena walked back inside with a little hand holding onto her finger.

“Someone wanted to join the party,” Yelena said as she led your daughter over to you where she climbed into yours, and technically, Bucky’s lap.

Bucky smoothed down the back of her hair as she rubbed her eyes.

“Don’t you want to go to sleep, honey?”

She shook her head, and pouted. “No. Not without you and Bucky.”

Bucky smiled softly, “C’mere, kiddo.”

Leaning over, your daughter settled herself between you and Bucky before leaning her head against his side.

“Okay, that is way too cute,” Kate said as she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures.

As conversations started up again, your daughter fell into a deep sleep against Bucky. Something you almost did yourself until you managed to gain enough energy to lift yourself from the sofa and carry your child back to bed.

Bucky followed you, his palm warm on your lower back as he led you down the dimly lit hallways.

However, by the time you woke up in the morning and went to check on your daughter, you found her bed empty. But just as the anxiety that you tried to keep calm spiked in your chest, a voice spoke inside the room.

“Your daughter is currently interrogating Mr Wilson on his preference of breakfast cereal.”

You relaxed a little. “Of course, she is.”

You were slow to round the corner into the kitchen, wanting to watch your daughter for a few moments. Bucky was right in her nickname; firecracker. She was like some kind of professional quizzer.

It amazed you some days, at how head-strong she was for such a young age. But you wouldn’t change her for the world.

Slowly, you lean against the kitchen counter beside your daughter, listening to her explain to Sam about how cheerios were better than eggs, Sam softly arguing back.

Little did you know, her arguing with Sam would become a frequent image in your own home.

It seemed, for as much as your daughter had fallen in love with the Avengers, they had fallen in love with her and each one of her questions. You started to see Sam at Bucky’s apartment more often, Yelena and Kate would show up at the park when you’d take your daughter out for the day, your daughter’s preschool also started to get a little more funding here and there throughout her school year.

And on the days where Bucky would offer to pick her up from school when your work ran over, they would turn into sleepover nights at the Compound since you couldn’t pry your daughter from their arms no matter how hard you tried.

Eventually, you started to feel like family to them. They loved your daughter like one of their own, and she loved them right back. If anyone at school said that Captain America was less cool than Iron Man, or that Kate wasn’t the better Hawkeye or that anyone on the team wasn’t as cool as your daughter thought they were; she would defend them to her last breath.

But the one she defended most passionately was Bucky. How he wasn’t scary but actually really kind and funny, even if he was grumpy sometimes. And how his metal arm was like having a normal one – he could still feel everything the same. Almost.

She even drew him in all of her pictures when it came to her art class. Which, one day, turned into a list of questions which she just so happened to ask out loud one morning when Bucky had just made her breakfast.

“Are you like my dad?”

Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to look at your daughter. But her gaze was focused on her breakfast and the picture she’d made at school the day before.

“Why do you ask, honey?” You asked her softly, leaning down beside her.

“Because Jeremy said I couldn’t have a ‘Bucky’. I had a mommy, so I needed a daddy, too.”

You felt your heart sink a little in your chest. “Honey…”

You didn’t quite know what to say. Her biological dad hadn’t been in the picture since he’d seen the positive pregnancy test on your bathroom counter.

“Jeremy was wrong.”

“He was?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Look around you, baby girl. I know you don’t exactly have a daddy, but you do have people that love you.”

That was when your daughter looked around to the other people in the kitchen for reassurance. They all agreed that Jeremy was wrong.

“Truth is, honey, maybe not everyone has a daddy, but not everyone has a ‘Bucky’ either.”

Steve smiled, “And that makes you extra special, kid.”

Your daughter smiled before turning around in her stool and hopping down before walking over to Bucky who picked her up instantly.

She hugged him around his neck. “I love you.”

Bucky was on the edge of tears. “Love you, too, firecracker.”

Later that night, Bucky put her to bed whilst you finished up in the kitchen. You’d offered to make dinner but since half of them got called out on a mission and Bucky was already being used as a human pillow for your four year old, Kate took his place on the mission.

So, you’d packed the dinner into different take-away containers and stocked them into the fridge and freezer, along with a couple of post-it notes on how long to reheat.

You were wiping down the counters when Bucky walked back inside.

“She okay?”

“Out like a light,” Bucky smiled. “Mind if I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Always.”

“Earlier…when she asked me…what happened to her dad?”

You stopped cleaning for a moment before you took a breath.

Bucky had lived across the hall from you for a while, even before you were pregnant. But he’d never seen someone in your life long enough to consider they would be your partner.

“We’d been dating for a couple months, but since he lived closer to my workplace, I stayed at his house more often than he did mine. His house was also closer to his work, so it meant we could spend longer together in bed. Pretty sure it was one of those mornings when I got caught…” You took your time, and Bucky let you.

If you had told him you didn’t want to talk about it, he would have backed off and waited. You didn’t have to tell him anything, but he was glad you were.

“But, as we hit the three month mark, I started getting a weird feeling. More than I ever have before. Woman’s intuition told me he wasn’t exactly staying loyal. But it felt like more than that, so…I took a test. The minute he saw the two lines he told me he was seeing someone else and that he didn’t want to know about me or the baby, ever. I’ve never heard from him since.”

Bucky couldn’t feel his blood boil. First, a guy who was with you…he let you go. He strayed, cheated and let you go. And then, he abandoned you when you would have needed him the most, and finally…he didn’t even want to meet you or your little firecracker.

“Well, that’s technically a lie. I heard from some cheap-shot lawyer of his after I sent him some pictures of his daughter’s birth. Just one of her in a hospital onesie and a little hat that one of the nurses had knitted for her. She was so little,” you smiled as you thought back to those first moments where you held her and heard her cry.

“What did the lawyer say?”

“That he was giving up all parental rights. He wanted to make sure, as far as the law knew, he didn’t have a daughter.”

“He’s…something I would say if there wasn’t a four year old sleeping down the hallway.”

You chuckled. It was nice to know someone was just as angry, if not more so, at the thought of someone not wanting to know your daughter.

“I guess I was kind of lucky in a way, though.”

Bucky looked up at you from the counter.

“If he did want to know her, she might not have had you. I might not have…I probably would have moved closer, for the baby’s sake.”

Bucky let the breath go from his lungs. “God, I can’t imagine not having you both in my life.”

You smiled, “Luckily, you don’t have to. We’re both lucky to have you, Bucky. And I’m glad we do.”

Bucky smiled back at you, his heart rate increasing just that little bit more. He managed to look away before you caught the flush in his cheeks.

A few months later, you were at home finishing up your third load of washing for the week when someone knocked at your door.

“Kate? Yelena?”

Kate’s expression held nothing but relief as she turned around and faced the door when you answered. “Oh, thank god.”

“What’s going on?” You asked them as they walked into your home. Yelena was carrying several different garment bags whilst Kate carried two more and dragged a small make-up trolly behind her.

“We need your help.”

“What on earth for?”

You closed the door, balancing the laundry basket on your hip as they turned around to face you.

“We need you to attend Pepper’s gala tonight.”

“What- Why?”

Kate looked at Yelena who nodded.

“Because you do.”

“Girls, I’m gonna need a better explanation than that.”

Yelena rolled her eyes as she dropped the bags onto the sofa. “God, you’re such a mom.”

“Yelena.”

Yelena just fixed her hair. “We need you to be someone’s date.”

“Can I ask who this someone is?”

“It’s-”

“No.” Yelena cut Kate off. “You can’t know because it’s a surprise. So, enough questions. Give me that.”

Yelena took the laundry basket from you and pushed you along down the hallway. Meanwhile, she pulled out the worn hair tie from your hair.

“Yeah, you need to get washed first. Use your fancy stuff.”

“Yelena-”

“Go, now. Please.”

You gave a small huff as you got into the bathroom. “Fine. But only because you said please.”

Yelena smiled before she shut the door. “Thank you.”

By the time you’d finished your everything shower, along with the fancier shampoo you tended to save for dates and nights out – a shampoo that’s only use was before parent-teacher meetings, or any place you had to look like you hadn’t been up half the night reading parenting books.

You were rushed into your guest bedroom where Yelena sat you down at the vanity desk. Meanwhile, Kate was lying with your daughter on the bed, looking through different eyeshadow colours, naming them all.

“Katie knows a lot of colours, momma.”

Kate smiled. “I really do. Hey, you know what this one is called?”

Your daughter shook her head.

“Aquamarine.”

“Aq…aquaamarr-”

“Aquamarine,” Kate repeated a little slower and your daughter copied.

An hour and many more unanswered questions later, Yelena had finished your hair whilst Kate was helping you apply your make-up.

You had been planning a quiet night in. More than likely, it would have ended with you watching the last half an hour of a Disney movie alone whilst your daughter snored herself to sleep on the sofa.

“Okay, dress time.”

Kate stood and opened up each garment bag. “Which one?” She asked your daughter.

“Don’t I get to pick?”

“You don’t know the plan, momma.” Your almost five year old, told you.

“There’s a plan?”

Kate shrugged. “There’s always a plan.”

It took a total of seven minutes and a game of ‘left or right’ to decide on your dress. A floor length gown with a high slit up one leg. There was a soft shimmer to the fabric like you’d been spritzed with body glitter beforehand.

All three girls gasped as you stepped out from behind your dressing divider.

“Wow, momma,” your daughter seemed mesmerised. “You look beautiful like the stars.”

You smiled, “Thank you, babygirl.” Then you turned to the two elders. “Will you answer my questions now?”

They smiled, like they knew something you didn’t. But before you could get your answers, someone knocked on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Your daughter sprung from the bed, quickly followed by Yelena.

“You really do look beautiful, Y/n.”

You smiled. “Kate, what’s going on?”

She just smiled back. “You’ll see.”

As you tightened your shoes a little, you heard your daughter call out for you.

“You can come out now, momma!”

And as you did, it was like your breath had been taken from you.

By your door, Bucky was standing wearing a tux. You’d always known he was handsome, but there was just something about a man in a tux…

You felt yourself smile as you walked closer. “I thought you were away-”

“I know, I was. But…I managed to finish early. You look…” Bucky was lost for words. Or maybe he had too many.

Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, breathtaking…

“She looks beautiful like stars,” your daughter jumped in. And he had to agree.

“You’re right, firecracker. You look beautiful like stars.”

You blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”

Then Yelena jumped in. “Right, off you go.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” she pushed you both towards the door as Kate opened it. “We’ll make sure the little firecracker gets to bed before you’re home. She’ll be safe. She’s with two avengers.”

You knew that was true. But, you also knew there was a chance they wouldn’t be safe. Yelena was a trained spy, but Kate? Kate would crack under the pressure of your little girl's thousand and ten questions questionnaire.

Before you knew it, you were being waltzed inside of the venue that had been rented out by Pepper’s company for the charity gala. All the while, holding onto Bucky’s hand and arm.

“This is a lot of people,” you whispered to him.

“We only have to show our faces for an hour. Two max. Then we can ditch.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a ditcher,” you told him, a little surprise in your voice.

He chuckled. “No. Ma would have killed me for skipping school, not that I ever did. I actually enjoyed it. It was fun when Steve wasn’t getting his ass kicked. But, for things like this? It’s not my favourite thing in the world.”

You shrugged. You couldn’t blame him. It was lovely; getting ready, witnessing Bucky in a tux for the first time, feeling a little less guilty about leaving your daughter for the night. But there were a lot of people. People who you didn’t know. And you doubted Bucky knew, either.

“But it’s better having you here with me.”

You whipped your gaze away from the crystal chandeliers, to your date. You covered the butterflies in your stomach with a soft smile.

Before you could say anything, someone called your name. And then Bucky’s.

It was Pepper.

She introduced you both to different people before she was called away by someone else.

Although it was a lot, it was easier having Bucky by your side. It was rare his hand ever left yours. At one point, his fingers had intertwined with yours and there was no way you were going to cut that off.

By the second turn of the venue, looking at the items that were going to be auctioned off for charity, you and Bucky tried to sneak away from the crowd for a while. Only, you were caught in a conversation with a couple who – despite their fortune and education – didn’t know when to end a conversation.

Half way through their very boring conversation, a thought passed through your head. Bucky could have fucked you right there and then, and they still would have carried on the conversation.

But you pushed that thought away as quickly as it came. Although, it did try to resurface every ten minutes, when Bucky’s other hand would warm your lower back, your other hip or, briefly, the top of the slit in your dress.

“We really should be going.”

You and Bucky managed to escape. But only for ten minutes. Because the couple were coming back.

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. But Bucky beat you to it. “Fuck-”

You were pulled down a small corridor that led to the back of another room filled with items up for auction, before being pulled into the smaller, darkened alcove in the wall.

The couple passed you both right by, without being noticed.

In the confined space, you and Bucky stayed as quiet as you could. Your hands were on his chest, letting you know that you weren’t alone with the rapid heartbeat in your ears. Though, his was a little calmer than your own.

His own hands remained fixed on your hips, holding you steady on your feet. For a split second, he shifted and his knee brushed your inner thigh.

You bit your lip and closed your eyes.

Then you felt his hands lightly trace up your body. Your breath hitched.

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked you, his voice in a soft whisper by the shell of your ear.

You nodded and answered quietly. “It’s fine.”

With Bucky’s gaze on you, you started to realise just how small the alcove was. The scent of his cologne was intricately lodging itself into your mind – any time you’d smell that scent, you’d been pulled right back into the alcove.

Then, with a breathy chuckle, he smiled. “Want to get out of here?”

No.

“Think the coast is clear?”

Please don’t be.

Bucky peered around the corner before he turned back and nodded.

“Let’s go.”

Let’s stay.

With Bucky’s hand in yours, he swiftly got you both out of the venue unnoticed. It wasn’t until you were half way down the block, and Bucky was laying his jacket over your shoulders, that you realised you’d forgotten your coat.

“But, you’ll get cold.”

Bucky just smiled. “I’ve got the serum. I can’t get cold, doll.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he assured you.

And for a while, you both just talked. About the night, about the couple that couldn’t seem to take a hint and the fact Bucky had come back early.

And then he asked you to dance.

“There’s no music.”

“We don’t need music. Come on.”

The street was completely empty. A couple of street lamps lit the way, and every once in a while, a taxi would drive down the main road ahead. But other than that, it was just you and Bucky.

“Is this what you used to do?” You asked him after a few moments. “Take a girl out, ask her to dance under the streetlights with you. Bet you were a real heartbreaker.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe. Just a little. But if this was a date, I would have done this-” Bucky softly dipped you in his arms. “By now.”

He was slow to bring you back to your feet, your forehead against his, your lungs in need of some air despite already being outside.

His palm burned a little on your back. You just wished it would make a permanent mark.

“Does that make this a date now?”

“I don’t know. I’d like it to be,” he admitted to you, honestly. “If I asked you on one, officially, would you say yes?”

“I wouldn’t want to lose you, Bucky.”

“I promise you won’t. If it goes badly, we can laugh about it later. Just, say yes?”

It took you a short moment, but you nodded. “Okay. Yes.”

Bucky walked you back home. And by the time you opened up your door, you walked in to find Kate, Yelena and your daughter all fast asleep on the sofa, the bright colours of the Disney Princess film flashing across their faces.

“Do you want to get her out of the tangle?” You asked Bucky. “I would but I’m afraid to get a fist to my face.”

Bucky chuckled, softly closing the door as he nodded. Even he knew how it was when trying to wake Kate up. She was a fighter until she opened her eyes and realised who was trying to get her up.

Bucky got your daughter out with ease and carried her to bed, leaving you to deal with the two sleeping Avengers.

Meanwhile, down the hall as he laid her in her bed, she woke up briefly.

“Did you ask her?”

Bucky brushed the baby hairs that had fallen from the braids in her hair. He smiled, “Yeah, I did.”

“Did she say yes?”

He nodded. “She said yes.”

She gave a tired cheer before he kissed her head and tucked her in. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

The moment she rolled over, she was snoring. And just as Bucky passed the guest bedroom, he could hear two more sets of snoring coming from inside.

You crept out of the room and softly clicked the door shut. From there, you and Bucky took your time walking back to the front door.

“About this date-”

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he told you. “If you don’t feel comfortable-”

You smiled. “I was just gonna ask if you’re free on Sunday.”

Bucky was a little surprised but smiled. “I’m free on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at ten?”

It was definitely the earliest date you’d been on.

“There’s a place I want to show you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

After picking you up on his motorcycle, Bucky drove an hour out of the city to a small town. The entire main street was taken over by a farmer’s market. There were smaller stalls with different homemade items.

You and Bucky ended up picking up a few things for a make-shift picnic in the park before he took you to the local watering hole where a live band was playing and people’s shoes were scuffing the wooden floor from dancing.

“How did you find this place?”

“Barton told me about it.” Bucky told you. “Him and Laura passed through it once before, so I decided to come and check it out. I’ve wanted to show you ever since, but each time I came to tell you, something came up at work so I wouldn’t have been here to show you.”

“But now you are.”

“Now I am,” he told you before he took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re dancing.”

It was a small two-step, nothing major. But for you, it felt like everything. Being in his arms again – you knew there would never be another place where you would feel this safe. Feeling his hand in yours, seeing the blush creep up on his cheeks each time you looked at him.

Slowly, the rest of the room disappeared. The music from the band became nothing more than background noise and the only person you could see was Bucky.

And when you closed your eyes, and felt his lips against yours, the only thing you could feel was him.

The light breeze that wafted past the barn doors disappeared, the air of apple pie and ice cold lemonade disappeared from your skin.

The only thing that soaked its way into your bones was the feeling of him. His hand in yours, his other at your opposite hip, holding you flush against him, his belt buckle making a small impression behind the fabric of your outfit.

It was more than you ever dreamt of.

The Talk came two weeks later. The one that neither you and Bucky had mentioned, but had to be done. Because it wasn’t just both of you in the relationship, if you were going to continue.

Your daughter was involved, too.

“She loves you, Bucky.”

“And I’ll never want to see her hurt, either,” he finished. “I never want to hurt either of you, ever.”

“I know.”

“So, we take it slow,” he offered. “But I think we should involve her, too. You come as a package deal, and I don’t want to ignore that.”

You gave him a small smile. There had been plenty of one-stop dates who had ignored that fact, plenty who had wanted you to come as a single package.

Bucky was the first.

So, a few weeks later, when a knock came to your door, your daughter beat you to the door and opened it to find Bucky.

“Bucky!”

Your daughter ran for his legs and wrapped her arms around them before she let go and he bent down.

“Why are you here?”

Bucky looked from your daughter, up to you with a half cocked smile. “I’m here to give you these.”

Behind his back, Bucky pulled out two bouquets of flowers. One was a little bigger than the second.

He presented the smaller bunch to your daughter before he stood to his full height and handed you the bigger section.

“And these are for you.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky crouched back down to your daughter. “And I was hoping that you and your mom would want to come with me for the day.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay!” Your daughter turned around and ran back inside.

“Careful, honey. Put your flowers in the kitchen, I’ll put them in some water!”

“Okay!” She yelled back before going to her bedroom to get her shoes.

With the coast clear, Bucky leaned in and pressed three light kisses to your lips.

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Bucky closed the door as he entered and you walked into your kitchen to run the tap for some water.

“So, where are we going?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“From me, too?”

He nodded.

Two minutes later, your daughter came running back down the hall. Bucky managed to scoop her up before she tripped down the small step.

“Got my shoes!”

“Firecracker?”

“Yes?”

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet, honey,” he told her. She looked down, very confused.

Bucky popped her on the kitchen island before offering to fix them. Swinging her feet, she nodded.

As you placed the flowers inside of a vase, finding a smaller one for your daughter’s; you watched as Bucky taught her a trick to always remember her left and right before he reached into one of the cupboard draws and pulled out a small sheet of stickers.

“When the star touches, then you know they’re on the right feet.”

“So cool.”

A little under an hour later, your daughter was on Bucky’s shoulders, looking with amazement at all the artifacts in the museum. You could see her little brain working overtime to find out all the answers to every question she had, knowing she was going to be telling Kate and Yelena all about it in a few days time.

After lunch and the second half of the tour, you heard your daughter gasp before she took your hand and dragged you down the hall.

Secretly having been holding Bucky’s hand, you pulled him with you.

“Slow down, honey. Where are we going?”

“Come on, you gotta see! Come on!”

By the time you both found yourself in the exhibit room, you looked around and realised why she had seemed so excited.

The entire thing was dedicated to Captain America.

“Look, momma. It’s Steve!”

You picked your daughter up and carried her over. “That’s right, honey.”

“Look, Bucky. It’s you.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s me.”

“Why is it not got colours?”

Bucky chuckled. “Because it’s from the 1940s.”

Your daughter watched, puzzled, as a small clip of Bucky and Steve laughing played on the big screen.

“That’s over 90 years ago.”

“Wow, that’s old.”

You and Bucky chuckled lightly, just before your daughter wiggled her way out of your arms. The moment her feet were planted on the floor, she ran over to the small window where people were standing on the scale.

The picture didn’t even move.

“Come here, firecracker.” Bucky scooped your daughter up in his arms and planted himself on the scale. The picture changed and you watched as your daughter looked at herself in uniform.

However, for a glimpse, you caught Bucky’s face in the reflection.

You’d seen plenty of pictures, news segments, documentaries and home videos of Bucky both in and out of uniform, back in the 40s. But there was just something in that moment that it hit you-

Bucky had lived that life. He’d seen that world. If you had met him on the streets of Brooklyn over ninety years ago, you would have been watching him getting shipped out to England.

“Okay, where to next?”

“Hmm, over there! Come on, momma!”

The little voice, filled to the brim with excitement, broke you out of your trance long enough for you to follow after them.

However, hours later; long after Bucky had carried your daughter from her car seat and up the steps and into your apartment. You surprised him.

He was in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil as you got dressed into your home clothes. But, when you returned and he felt his heart light up at seeing you as you, he was shocked.

You hugged him.

He held back the laugh in his chest. “What’s this for?”

“Just because,” you told him.

Then you kissed him.

“And that?”

“That was because I love you.”

Bucky faulted for a moment. He didn’t want to come off too excited in case he’d heard wrong.

“You love me?”

You nodded. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time, but seeing you today…it just hit me. And I wanted to tell you.”

Then he smiled, keeping his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer. “I’m glad, because I’m in love with you, too.”

A smile broke onto your face before it was kissed away by him, his hands pulling you flush against his body.

It had taken years for you to realise, and even longer to work up the courage to tell him.

Who knew all it took was a family trip to the museum?

Thankfully, those family trips started to become more frequent. As did the solo and family dates you, Bucky and your daughter went on.

But, for Bucky, nothing beat the date night you and he had after the parent-teacher meeting you both attended just a little under a year of dating.

It was in that meeting that the teacher gushed over how far your daughter had come in the last year, how incredible her artwork was and how they were looking at moving her up a couple of reading grades.

Although Bucky wasn’t there to create your daughter, or there to cut the cord. She was like him in so many ways, it was scary.

The pouting face when she was tired, the overly cute aggressive face she gave when she was getting competitive. And then there was her love for school. Steve had shown you some of Bucky’s old school reports.

Your daughter was starting to get the same.

Maybe Bucky wasn’t your daughter’s father by birth, but he was her dad in every way that counted. He dried the tears, cleaned the grazed knees, carried her sleeping frame to bed.

And after that parent-teacher meeting, it was going to become official.

He had proposed and you said yes.

And when your daughter had found out the next morning when you and Bucky went to pick her up from the compound, where Sam and Yelena had been put on babysitting duty, she cried.

“Can I call you my daddy now?”

Through your own happy tears, you watched Bucky’s own fall. He was hugging your daughter just as tight as she was holding onto him.

“I’d love nothing more, firecracker.”

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witherby · 5 months ago

Note

I think a cute fic would be Alfred reading Punchline to sleep after a nightmare.

-📝

Also, LOVE EVERYTHING YOU E DONE :}

You got it! And thank you!!

Punchline - Scattered Nighttime

⚠️ Content warning: Nightmares, the Joker abuses his daughter, description of injuries ⚠️

Masterlist is Here!

There's something very strange about seeing the reason why you can't move your hand properly, despite not feeling it.

Popsy's laughing. You've pleased him, you've entertained him, and the only price you had to pay was your hand getting smashed by a pipe. It looks like a black and blue pancake, the palm flatter than normal and several fingers badly misshapen.

You turn your hand over, admiring the front and back, and try to flex the fingers. They twitch and bend at an angle that isn't normally possible. There's an odd pressure between the joints you instinctively understand is wrong. You wonder if you have enough ribbon to tie the digits back into the correct shape so that they heal into something usable again.

"What, you don't think that's funny?" Your father asks, something thin and dangerous in his tone. You immediately snap your gaze to his and the smile on your face stretches wider. "Why don't I give you something to giggle about, then!"

You see him gear up to swing the pipe at your head. An old, long-buried instinct screams at you to duck. You stand still and compliant for your Popsy, because that's what good and entertaining toys do. They always do what they're told, or they get broken and discarded.

You briefly wonder why you're still being broken if you're the favorite.

The sound of metal crashing into your ear jolts you awake, and you find yourself looking at plain, beige walls.

Your hand flies to your head, fingers brushing along the shell of your ear. You feel the sensation of touch, but hear nothing. Almost total hearing loss on the side of impact. You look at your right hand, at the small crook in your middle and ring fingers you didn't manage to completely set right as they were healing. Usable, but forever altered. The digits crack every time you flex it into a fist. Pop. Pop. Pop.

You take stock of the rest of your body while your breathing slows back to normal. Two arms. Two legs. Ten fingers. Ten toes. No new cuts. No new breaks. Some new bruises, but aside from being colorful little polka dots in your skin, you ignore them.

You're fine. But you can feel your heart hammering in your ribcage, and the ever-present tremor in your limbs has worsened after waking up. The itch of inactivity is making itself known under your skin. You don't look at the camera in the corner of your cell, but you still feel that instinct to perform, to please, to entertain.

But these people don't think you're funny. Not like Popsy. They don't get your jokes. They don't play your games. They don't tell you what they want from you, so you do nothing for as long as you can, until the boredom and the itch settles in and becomes unbearable.

Right now it's unbearable.

You get up off the floor and wander to the door, pressing your fingers into the seam between it and the wall. If you apply enough pressure, the sensor inside thinks it's got something stuck in the doorway, and it pops open. A hilarious safety measure you exploit whenever the boredom rears its head.

Wing-a-ding is watching you tonight. Or, he would be, if his attention wasn't on a case file he's got open in his lap instead of your camera feed. You could scare him for a laugh, but the way he looks at you isn't fun, so you leave him be. It's child's play to slip past him, inattentive and unaware at the bat computer, and climb the first set of stairs you find.

You creep through the grandfather clock and step into Wayne manor, casting your gaze about the brand new space with wide, curious eyes. So many breakable things! So many fancy things, too. Fancy chairs, fancy desks, fancy mirrors, fancy carpet, fancy stairs...Batsy is richy-richy-rich!

The house is large and easy to get lost in. Larger than any other building you've ever been in. It smells nicer, too. You step into the hall and pick a random direction to go, footfalls light and airy. It's a nice distraction from your dream, and the palpitations aren't as harsh the more you walk.

You find a sitting room. The chairs are big, but kinda stiff, so you don't sit long and keep going.

Another sitting room. This one has a loveseat that's bouncy. You jump up and down on it until the wheezy, light feeling you get from the broken ribs forces you to stop. You accidentally tip a vase over as you climb down, and it lies cracked on the floor, but no one comes to hurt you, so you ignore it.

You have to lie down for a couple minutes to catch your breath before you can continue, but eventually you're up and off again.

There's a big book room. You wander between the shelves and trail your fingers along the spines, eyeing the colors and symbols detailed on each one that stands out to you. You pick one and pluck it out of the shelf, thumbing through the pages as though you had any chance of deciphering the messages printed on them. You wonder what story lies inside it with a curious quirk of your lips.

You think of calm, even tones and a quiet voice, reading a tale about an angry little girl who has to adjust to a whole new way of living now that her parents are gone. You wonder if...

The book falls from your fingers. It's more amusing to leave it on the floor than put it back where it belongs, so you knock a couple more down to join it before you leave the big book room with a snicker.

You've just stumbled upon the kitchen when someone clears their throat behind you.

Grinning, you twirl around and clasp your hands behind your back, finding yourself looking up at Alfred.

"Lady Punchline," he greets you. He's wearing pajamas, so you must have awoken him while exploring. He doesn't look upset. "Can I get you anything?"

You get asked that a lot. You don't know what the right answer is. You don't know how to play their games yet. You just smile and click your feet together. The noise is soothing.

Click. Click. Click.

"It's quite late," Alfred continues, "or early, depending on your opinion. Why don't I get you settled into a bed and we can read another chapter of The Secret Garden together?"

He holds out a hand for you to take. You wait for it to curl into a fist, wait for it to dart forward and strike you somewhere, but it doesn't.

Alfred continues to stand there with you, waiting quietly. You look at his hand for a long time, staring at every weathered groove and line. You notice the uniformity of his fingers, the callouses borne of hard work, the lack of scarring.

You brush your right hand against his palm, comparing the shapes against your own. He's very warm to the touch.

Click. Click. Click.

"Lady Punchline," he speaks up. "I will take you to my quarters for the night. If that isn't acceptable to you, all you need to do is remove your hand from mine, and we can go somewhere else."

A command. No...a direction. A plan. You just have to follow his plan. That's fine. You are Popsy's obedient little toy, and you're very good at it. You can follow Popsy's plans. You can comply with others, too.

You thread your crooked fingers in his pretty ones. He gives you a single nod and a featherlight squeeze, then leads you through the halls of the large house.

You walk for a while together. You have to stop twice when the wheezing gets bad and the world starts to tip around like a rollercoaster, but Alfred just keeps his gentle hold of your hand and guides you along when you're ready.

Soon enough, you're ushered into a large bedroom and tucked into a bed that could easily fit ten of you. It's both soft and firm, supporting your back and easing the pressure in your ribs and warming you in a way you're not used to. You stare at the ceiling and feel your heart beating heavily against your chest while Alfred grabs his book and sits in the armchair a couple feet away.

"The last we left off was chapter six. I shall start from there," he says.

You let his voice wash over you and drown out all other sensations. Your racing heart slows down. The trembling in your limbs lessens. Popsy's voice echoing around in your mind quiets, until all you can hear is Alfred's soft, steady cadence and all you can think about is Mistress Mary, learning how to be a child.

Your eyes slip closed and you're out before he's halfway through the chapter.

#el speaks #punchline au #alfred pennyworth #tw: abuse #📝#the joker

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vaaaaaiolet · 3 months ago

Text

Here, we happen upon a specimen of Homo sapiens in a most vulnerable state. He appears to be utterly besotted with his wife at the risk of his livelihood. Distracted, exhausted, and borderline hallucinating, he's left open to attack from every angle. Including that of the object of his affections, it seems.

In which Leon nearly naps through a debrief and you give him a run for his money.

mdni [insert tiktok GET OUT audio]. married f / m smut feat. the same agent au from mbotcd. a dash of plot w your porn if you please. whipped leon pov where his bamf wife pounces on him LMAO. bjs, jerking him off, and no refractory period yay!!! slight cumplay + dacryphilia?? cavity-inducing p in v à la missionary. banter and praise bordering on body worship. 1 sec of overstim. corny plot twist. honestly just marriage kink. i hate myself too. also you wear a necklace + bracelet cause u cute like that :3

a/n: “vivi wtf you keep writing the sam-” let’s get this straight. i #needthat. i’ve been #needingthat. this is a month’s worth of thirst condensed into a GROSS FUCKING FIC that i’m actually so embarrassed about please don’t look at me. i want this man's dick so bad it makes me ill. and dicks are scary ok. nevertheless, i persevere in my journey to suck leon off with mixed results. enjoy the ride <3 + many many kisses to the most kickass writer i know @comatosebunny09 for inspiring bamf reader :,) leon nation has MISSED YOU LMFAOOO

word count: 3.2k (WE BEAT THE 2.9K TRENCHES Y'ALL!!) // read on ao3

It’s only after you finally shoo your guests out the front door that Leon can plunge into the living room loveseat and let out a sigh akin to that of a sinking ship’s. Or at least shooing is the way he’d have done it – his darling’s too perfect a hostess to dream of doing that.

Goddamn. Leon pulls a hand down his face hard enough to resemble Munch’s Scream painting. He thought they’d never leave: the eye-twitchingly pedantic DSO busybodies who had no business interrupting the sanctity of his home on a Friday afternoon, and an unbearably sleepy one at that.

Sunshine had dripped down the living room windows slower than molasses while two analysts blabbered on and on about some stupid recon intel from his last mission. One cookie after the other had disappeared from a tray laid out with Leon’s secret stash. And to make things worse, an hour in, you’d started glaring daggers his way when his head started bobbing. It made for a scene dangerously reminiscent of Sunday service as a kid.

So what if this Sensitive Compartmented Blah Blah Blah needed to be discussed at the DSO’s earliest convenience? What about Leon’s convenience? He’d handled confidential business before. He checks his email on time. Most of the time.

But the hard part’s over now, thank the Lord. Leon can peel off the imaginary Scotch tape from his eyelids and instead appreciate the magnificent view his wife makes walking back from the foyer in her company best.

Now that’s something he wouldn’t mind discussing at length over tea.

Crimson silk whispers down the length of your legs when you throw yourself over the arm of the couch opposite him. Leon snickers; kicks up his feet on his own loveseat in solidarity. Falling onto the cushions, you let out a gutted yawn that couldn’t possibly befit the gracious lady of the house who was just insisting your guests stay for dinner.

He can’t not tease you about it.

You remind him that he’s lucky his ass didn’t snooze himself out of a job. The threat cuts less considering how funny you sound, muffled from the sherpa throw you’ve planted your face into. You were at it for hours, holding down the fort while your husband zoned out. One more word out of him and you’ll conveniently lose the files he needs for his upcoming assignment.

Oof. Leon knows not to negotiate unarmed.

Anyway, he’s not too keen on arguing with Sleeping Beauty. Can’t help but chuckle when you tuck your hands flat under your cheek like a Precious Moments figurine. He crosses his arms, watches you curl up your legs and declare to nobody in particular that you’re only resting your eyes before figuring out dinner, and knowing all too well what’s to follow, Leon waits.

Three…two…one.

Out like a light. He could’ve snapped on it.

They tuckered his baby right out. Picture of an angel, fast asleep as sunlight streams onto the carpet and the houseplants don’t notice a thing. Lashes flashing gold in the rays, fluttering with each soft breath you take. You look as if you could sleep for a thousand years.

With his own head heavy with the five o’clock sun, Leon’s inclined to share the sentiment. He’s close to dozing off too. It’s just…he’s having a little trouble shutting his eyes now that those pests from work are gone and he’s free to stare unabashedly at what actually held his attention all afternoon.

You shift in your sleep – innocent as a lamb, were it not for the bare leg you kick out right then.

Leon stifles a punched-out groan by the skin of his teeth.

Your dress rides up just high enough for him to peek at the pretty thighs hiding underneath. Leon might have to call over company more often if it meant you’d wear that again, damn his cookie stash. A lean forward and shit, he’s seeing lace. Lace he wants between his teeth.

The rational part of his brain chides, she’s exhausted. Don’t even think about it.

Leon rebels. He can’t help his hungry eyes from devouring upwards from there. Right over the enticing plush of your hips, the curve of your stomach. Up to your darling face with a few pit stops along the way.

Do you have any idea how cute you pout when you’re trying to squeeze the sunlight out of your eyes? Or that you finger your favorite necklace, lulling yourself to sleep? It rests over the slope of your breasts, a privilege he’s always nursed a smattering of jealousy about, and Leon isn’t saying he meant to stare for as long as he does at the pendant playing peek-a-boo between the valley of your-

Fuck it. Yeah, he’s looking. Perving over the prettiest angel he ever did see. He won’t be calling God and returning you to heaven anytime soon. No hard feelings, big guy.

Said necklace glitters in the fading radiance of the afternoon sun as Leon huffs this particular thought to himself, readjusting his jeans. And then he frowns. Maybe it’s his sleep-addled brain, but he could swear the necklace winks at him.

It’s then that a pair of beautiful eyes – who should very much be closed – flutter open.

Fantastic. You woke her up.

It takes you a second. Slumber still weighs heavy on your poor neck. You stretch out your arms, yawning into the back of your hand. Leon’s already workshopping an apology by the time you wipe your mouth to taste the fleeting remnants of your five-minute nap.

It must’ve been all that moaning and groaning of his, goddamn it. Subtlety’s never been his strong suit. Leon should say sorry. Apologize to the fawn in the woodland clearing for tearing into her dreams like the great, lumbering bear he is.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He drops his voice to a rueful whisper, ducking slightly to meet your line of sight. “Did I wake you up?”

Your gaze doesn’t lift. “...wasn’t sleeping.”

He has the tact to hold back his snort this time. Right, you were resting your eyes. How about he gets you to bed? He hears they’re practically made for eye resting. Or something along those lines.

“Don’t wanna.”

He literally watched you pass out on the couch. You want a crick in your neck that bad?

“I’ll tell you what I want,” comes your defiant grumble, and with a toss of your gorgeous head, Leon’s heart skips.

You kick out your other leg. Your feet touch the ground with a determined click of your heels. That hip-hugging dress doesn’t do a damn thing to slow you down. A few strides later, you’ve suddenly got the upper hand, towering over his slumped form on the loveseat. Sporting a wicked, wide-awake gleam in your eyes if he wasn’t seeing things. Was he?

You drop to a crouch next to his befuddled head, pivot one-eighty; gather your hair over one bare shoulder. Press the sash of your dress into his palm, deceptively coy.

“Want you to help with this,” you purr.

Honeypot voice.

He blinks.

If Leon knows what’s good for him, he ought to run for the hills. He hasn’t heard you talk like that since Santorini 2016. Something’s off here. Either he’s done something very, very wrong, or something very right. That mission ended with the barrel of your Sentinel Nine jabbed into a handsy thug’s ribs. Years of failed attempts at breakfast in bed flash through Leon’s memories to remind him that you don’t take being woken up lightly. The sash cinching your waist is stoplight red. Likely for a reason.

So Leon pulls it.

You try holding still when a smokeshow orders you to strip her, for God’s sake.

The dress falls apart like a dream. Leon’s mouth goes dry watching you slip off a matching set of skimpy underthings. Wearing nothing but that delicate chain that dangles over your décolletage and a tennis bracelet on your wrist – an anniversary present bought to mirror your strength – that sparkles in the sun, you cock a hand on your bare hip.

Leon sits bolt upright. He’s loaded with a million and one questions, but you’re moving like you’re trying to outrun those Greek thugs again. You don’t give him a chance. When you clamber onto the couch and settle yourself right between the stunned spread of his legs, all he can do is sputter like a rusty engine. His belt falls apart in merry, metallic clinks at your clever fingers. Your dress drops into a forgotten puddle on the floor next to his melted brain.

“Woah, woah, woah.” Leon grips onto your forearms when you dig your nails into the waistband of his jeans. Wide blue eyes peer into yours, a dumbfounded grin tugging at your husband’s mouth. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’re you- what’re you doing?”

You huff, tugging harder at his waistband. “Want these off, duh.”

“But what’s with the sudden-”

“I don’t entertain for free. This,” your hand darts to cup the bulge he’s been wrangling with for a while now, “is what I want in return for sitting through that boring-ass debrief with you nodding off the whole time instead of listening to anything they were saying. And I know you're going to forget and ask me about the intel later.”

Point taken. He did need to work on his subtlety.

“Actually, if I’d done this earlier, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten bored.” You hum as if this were a mildly interesting work conversation. “Nothing crazy like sucking you off under the coffee table. I could’ve needed your help getting a file out of the garage, and then...or is that too cliché?”

What kind of porno plot is this?

“Bold claim to make, doll.” Leon fumbles to take off his jeans in poorly concealed excitement at what that could mean. His denim gets thrown off the couch, courtesy of your ever-so-helpful hands.

“What, you think I’d put you to sleep instead?” you giggle.

By sucking out his soul? Maybe.

You perch yourself on his bare thigh.

Straddling is great. Comfortable even. Your thighs press all plushy on either side of his leg and that’s fine and dandy, but right now, Leon’s scared shitless that you might slide clean off him – you’re that fucking wet. When did you let it get this bad? You’d squelch moving an inch, for fuck’s sake. Look at you, talking big when your head was just as elsewhere as his.

Leon wraps a steadying arm around your hips with his heart beating out of his chest. It’s only when you lean over his chest to steady yourself that he can let out a shudder of relief. A brief one, of course. Apparently you’ve made it your mission so that he never knows peace a day in his life.

Your bracelet-adorned hand slips into his boxers, curling around the base of his cock with a playful squeeze of his balls. Testing, testing, is this thing on?

Leon’s throaty groan is your go-ahead to fish out his length.

The soft O of your cupped hand starts to pump him, slow at first. A gentle up-and-down that has him tipping his neck backwards over the armrest. Leon doesn’t need to look to feel himself standing prouder with each slickening pass of your palm, but he does anyway to see the flash of your wedding ring while you work. Pretends the sight doesn’t make his dick jump. And hell, if you don’t flash him that pretty smile of yours when you notice, squeezing harder. Didn’t know he married himself a succubus.

“God…” he breathes. Cards a hand through your hair with a tenderness that makes your clamped knees buckle.

Leon hasn’t got much time left. You’ve figured that out too, dropping a kiss to his rosy tip when the blurts of precome start running down the back of your hand. You quickly swipe a thumb over the mess; leave a trail down his leg, scooching down and gasping at the friction on your clit. You pop your lips over the head of his cock like it’s a fruit punch sucker.

Fuck. Has he ever told you how much he loves your mouth? All spit-slick when you’re blinking more please?

You inch his length down your throat, soft little gags bubbling past your lips. Doe eyes glossy from the stretch. You’ve got to stop giving him that angel stare before he starts straight-up fucking your face to watch your tears roll. Leon settles for sweeping your hair into a ponytail instead, barely resisting the urge to roll his hips into the wet heat engulfing him. Maybe it’s for the best. He’d get off too quick otherwise and he needs the time to pick between painting your pretty face or your pretty tits white. Decisions, decisions.

“So good for me, baby.” Leon pants over the soft suckling sounds of you speeding up at the gesture. “Oh, fuck. Wait, sweetheart, I-”

His breathing turns shallow in seconds. His lower stomach twitches, shitshitshit – he’s coming. Face flushed and mouth moaning wide open when he spills down your throat.

You pull off his twitching cock, smiling like the cat that got the cream with some dribbling down the corner of your mouth to boot. Then you go ahead and fucking blow on him like you want bubbles from a Blow Pop. His lingering sensitivity makes him shake like a leaf. You’d planned this, hadn’t you?

“Fuckin’ hell, woman.” Leon chuckles softly, using the pad of his thumb to wipe your lips clean. “Happy?”

You answer with a satisfied flutter of your cum-pearled lashes. Cute.

“Good. Cause now it’s my turn.”

Didn’t think you could get away with him making a mess of himself alone, did you? You’d been squirming on his leg the whole time. Poor baby let her mission get in the way of her needs again. So to return the favor, Leon flips you over. Climbs on top.

You turn starry-eyed with your back to the cushions, beaming when he pushes your thighs apart. You’re fussy just the way he likes you when you plead pleasepleaseplease. All riled up just from sucking him off, huh? This won’t take long.

The scent of your arousal is heady. Earthy like sugary petrichor. Makes his head spin. He’s picking up on it more than ever after that orgasm cleared his head like a gunshot. He runs two fingers down your dewy folds to rediscover just how much you taste like linen sheet trysts with a Do Not Disturb sign permanently stuck to your hotel room door.

“I gotcha, honey,” Leon soothes your breathy whimpers. Kisses you slow, easing into your weeping entrance. “I’m right here. Oh, I know.”

First is the initial head-under-water feeling of sinking into you. So good it hurts. Then comes the caramel stretch of you wrapping around him. He’s gotta make sure of the fit, you know? Leon lines a teasing finger around the stretched lips of your cunt struggling to take him whole.

You anchor your hands into his hair in response. Good enough.

Your gasps ghost over the hollow of his throat, your breath slowing to match the languid pace of his starting thrusts. The ache Leon rocks into your hips takes out the one in his back, he swears. He wants to die just like this. Buried inside you if he can help it.

“Close, close-” You’re keening before you know it. That telltale squeeze of silken muscle Leon knows so well follows your squeak of, “Oh!”

“Go on, sweet girl,” he coos, “come for me.”

You milk him, petal soft. And aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. You’re a mewling mess underneath him, trying and failing to not dig your nails into his scar-strewn shoulders. Don’t you know it never hurts when it’s you?

Leon rolls his hips into yours to lengthen the euphoria of your velvet walls clenching him so tight. By some miracle, he’s still keyed up from earlier. He’s got this nasty vision in his head of thumbing his spend back into you, of liquid pearls sliding down your gaping slit and slowly puddling onto the couch. You won’t waste a drop. You never do. Fuck, he’s throwing off his rhythm just thinking about it.

A quiet sob of his name interrupts his train of thought. Shit, Leon had forgotten you just came. He must be toeing overstim territory by now.

“Just a little more, you take it so well, just-”

Leon’s vision fizzes and pops at the edges. He drops his head down to see your eyes all scrunched up, clutching his forearm with one hand and your necklace with the other, anything to tide you over the assault on your oversensitive cunt. Breaking his heart, but Leon’s almost there, he’s so sorry, angel, it’ll be over soon, and- there it is, that eye-rolling whip of pleasure in his gut-

“Leon?”

His eyes fly open.

“Are you okay?!”

When had he closed them?

Leon blinks back stars. The living room’s plunged in dying daylight. He’s laid out on the couch with his back feeling stiffer than a sarcophagus. You’re kneeling next to him with a palm pressed to his forehead and worry souring your expression. But the scariest part of the entire scene might be the fact that you’re still fully dressed, the pendant nestled between your breasts glinting as if mocking him. What.

“You started scrunching up your face and kicking around,” you frown, smoothing back his sweaty bangs. “I thought you were kidding about falling asleep after they left. ”

Leon claps a palm over his face.

“Were you having a nightmare?”

More like he woke up to one.

“Gosh, it sounded like you were having a real nice dream before that. You were all smiley in your sleep, babe.”

He coughs weakly. “Something like that.”

“Hm. Well,” you clap your hands cheerily, “I think something to eat might make you feel better.”

“Yeah?”

“Turns out that nap really helped me figure out dinner. I ordered pizza a little bit ago, actually. I was just taking the boxes into the kitchen when I heard you in here.”

Heard. Damn. He wasn’t even going to ask about that. Leon nods, stuck in a dismal, nebulous haze of disappointment. He’ll be right there.

A slow smile tugs at your lips. “And maybe changing out of these,” you glance at his legs, “might help too.”

Your hand lifts from Leon’s forehead to drag down his chest. Innocent and light at first, just smoothing out the wrinkles of his shirt, and then down, down, down over his stomach to rest over the rather conspicuous patch of soaked denim at the crotch of his jeans. And if that wasn’t enough for Leon’s eyes to bulge out of his head, you give the spot a very déjà vu squeeze before walking off.

You can barely hide your giggle on the way out. “Meet me in the kitchen?”

Leon swings his legs over the edge of the couch. Claps his hands to his knees before he catches your contagious smile.

Sure, he can. He’s been meaning to buy a centerpiece for the kitchen island for the longest time. Y’know, pretty the place up for when guests come over.

He might just have to start with you.

psst, find more of my work here!

likes kill fics :( comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and ily!

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #vaaaaaiolet #ns/ft #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #di leon #ao3 fanfic #fic: ameliorate

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emilys-bangs · 8 months ago

Text

this is me trying | e.p

Tags: established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff at the end, mom!emily, no use of yn, use of petnames

Summary: Emily misses one of Eloise's milestones and tries to deal with it. Requested here.

Word count: 2.7k

A/n: my longest fic is officially a momily fic oops...(gimme more momily thoughts please) also I did the convo with Hotch instead of JJ because he's surprisingly easier to write than her :p

Emily was having an okay day. It was her second night away on a case and it was unraveling quickly, quick enough that she thought she’d be home for dinner.

She wasn’t.

Instead, she gets a call from you around Eloise’s bedtime. With the ring comes a twist of guilt in her stomach; she’d promised herself she’d call this time instead of you, but her reminder to set an alarm slipped from her mind, and soon she got swept up in an endless whirlpool of case files and paper trails. Silencing her phone, she pushes her chair back and stands up, her eyes flitting over Reid and JJ’s forms bent over the conference room table. They can handle a few minutes on their own.

Emily slips into an empty office, shuttering the blinds as she accepts the video call before it rings out. Crackly noise comes through and she smiles at the sight of you and Eloise on the plush carpet of her nursery, the little girl already in her pajamas and sitting in the cradle of your crossed legs. Some of the tightness in her chest loosens.

“Hi there,” Emily smiles softly as you hold the camera away from Eloise’s grabby hands, her eyes tracing your faces through the screen, “how are my favorite people in the world doing?” She asks, perching on the edge of the table.

“Good,” you say, smoothing a hand over Eloise’s damp hair. “Sleepy, but someone won’t—”

“Bye-bye!” Eloise interrupts cheerfully—her favorite word as of late.

Emily chuckles, her shoulders slumping at the bell-like tinkle of her daughter’s voice. “But I just saw you, sweet girl. I don’t wanna say bye so soon, do you?”

“Bye,” she repeats.

“Think I should go,” Emily wrinkles her nose at you, the playful gesture pulling a laugh from your toddler.

“Maybe she’s finally starting to learn it’s bedtime,” you say, kissing the top of her head. “We’re starting to feel sleepy, aren’t we, Eloise?” Your voice softens as you trace your finger down the soft bridge of her nose, a trick you and Emily use to soothe her to sleep.

But Eloise stubbornly shakes her head. “Nnn.” She turns her face away, placing two hands on your knee.

Emily smiles at the domestic image, her heart tugging with a need to be home. To join your daughter in the circle of your legs, feel your arms around her waist as you both worked to lull her to sleep.

She breathes through the ache, forcing herself to smile. “Well, we both know where that came—”

Her playful jab falls away when she sees Eloise stand, her hands still on your knee to hold herself up. Emily holds her breath, waiting for her to topple, but her daughter steps over your leg and walks to the drawers behind you. Her movements are wobbly but she doesn’t fall, babbling bye, bye, bye under her breath as she fiddles with the handle of the drawer at her level.

You don’t give a reaction apart from a guilty twist of your lips. Still, Emily waits for something; surprise, shock, excited laughter. The only thing that happens is an apologetic shrug of your shoulders, resigned and defeated.

Her heart sinks.

“She—” Emily sucks in a breath, her throat dry. “She started walking? When?” She hates how her voice is croaky, how it breaks as her heart picks up its pace.

You guiltily chew on your lip. “Yesterday morning.”

Yesterday morning. She was on the jet by then. Something bitter coats her tongue, digging into her molars; the inside of her cheeks pucker.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

But it’s obvious why you didn’t.

“Emily…”

“Mmamamama,” Eloise comes over again, her small, onesie-covered feet showing up on the screen. She grabs the phone from your limp fingers, her sweet, clueless face reaching the edges of Emily’s phone. “Ma,” she babbles, and Emily forces a smile.

“Mommy’s here, sweetheart.” She says hoarsely.

Her voice cracks around the blatant lie.

___

They’re on the jet home less than twenty four hours later. It was as happy an outcome as they can possibly hope for; unsub in cuffs, airtight evidence, families reunited with their loved ones.

And yet everyone notices Emily’s mood.

They notice it but say nothing about it, letting her churn in silence as she bypasses all the seats in the jet to sit in the back. Her go bag is thrown under her chair, her arms tightly crossed over her chest as she looks out the window and toys with her ring.

Takeoff is a blur. The lights dim and she chances a glance at her watch, hopelessly willing the time to go by faster. As she’s turning her head, she spots movement from the corner of her eye.

Hotch sits down across from her. He’s quiet as he places a mug of tea next to her phone, but when he leans back into his seat, she sees the concern—and the question—in his eyes.

“You’re upset.” He says.

If Emily wasn’t feeling so miserable, she might have scoffed. Maybe she could have deflected, or lashed out and told him to leave her alone and wallow in her self loathing.

But she’s too tired for that. And Hotch has kind eyes; he understands, what she’s feeling, more than anyone.

So Emily finds herself cracking.

“Eloise. She, uh…she took her first steps two days ago.” Emily says quietly, staring intensely at the mug he’s placed in front of her. The lump forms yet again, the threatening press of tears just behind her eyes. Her own words only make her gut churn. “...And I wasn’t there.” She adds unnecessarily, her voice lowered to a whisper because any louder and she’s sure it’ll break.

Her daughter crossed off a huge milestone. And instead of cheering her on, taking her into her arms and kissing her little cheeks, Emily was off hundreds of miles away, hunting down a pathetic, homicidal man rather than being there for her own child. Emily had promised herself that she’d always be there—for every dance recital, every parent teacher meeting. But she couldn’t even be there for Eloise’s first steps.

She’s just as bad as her mother, prioritizing a job over her own daughter. The thought makes her bite down on her lip, hard. The metallic taste of blood floods her tongue.

“How do you deal with it?” She asks thickly. Emily doesn’t look up at him as she twists her fingers into her necklace, smoothing her thumb over the engraved E and staring intently at the mug he’s placed on top of a coaster—because of course Hotch got a coaster.

The answer she gets is a low, heavy exhale that she feels in her bones. Emily looks up, chancing a glance at him even though she knows her eyes are probably shining under the low lights of the jet.

Hotch swallows, carefully measuring his words before he speaks. “I try to remind myself that I’m making the world a better place for him. Though most of the time it’s a lousy excuse.” His lips press together in a small, bitter, smile. A hand goes through his hair and a few strands flop back into his face; for the first time, Emily sees a rumpled, exhausted single dad rather than her put together Unit Chief. “I guess I try to deal with it by giving Jack 100% of my attention when I’m home. I shut everything out and focus on him, for however many hours I can get. I’d like to think I’m making a difference, but…” He trails off, shrugs.

Emily’s stomach sinks then. She presses her lips together, fighting against the shine in her eyes that now reflects in Hotch’s.

There’s no good answer. No way to make herself feel better about it. She knew that, and yet hearing it from him somehow makes it worse. The chain of her necklace tugs sharply against her throat.

“It helps,” he speaks up again, a tinge of sadness to his voice, “knowing that she’s not alone. She’ll always have someone. And no matter what, she’ll always know you love her.” He says gently. Somewhere in the shadowy corners of her mind, she realizes she’s never heard him talk this softly before, at least not to her.

Emily swallows hard. “What if—” Her voice shakes. She snaps her mouth shut, grabs the mug and takes a scorching sip. The chamomile doesn’t register on her taste buds, neither does the sweetness of two Splenda’s. Emily wraps her cold, trembling hands around the mug, looking into it as she forces herself to say the words. “What if she wants me? And if I’m not there…” Her voice grows hoarse again.

She swallows again. Drinks her tea, again. Closes her eyes against the tears, digs a thumb into her wedding ring. “What does that tell your child about you, Hotch? When you’re not there and they need you to be?”

Emily pretends not to hear the crack in her own voice. Hotch pretends, too, as he leans forward on the table. “You’re not a bad mom,” he says quietly. His tone is firm, unwavering. “You care and you’re trying and they’ll know that.”

They. Their combined children, victims of their job. He says it like he’s begging for it to be enough. For his sake and for hers.

Emily tries to believe it. She really, truly does, but she can’t stop the whispers that say it’s not enough.

___

When she walks into your home, the living room is empty.

Emily follows the sound of your voice and Eloise’s, her breaths coming easier as her feet lead her to the nursery. She inhales the scent of home; baby powder and your perfume and the detergent all of your clothes are washed with. Before she lets herself caught up in it—in you—Emily stores her gun in the safe, drops her go bag in the laundry room.

Finally, she stops at Eloise’s nursery. You’re sitting on the floor just like you were yesterday, Eloise again sitting between your crossed legs. There’s a book in her hands that she furrows her brows at, intently studying the colored pages as if she’ll be quizzed on them.

The sight makes Emily smile.

“Knock knock,” she says softly, briefly scaring you. The tension in your shoulders melts when you see it’s her, a small smile curling your lips as she toes off her boots and walks into the nursery.

“Hi,” you whisper. Eloise finally looks up from her book just as Emily settles next to you on the floor, where she wished she would be just last night.

“Mama!” Her baby squeals, and Emily’s heart constricts, and her vision blurs as she reaches her hands out to carry her into her arms.

“Hi, Eloise,” she whispers. She feels the scrape of tears in the back of her throat and swallows, pressing her lips to her daughter’s soft cheek to stifle them. “I missed you.” Another kiss goes to her other cheek, then one to her forehead.

Your hand falls to her knee and squeezes; Emily takes a hand off of Eloise’s back, places it over your knuckles. She skates her thumb over your skin, squeezes her daughter with her other hand.

“I heard my sweet girl started walking.” Emily murmurs, letting go of your hand to smooth Eloise’s hair behind her ears. It’s an adorable mess, the way it springs right back in her face bringing a smile to Emily’s lips. “Can you show Mommy, honey?”

Her dark eyes stare into Emily’s; twin pairs. “Hi,” Eloise mumbles.

“Hi, my love. I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” she says, her voice cracking on the last word. Her daughter doesn’t notice, too busy with reaching out to fiddle with her necklace. Emily runs her palms over the soft cotton of her onesie, hugging her close and trying to remind herself that she’s here now. “I’m so proud of you, Eloise. Mommy’s always proud of you, you know?” Tears balance on her lashes as she turns her head again to kiss a soft cheek. “You’re my girl.”

Emily didn’t used to be an easy crier.

Having a child changed that; she cried at Eloise’s ultrasound, cried at her birth. She cried when her daughter said Mama and when she was running a mild fever of 99.5. Tears were easy to come, at bumps and bruises, at small snippets of her personality that start to form with time, at a singular candle blown on her birthday. Undeniably, her daughter is her Achilles heel. Emily is still trying to deal with that, trying to adjust to having her heart walk around unprotected on tiny, wobbly legs that still don’t know where to go.

Emily doesn’t realize she’s been rocking her daughter back and forth until your arm wraps around her shoulders. The weight of it forces her to go still; when she leans back, she leans back into you.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffles. Eloise wriggles in her arms and she lets her go, only for the little girl to plop between both of you. Her small hands fiddle with the badge on her hip; Emily’s eyes dart down to her, a wobbly smile pulling on her lips.

“Em,” you whisper, cupping her chin in your hand. Her gaze meets yours again. “You have nothing to apologize for.” You say quietly. With more tenderness than she deserves, you wipe the wetness under her eye.

Emily shakes her head. “I wasn’t there.” She says, her lip trembling as more of her tears drip onto your palm.

An adamant frown pulls your brows together. “Look at her.” You murmur, both firm and soft as you catch a tear before it falls onto Eloise’s head. Emily does, her heart clenching when she finds Eloise’s chin already tipped up, their eyes clashing in identical shades of brown. “She’s just happy you’re home, baby. We both are.”

“But—”

“Mama cry?” Eloise’s sweet voice pipes up.

The palpable sadness in it breaks Emily’s heart. Eloise frowns fiercely as she shoves her small palms into Emily’s knee, steadying herself before standing on her own and taking two steps to reach her mother.

Pride flares in her chest. Eloise stands on her tiptoes, her small hands falling on her mother’s face; Emily’s hands go to her waist, steadying her. “Mama cry?” Her baby asks again, her eyes far too serious for a just turned one-year-old.

Emily smiles and this time it’s more genuine. “I’m okay, sweet girl.” She lifts a small fist off her cheek and brings it to her lips. “I love you.”

“Wuv.”

“You tell her, Ellie.” You lean against Emily’s side, your hand going to her cheek to wipe the remaining tears. Eloise’s hand joins yours and Emily laughs, shaky and wet even though your daughter is being none too careful. “That’s what we like to hear,” you murmur, tucking Emily’s hair behind her ear. Eloise falls into her lap and she instinctively holds her, her hands secure around her body even though she doesn’t break eye contact with you.

“Listen to me. You’re here now. That’s what matters, okay? It could’ve happened at any time—hell, I could’ve been at work when it happened. This is not on you.” You say firmly, your voice almost scolding. But your hands on her face are soft, cradling her cheeks with gentle care; the pad of your thumb skims absently over her jaw.

Emily’s lips twitch. Your words go through one ear and out the other; nothing against you, but she’s never relied on them for comfort. Instead she leans forward and presses her forehead to yours, closing her eyes as your noses bump together. Her shoulders slump, her body relaxing when Eloise presses her cheek to her chest.

“I love you.” She says, soft, pressing the statement into your lips.

“I love you too.”

“Wuv.” Eloise joins in.

You and Emily both laugh as you look down at her, a familiar warmth returning to Emily’s chest at being home, with her family. She lifts her daughter back into her arms and kisses her until she giggles, until the sound of her laughter drowns out Emily’s thoughts. She’s not sure if she trusts your words, trusts that your love and Eloise’s won’t simmer to resentment when this situation is inevitably repeated in an endless cycle.

But for now, she’ll believe them. Believe you.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics @storiesofsvu@ashluvscaterina @basicallyvivi

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gghostwriter · 11 months ago

Note

hi dear author! how are you?

I have a request for Spencer where reader has a head injury and passes out and Spencer's reaction to it and the aftermath. I found your fic around 15 mins ago and I'm in love with them<3

Thank you!!

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader Trope: Established Relationship; Fluff! Just fluff Warning: Medical inaccuracies A/N: I’m sensing a pattern with the request writing I’m doing—most of them deal with a head injury of some sort but I am having fun trying to make it different the the earlier works. No further editing was done but I hope you enjoy it! Main masterlist

Bundle of Nerves. // Spencer Reid

The bright and playful disposition of your kindergarten students was one of things you looked forward to every Monday. How each student would go up to you to chatter about how their weekend went—family went to the park or to the library or to the beach—and how in return, they’ll ask if you also enjoyed the weekend as much as they did.

But something seemed off today, you really couldn’t specify where it all started. Maybe it was you falling back to sleep after your alarm went off, or maybe it was you missing breakfast, or maybe it was just all of the above.

Either way, everything was going sideways and it was just about to get worse. The lights seemed darker, the children’s voices were distorted, and the room was starting to sway. Feeling the need to sit down, you were only able to take a couple of steps to your desk before promptly fainting—smacking your forehead on the floor and the children screaming for help.

———

Spencer wasn’t one to wish for a case to land on JJ’s desk but at 1:30pm on a Monday, he found himself twiddling his thumbs and calculating his rocket launches using his expansive brain capacity—all paper filings done and submitted early. He swiveled to face Morgan who was caught red handed about to throw a paper clip in his direction.

“Hey Kid,” he cleared his throat, trying to act nonchalantly. “You done with your paperwork?”

“Yeah, now I’m thinking of how to improve my rocket magic. Hey do you think if I add more—”

The vibration of his phone on the table interrupted his sentence. His eyebrows furrowed as he took in the unregistered number. Curious but definitely wary, he pressed ‘accept’.

“Hi, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Who is this?”

A female voice answered. “Hi Dr. Spencer Reid, I’m calling from Virginia State Hospital. Y/N had you listed down as her emergency contact. She was admitted—”

The remaining information all sounded muffled. His breathing was spiking up and all he could hear now was the rapid staccato beating of his heart. He couldn’t think straight. Is this what unknowing family members of victims feel when they receive a distress call? Like the rug was pulled under their feet? He couldn’t comprehend what to do, how to—

“Dr. Reid, are you still there?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes—yes, I’ll be there soon.”

Before the voice could say another word, he ended the call, was out of his desk, and up the steps to his unit chief’s office, SSA Aaron Hotchner.

“Reid, what is it?” the stern BAU leader clocking in the distress painted on the genius’ face.

“I-it’s Y/N. She was admitted at hospital and—”

He nodded. “Go, Reid. I’ll explain to the team and HR.”

With a quick ‘thank you’, he ducked out of the bullpen to the elevator, grateful that he opted to drive to Quantico today rather than take his usual train route.

Maybe he should have borrowed the government owned SUV instead, he thought to himself when he turned to the main road and saw the congestion. Hotch would have understood, he just wasn’t sure how to explain that in paperwork but this counted as an emergency, right? It felt like a life or death situation to him—for him and for you.

When he exited the bottleneck traffic, Spencer wanted to floor the gas. His foot itched to stomp on the accelerator and worry about the fines later. But the idea of getting caught, being pulled over, and wasting more precious seconds away from your side was enough for him to second guess it—that and his tight white knuckle grip on the steering wheel.

He should have asked for more information over the phone call but the second his mind registered the words, it went to overdrive and out of the window—his emotions were running high and clouding every logical thought possible. He had an IQ of 187 but all he could think of was you. You, the love of his life. You, his fiancee, lying down on a hospital bed, alone and unconscious. Any man, no matter how smart they are, would react the same way he did when it involves a loved one.

He parked his car at the first slot he could find in the hospital parking lot and ran straight to the reception.

“I’m looking for Y/N. She was admitted a while ago. I-I’m her fiancee.” Spencer hurriedly introduced himself.

The nurse nodded once, stating your floor and room number. Without so much as an acknowledgement, he ran to the nearest elevator and willed it to open any faster.

Spencer felt like he ran a marathon by the time he found your room and seeing you there, lying on your bed—conscious, thank god—took a little weight off his chest. He breathed out your name in relief. “What happened? Did you—did you hit your head?”

Your hand gingerly touched the bandage on your forehead. “I think so. I started to feel faint so I was walking back to my chair. I must have hit my head on my way down—”

He took your hands into his, kissing it. “You had me so worried. Did the doctor say anything? Diagnosis? Cause? Treatment?”

“No. When I came to, only a nurse was here. She left to page the doctor but it’s okay—I feel fine now.”

Spencer opened his mouth, no doubt to chide you about minimizing your pain and health, but then the doctor walked in with a clipboard on hand.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Smith. How are we feeling?”

“She said she was feeling faint before she hit her head. Does she have a concussion? Why did she feel faint—was it stress? Hypoglycemia? Labyrinthitis? Vertebrobasilar insufficiency?” Spencer rattled off.

“Well, your husband sure knows medical terminology. Are you a Doctor too?” the physician asked.

Spencer’s brows met in between, finding the whole interaction off-putting. Here he was about to have a nervous breakdown and your doctor was as calm as a cucumber. “Fiancee, actually, and yes Doctor, 3 Phds not MD.”

“Impressive, and to answer your questions, Doc. None of the above.”

His eyes widened. “Then it could be hypo—”

Dr. Smith smiled and shook his head. “It’s not that either.” He reached into his clipboard, removing a prescription pad, and quickly jotting down medicine. “Here you go. She’ll need to take a capsule a day and I suggest a healthy balanced meal, exercise, and plenty of bed rest.”

Spencer’s eyes widened when he realized what the chicken scratch handwriting said.

“What—what is it?” You asked in worry as Spencer seemed to have glitched.

The doctor grinned at you.“Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”

Silence.

“I-I’m what?!”

The doctor chuckled. “You’re 3 weeks along so you’re still in the early stages. Your body is still adjusting—the fainting spell was caused by change in your hormones and low blood pressure. I suggest you schedule an appointment with your OB/GYN as soon as possible and get ample rest—” he looked at the couple once more before exiting the room. “—congratulations, again.”

The tears that started to gather in your eyes seemed to bring Spencer back to life. “Oh love, are those—are those happy tears or—?”

You nodded. “Happy tears, Spence. I can’t believe it!”

He reached out to hug you to his chest. “I love you, Y/N. You make me feel like the luckiest man in the world.”

You giggled. “I guess we have to tell your team about the baby genius on board, huh?”

He laughed, remembering how Emily once asked him if he ever planned on having one and here he was about to become a father.

You gasp, causing him to lean back and look at you with worry—did he hug you too tight? Did you feel—

“I’m not going to fit in my wedding dress by then! Penny will have a fit! She had this vision and—”

He leaned down to interrupt your ramblings.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you, especially if you're turning her into an aunt.”

You smiled, peering through your eyelashes. “Y’know we might have to find a new apartment soon. Just imagining how much shopping Penny would do for our baby genius even before he or she is born is making me shudder.”

He laughed. “Me too, love. Me too.”

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #gw fics #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #pau’s request inbox

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p0orbaby · 7 months ago

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Could you write something about reader having surgery? Leah worrying about her & getting super stressed out x

Leah’s pacing. Of course she is. She’s wearing the trainers that squeak on the hospital floor, the ones you begged her to throw away three months ago. “They’ve got character,” she said then, like that was a reasonable argument for keeping footwear that sounded like an off-brand comedy gag every time she took a step. Now, the sound feels like a metronome for her anxiety.

She’s also muttering under her breath, something about waiting rooms being designed to drive people mad. “Why is there always a random fish tank?” she asks no one in particular, gesturing at the gurgling monstrosity in the corner. “Like, is that meant to be calming? Watching a clownfish swim into a plastic castle?”

Kim, who you bullied into babysitting Leah while you’re in surgery, hums noncommittally and sips her tea. It’s the worst thing she could’ve done because it prompts Leah to snap, “You’re too calm. Why are you so calm?”

“Because it’s a routine procedure,” Kim replies, her tone so even it borders on condescending. “She’ll be fine, Leah”

But Leah doesn’t look convinced. She crosses her arms, leans against the wall, then decides against it and resumes pacing. “Routine doesn’t mean risk-free,” she mutters. “What if they mix up her file with someone else’s? What if they give her a kidney transplant instead of fixing her knee?”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Kim asks, barely suppressing a laugh.

Leah whirls around. “Anything’s possible, Kim. Hospitals are chaos. I’ve read articles”

Kim just shakes her head and goes back to scrolling her phone, clearly regretting agreeing to this.

Leah’s still fidgeting when the surgeon finally appears. The man is smiling, calm and professional, but she doesn’t let her guard down. Not even when he says, “The operation went smoothly. She’s in recovery now”

“Define smoothly,” Leah demands, squinting at him like he’s lying. “No complications? No close calls? You didn’t drop anything inside her, did you?”

“Leah!” Kim hisses, mortified.

The surgeon, to his credit, only blinks. “She’s fine,” he repeats, clearly accustomed to this brand of hysteria. “You can see her shortly”

Leah doesn’t wait. She marches down the hall like she’s storming the pitch, the squeaking of her trainers echoing behind her.

When she reaches your room, you’re half-conscious, propped up in bed with a silly-looking hospital gown that does nothing for your dignity. Your eyes flutter open at the sound of her trainers, and you manage a groggy smile.

“You’re here,” you mumble, your voice sluggish from the anaesthetic.

“Of course I’m here,” Leah says, pulling a chair up to your bedside. “How do you feel? Do you need water? Ice? A lawyer in case something went wrong?”

You blink at her, too out of it to process her rambling. “I think they gave me morphine. I feel amazing”

Leah exhales sharply, her hands twitching like she wants to touch you but isn’t sure where. “Good. That’s good. You look… fine. A bit pale. But fine”

“Thanks,” you slur. “You look sexy”

She finally smiles, though it’s small and a little wobbly. “You scared the hell out of me, you know”

You try to reach for her hand but miss by a mile. “Sorry. Love you”

Her expression softens, and she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “Love you too. Just… don’t ever make me do this again, yeah?”

“No promises,” you mumble, already drifting back to sleep.

Leah stays by your side the entire time, even when the nurse comes in and politely asks her to stop squeaking her trainers against the floor.

#leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso #woso x reader

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sensationallysangwoo · 6 months ago

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𝓘𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽: 𝓒𝓱𝓸 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓰-𝓦𝓸𝓸 𝔁 𝓖𝓝!𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

𝓘𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓪𝓽 𝓢𝓪𝓷𝓰-𝓦𝓸𝓸’𝓼 𝓹𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓼 𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰. 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓼𝓵𝓮𝓮𝓹 𝓪 𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓫𝓮𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰.

𝓝𝓸 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼, 𝓢𝓕𝓦. 𝓕𝓵𝓾𝓯𝓯. 𝓐𝓰𝓮 𝓰𝓪𝓹 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝓪 𝓵𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓵 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪𝓭𝓾𝓵𝓽

The rise and fall of Sang-Woo’s chest under your head is the most comforting thing you’ve ever experienced. Your breathing matches his. The way his arms are wrapped snugly around your body feels like absolute bliss. You’ve never, ever felt this safe before.

It is your first time ever spending the night at Sang-Woo’s apartment. The thrill of a brand new relationship is enough to make you nervous as is, but your heart fluttered at the thought of your 6ft, handsome, toned boyfriend’s body laying underneath you right this very second.

Small, short snores fall from his beautiful mouth. You file the snores under “cute and adorable” instead of “obnoxious and grating”, only because they’re coming from your beloved.

Despite being comfy and secure you still can’t sleep due to the unfamiliarity of Sang-Woo’s bedroom. The plain, mature decor isn’t very homey, but hey, he lives a simple 47-year-old-businessman lifestyle. You also can’t sleep because you’ve never lied on top of perfection before.

Spending the night is a right of passage in a relationship, you think. This is domestic. This is what couples do. You are the last thing he saw before he fell asleep and you will be the first thing he sees when you wake up.

Sang-Woo has been extremely serious about you lately and you know he loves you. You know you love him too. Everything is still so brand new though.

“Y/N my darling are you okay?” He mumbles out, his brain still clouded by sleep.

“Yeah I’m okay. Just having a little trouble sleeping is all.”

“What’s wrong beautiful? Are you uncomfortable?” He asks sleepily.

“No baby I’m very comfortable. Just not used to sleeping away from home that’s all.”

“Hmm well I’m here to hold you, love. Just relax. Goodnight.” He sweetly says before drifting back into sleep. You snuggle deeper into his chest and focus on his heartbeat.

Steady beats that are for you and only you. All the blood flows through his body for you. Every breath he breathes is for you. He somehow pulls you even closer in his sleep.

Cho Sang-Woo is a man of few words. Introverted. Analytical. Highly intelligent. However, if you could channel into his brain for one second, you would see that the love he has for you is never ending and undying.

You look up at him. The moonlight shining through the window caresses his beautiful features. Your heart flutters once more, that feeling of brand new love creating excitement within you.

Your eyelids become heavy and your breathing slows. You know deep in your heart, deep in your soul, that Cho Sang-Woo is your soulmate. He’s the last thing on your mind before entering a deep slumber.

#squid game #squid game 2 #cho sang woo #cho sang woo x reader #squid game fanfic #cho sang woo x y/n #squid game fanfiction #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n

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autisticandroids · 3 months ago

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quick guide on backing up your tumblr from someone who has tried it various ways over the years

so, you noticed that tumblr is so understaffed that they didn't even do april fools this year and you're thinking of backing up your tumblr. maybe even using tumblr's built-in export function.

there are plenty of third party apps that will scrape your blog and grab all the posts. tumblr-utils is one that i have used historically to great effect. another option here. or find your own.

however, if you want to save your dms and asks, you need to use tumblr's export function.

first go to your blog settings and click export blog. you'll get an email when it finishes exporting. this may take a couple days.

now, my blog's file was about 400GB. that's almost half a terabyte. it's a lot of data. there's no way to shrink it or only download parts. it also will not tell you how big the file is going to be. my blog has ~250k posts and another 5k unanswered asks. and yours will probably scale with that.

(this is a good reason to use third party scrapers instead, by the by. tumblr-utils at least allows you to 1) download only your own original posts and not reblogs, 2) download only text and not media, and 3) download in batches not all at once. you're not forced to take the whole thing, which is a lot of data. the html result from tumblr utils is also more usable than the one from tumblr as well).

anyway. the first thing you'll want to do is make sure you choose what folder something downloads to. you do NOT want half a terabyte in your downloads folder. you want it going straight to an external drive. you can set firefox to open a little "save as" dialogue box everytime you download something, which honestly i would recommend doing anyway. or you can use a download manager like jdownloader, which will also help in other ways. though personally i found that jdownloader seemed to choke on the fact that tumblr doesn't tell you the size of the download, and that meant i couldn't interrupt the download or jdownloader would assume it was done.

second is just. make sure your external drive is big enough. i ended up literally bailing out files onto other random thumb drives because i only had about 250GB free on my external drive when i started downloading.

third. turn off your computer's ability to sleep. if you've got a pc that should be in the control panel under power settings. it should say power plan. my blog took about 15 hours to download. i had to just let my computer sit there downloading, and my computer needed to not go to sleep.

fourth, i would recommend using an ethernet cable if you have one. that will make it go faster.

you should get a file. though my computer literally choked on mine and i had to open it with 7zip because the zip file didn't quite work.

honestly if you're willing to spend an unreasonable amount of time and storage space on this i would recommend grabbing the tumblr native backup and then also using tumblr utils and scarping the text, then using the tumblr utils version of the text. my suspicion is that you can just grab the media folder from the tumblr export download and dump it into the tumblr utils folder and you'll be good. tumblr utils handles the text posts way better and more accessibly.

another space saving option is to just literally delete the media folder. or to delete the media in the folder that's not labeled "conversations," since the stuff labeled "conversations" is media that was sent in your dms and you may want to save that.

tumblr export WILL give you all you dms (including with deactivated users and users you have blocked and who have blocked you) and it will also give you unanswered asks (again including from deactivated users etc). probably also submissions and possibly also old fanmail, i haven't checked. i have not figured out yet whether you get your draft posts. if you do they're not in their own folder they're just mixed in with the rest.

the html formatting, however, is dogshit. even of the dms. the dm conversations are literally presented backwards.

#psa

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writingescapades · 2 months ago

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In the Rain

Fields of Mistria: Balor, Rhys, March, Caldarus

A/N: It's been raining a lot here, so got inspired. Sorry if the characterization seems off. I'm playing the game slow and don't have all the lore and heart events. (I'm dying for an update where we get multiple save files. How will I romance them all????)

Balor

The rain always reduced the number of customers. It made for slippery paths as muddy water sloshed worn clothing. One always became soaked, not matter how well covered they attempted to be. Worst of all, the rain almost always made Balor ill. Suffice to say, Balor disliked the rain.

What the rain taught him was the comfort of shelter. The warmth of an enclosed spaced filled with music and laughter. The fullness of a hearty meal as rainwater serenaded him, and the soft thunder that lulled him to sleep. The rain was a temptation towards indulgence. It was different to experience a space to just exist in and not commoditize. Balor never knew how to feel about that. It enticed him but it also bit at him, as if the rain was attempting to domesticate him. Thankfully, the rain would always end.

It was on a rainy day that Balor, heading towards the inn, stumbled upon you. He instinctively invited you into the inn, especially once he registered your drenched state, but you only shook your head and turned your attention elsewhere. Once inside the inn, Balor surrender once more to the cozy environment. He sat on a bar stool waiting for the familiar warmth to wrap around him once more, holding him there till either the rain stopped, or he stumbled upstairs half asleep. But this time, Balor remained cold.

He kept remembering you. Your clothes and that flimsy hat would not last long under this downpour, yet you did not seem to mind. Instead, you face seemed focused. Balor tried to put his thoughts aside. Tried to chat with the locals, but 30 min later, he felt no different. It was only when Hemlock chided Balor to get on with what he really needed to do, that Balor finally escaped the inn.

He finally found you on the beach, fishing. Had he not been drenched, Balor would have laughed at the scene before him.

“What is so luring about fishing that I find the new farmer paying no heed to the rain?”

You turned and further confused Balor with a smirk. Did the rain not bother you?

“Some fishes only come out in the rain. Also, I seem to get a lot of treasure chests and sunken artifacts”.

Saying so, you pulled in your line to reveal an old treasure chest.

“Open it,” you urged.

It took some precarious locksmithing, but Balor finally opened the chest to reveal, a lump of wood. His expression must have been something for the cackle you let out.

“Sometimes they contain duds,” you consoled as you pulled in another chest.

This time, the box contained a bit of gold.

You urged him to keep the treasure, claiming it as his initiation into treasure hunting. Balor kept the gold, but his eyes locked out into the sea once more, excitement shining in his eyes. As he watched you cast out your line and waited for the next haul, Balor shivered. Maybe it was from the cold, and he probably would have a cold the next day. But the crisp air, the scent of the rain, the roaring of the sea all filled Balor with this familiar ache. He loved the inn and he’d grown on the people of Mistria. But comfort and desire were different, and Balor’s heart beat for this moment right here, where everything was just bit against him and the only thing that would save him rested on a silver line. A line you pulled and cast repeatedly until the moon was up and the rain finally stopped. Many treasure chests and artifacts were found, but for Balor the best treasure was discovered a new way to appreciate the rain.

Rhys

Rain and Carpenters were probably mortal enemies. Afterall, wet wood would worsen wealth for any carpenter. There was always a new customer, unaccustomed to wood composition who got upset when they discovered the damage the rain could do on wood. Like clockwork, the day after a rainfall always had Rhys running around fixing the damages and making repairs.

In anticipation of this, Rhys got into the habit of preparing on rainy days. It just saved time, though it took away from his other hobbies. His uncle always chided Rhys for working too hard, but he couldn’t persuade Rhys much, especially since Rhys’s hard work benefited the business. It was on such a day, where Rhys was walking out to the village square to pick up some supplies that he bumped into you.

You were lying on the ground, spread out like a starfish. Alarmed, Rhys immediately headed towards you to check if everything was well. Your closed eyes did not alleviate the situation, but the smile on your face made Rhys exhale a laugh and call out your name.

You didn’t open your eyes, but hummed along to his questions of concern. Rhys quickly understood that you were just being yourself. For quiet, calm, reliable Rhys, you were interesting. You did what you wanted with little care for the consequences or the opinions of others. It was, interesting and tempting, though Rhys was reluctant to admit it. He was about to go and leave you once more, when you turned towards him, shielding your face with your arm and spoke.

“Stay”.

It wasn’t an order, nor a job. Rhys should refuse. He should go to the market. He should work on new fences, bird feeders, fire circles for tomorrow. He should check the house and make sure everything is intact. He should not close his umbrella. He should not lie down like you, and he definitely should not smile as he got drenched. But Rhys did so.

It felt nice. That was a lie. It felt wonderful. The air really felt different in the rain. It smelled different. And the sensation of raindrops became soothing after a while, each drop a little greeting from nature. It was fun, and suddenly Rhys recalled all the projects he pushed to the side in order to work. All the nights he found himself awake, arms aching not from a hard day’s work, but from the lack of creative output. Rhy loved being a carpenter, and he was good at it. Yet, nothing compared to working on something that had no expectations, were Rhys could just be.

Rhys did not know how long you both lay there. No villager passed by. They were all probably at the inn anyway, passing time till the rain stopped. He probably would have joined them after a few urges, but now Rhys realized, that the warmth of the inn could not compare to the warmth of your hand. Infinitesimally less warm than the inn, Rhys still held on tight to your hand as his heart soared with an excitement he had stored away. He would not go home and work after the rain stopped. He would find those projects and, after a long time, he would have fun.

March

March always worked, rain or shine. A blacksmith’s work was always in demand. Even with his brother, the duo always put in long hours, but the pay off was well worth it. Though it was somewhat egotistical of him, March prided in knowing that he and his brother built this village. Thus, over the time, March became immune to the weather. It was just another day.

He was out making deliveries when he spotted you. You were walking, rather slowly, without an umbrella.

“Are you dumb?” March huffed out when he caught up with you, placing the umbrella above both of you. it wasn’t made for two, forcing March to put up with you drawing closer.

“Where’s your umbrella?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” you asked back.

March scoffed. Sense of adventure. Please. Just because you went into the mines to discover, didn’t mean March did the same. March went to the mines to collect resources. He did not pick up odd things. He did not talk to statues. He made practical tools and armour out the materials. That was all. There was no adventure to life. There was just the skill one developed when one worked hard.

But you would always ask him this question when he challenged your ways. March knew he should comment on your lifestyle. You never did so for him. But he couldn’t help it. There was something about you that irritated March, and seeing you be so, so, so unlike him yet so beloved fueled that irritation. Years as a Blacksmith trained March for expected results. He knew how to craft complex tools from a series of repeated motions and heat. When you came with your grandiose designs, March immediately rejected them, saying it was impossible. He shook his head when he saw you at the smithing table, failing over and over again. On the odd chance that something actually worked, March only sneered claiming it wouldn’t last long. He never learned if they did.

That’s all he did around everyone. Grumble, complain, ridicule. Even now he complained about having to hold his delivery and balance the umbrella over the two of you. Eventually you rolled your eyes, sighed, and took the umbrella. You both made it to his delivery address when March told you to keep the umbrella.

“If you get sick and die, I won’t have you haunting me because I didn’t give you the umbrella,” he muttered and all but shoved you off on your path.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance before a cold smile crept up your face, sending shivers down March. You walked a few steps with the umbrella, then suddenly flung it behind you and scampered off.

“Oy!” March yelled out to the sound of your laughter. You were moving fast, but he still caught your words in the rain.

“You would make the afterlife interesting for me to hang around?”

March picked up the umbrella and uselessly shook it before placing it above him once more. He made his way home but stopped at the blacksmith table. There was an item, one of your designs. Of no practical purpose and rudimentary. But it lasted. March quickly brought in the item and dried it. Staring at the object he traced the metal as his brain started to plan out ways to improve the object. To make it more attractive for customers, or to offer it as a decorative item detail. He could make hundreds of the improved model, but March would always keep this rudimentary one on his desk. It was a reminder; of that cold smile you always gave him before you set out prove him wrong. The one that sent shivers down March, not because it intimidated him, but because it awoke a slumbering excitement. A competition that had to last a lifetime, because March did not know how to make life an adventure without you.

Caldarus

Caldarus experienced rain for millenniums as a dragon and as a stone. It was different as a stone because though he knew when it rained, he couldn’t experience it as a living creature. It wasn’t until you moved into the acre of forest where his statue lay, that Caldarus was provided the opportunity to experience rain again.

You both developed a habit of sitting together in the rain. It was Caldarus who initiated the activity, concerned at seeing you work in the rain. If the rain was nature’s way to put a pause on life, then why were you working? When you sat beside him the first time, you fidgeted a lot, unused to doing nothing. You began to talk and ask him questions, and though Caldarus enjoyed your conversations, he intentionally slowed his responses to push you into experiencing the moment. It took time, but you changed. You slowed down. Took more breaks. Did nothing. Said nothing, and basked in the comfort only a familiar and age-old company can provide.

Then everything changed and Caldarus experienced rain differently for the third time. Experiencing rain in the human form was quite different. As a dragon, Caldarus paid no heed to the rain. It was more of a bath if anything else. As a stone, it was something he merely sensed through his magic. In both forms, rain allowed Caldarus to watch the world be cleaned. To experience a moment of silence as all sounds fell under the sound of rain. But as a human, the rain altered all his senses. He could hear it, smell it, feel it, even taste it. It was all wonderful and all too much. He now understood why many rushed to shelter, after all, who could endure this onslaught of the senses for longer durations?

In his human form, Caldarus expected rainy days with you to cease. He thought you would prefer time indoors as most humans did. But instead, Caldarus found your sitting on a stone bench, doing nothing.

“Dear one, why are you sitting on the bench? Would you not prefer the warmth of your home?”

You laughed and gave Caldarus a cheeky smile.

“Can’t stand the rain anymore Caldarus? What happened to experiencing nature’s pause?”

Caldarus ducked his head and looked away. The number of times he asked you to sit beside him in the rain, not once it crossed his mind that this act might make you sick. He opened his mouth to apologize for this negligence, when he saw your outstretched hand. Tentatively holding it, Caldarus found himself being pulled towards you. He landed on the stone bench while you sat on the ground beside him. The familiar positions you took when he was stone.

“I want to experience this moment with you, Caldarus”.

He would never tire of hearing you say his name, nor of spending time with you. It was a world you both created, a language you both understood, and a familiarity that long eluded Caldarus. He would forever cherish it.

“Of course, dear one”.

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peariote · 9 months ago

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heyyy I was wondering if you’d be up to maybe writing a Victoria Nueman fic where maybe the reader is like a supe who’s not well known at all in like their personal life, antisocial, they’re very exclusive and maybe they’re genuinely like a myth, like some sort of phantom or something and maybe they’ve been tasked(by themselves, after hearing about how she was in danger) to watch over Victoria from afar until they actually have to step in and save her from being jumped and maybe her powers were blocked so she couldn’t fight back and so reader finishes them off for her? and maybe like it turns out that they were also at red river when they were young and them and Victoria were friends so that’s why they had been watching over her. Like a guardian angel or like a guard dog. so like a gn!reader.

- 👁

Guardian Angel - Victoria Neuman

omg yesssss ty warnings: none? idk lmk

Most Supes weren’t exactly… subtle. Big, flashy displays and exaggeration of power were Vought’s M.O. Snatching up every Supe that made it to the top of the rankings, perfected super speed and strength and showmanship, with an ego the size of Texas.

You were… less like that.

With powers that allowed you to slip into shadow, and the personality to match, Vought overlooked you. Saw a mediocre crime fighting major and didn’t think twice. You liked it that way.

After school, you were assigned to any small town. Some place that led you to disappear even more, somewhere with no more troubles than cats stuck in trees and dumb teen robbing the gas station. Most of the time, the police dealt with everything, not needing you to even intervene.

It allowed you to slip away whenever you wished, exploring the country through its shadows. Slipping in and out of places hadn’t always been this easy. But, with years sneaking yourself (and another, once upon a time) out of the orphanage had lead to a skill honed liked a knife. It also led you to… interesting career paths. Let’s just say that.

Being a PI was boring and thankless. Cheating spouses and pending divorcees were your usual clientele. Occasionally, though, you’d get an interesting case. Like protecting the soon-to-be Vice President.

Sneaking into her house was easy. Even with the increased security, and random cameras on every corner of NYC, slipping in under the door, body melding with the shadows was so, so easy. What caught you off guard was not the government files you found in her office, no—but the countless familiar items, sparking childhood memories. Not of Victoria Neuman, but Nadia. Your scared little friend, who was attached to your hip day and night (really. You slept in the same bed more nights than not).

A locket, showing her parents. The same one she revealed with trembling fingers one cold night, months into your joined stay. Or maybe her journal, pages delicate and yellowed from age.

The kicker—the one thing that truly incriminated her was her daughter. You didn’t mean to see her. You usually only survey rooms and leave, planting cameras in the dark corners. Yet, there she was, sleeping. A spitting image of the girl you once knew, young and soft.

You had to get out of there, but not before seeing her. There, sat at her desk, head a weary weight on one hand. Even with small marks of stress and age, she's still recognizable. This is about so much more than the money now.

Weeks of surveillance. It’s more time than you usually take. Instead of pictures of infidelity and sin, notes about drug drop-offs and mistress names, you’re greeted by pictures of her, notes that don’t relate to her protection. How she likes her bagels, or her coffee. How long she works, when she gets home. There are even a few notes about her daughter’s preferences—a favorite color, beloved character, and how she’s doing in school.

You were bound to get caught, one of these days. Sneaking around her house, knowing how protective she is about her daughter? Oh, you had a death wish. It’s just a normal surveillance—slipping through the shadows, notepad tucked in your pocket and a digital camera against your breast—

Unceremoniously, you’re grabbed, yanked from the protection of darkness. Sent sprawling and tumbling over the hardwood floors of her office, the one you’d almost memorized by now, you’re greeted by a familiar, pissed face.

“If you don’t tell me why you’re here, I’m calling the police—“ when your mask is ripped off by her callous hand, she gapes as wide as her training will allow her—barely a brief widening of eyes. A breath of your name is breathed, before she’s rearing back again. “What are you doing in my house. You didn’t think I wouldn’t catch you?”

No more sweet bedmate. She’s gone steely in your view, drawing back as if to protect herself.

“Nadia—I’m not here for… I was here for a job. Protect you.” Immediately comes your reasoning. Please, please believe me.

She seems too, if only minutely. Softening, just that little bit.

“You promise?” She murmurs lowly, a wary note to her words. Even then, she’s still idealistic—trusting of the ones she loves. Are you still one of them?

“Promise.” Is equally low and murmured, a pinky automatically extended. The juvenile routine, still ingrained in both your minds. Your hands meet pinky first, other fingers tentatively twining after the promise as she hauls you up.

Warmth is all you can feel as you’re barreled into. She’s not tall by any means—but she’s solid, with warm hands and soft hair against your skin. Wrapping you up in that all-too-familiar bear hug, as though you’d never reunite. Mumbled words against your skin and soft breaths meld, in this unlikely place. Meeting again, a decade-and-a-half later.

#kiera's fics #victoria neuman #victoria neuman x reader #the boys

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addiepaca · 4 months ago

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#01 Blue Hour Talks

“Are you an idiot?” Medic glared at the Villain, their eyes slightly narrowed while they wrapped a bandage on the other’s arm. “What?” The Villain, slightly baffled at the sudden jab that broke the peaceful silence. They had hoped to at least get some slack after the disastrous fight in the warehouse last night. Bags clearly visible under their eyes after barely getting any sleep for the past few weeks and their body riddled with fresh cuts and bruises.

“Did you really let the Hero beat you because they seemed ‘under the weather’?” They tighten the bandage around their arm, causing some tension in their already strained muscles. “I did not, I just didn’t want to fight a sick hero,” Villain cleared their throat. The two had been throwing punches like usual when the Hero’s eyes seemed hazy, their breathing uneven and their face slightly paler than usual. Their moves were also lacking the typical force and precision, the Villain dodging every blow with ease it was almost laughable. Though the thought seemed to churn the Villain’s stomach with an uncomfortable feeling. Probably pity or something.

“Right, whatever helps you sleep better.”

Medic finished wrapping up their arm and leaned back on their seat, crossing their legs. Turning their attention to what the Villain assumed was their patient file. Villain scoffed lightly, pulling down the sleeve to cover their arm and rolling their eyes. “You know I’m really not appreciating your judgmental comments,” they sneered, brows furrowing as they rested their chin on their hand, pouting like a petulant child.

“I don’t get paid enough to keep those comments to myself,” Medic didn’t look up from the stack of papers in their hands, noting something down with barely readable handwriting on one of the pages. “You don’t get paid for this at all,” Villain retorted.

Medic finally shifted their gaze and groaned, hitting Villain on the head with their own file which made the other gasp in disbelief. “You’re right, it’s charity work. Be grateful I’m even listening to your nonsense,” Medic grumbled. Throwing the papers on their lap for them to read later. “Oh shut it,” they muttered under their breath.

It’s not like the Villain cared or anything, they just happened to be a considerate person. Besides, what good would beating a sick hero be? It’ll be too easy, too boring and definitely not worth their time. Villain had better things to do than prolonging the fight that night, like getting a few minutes of sleep before inevitably failing to get some rest. Eventually dragging themselves to the infirmary to treat the wounds they had been too lazy acknowledge.

“Really, how long are you going to keep this up?” Medic sighed, their eyes scanning over them with a thinly veiled exasperation. Villain, sprawled up on the patient bed with arms folded across their chest raised a brow at the vague question. “Keep what up?”

Medic made a strange gesture with their hands. “This ‘thing’ with the hero,” Swirling their left hand around unceremoniously while scrutinizing the Villain, their face almost looked annoyed. That fact, for whatever reason, made Villain just as irritated. Why couldn’t people mind their own business anymore?

“There is no ‘thing’ between us,” Villain said with a stern tone. Leaving no room for interjections as they glared at Medic. If they were allowed to punch medical personnel on company time, this ridiculous conversation wouldn’t even be happening right now. Medic pursed their lips with a sceptical expression on their face.

“Right,” they replied.

“Right.”

A moment of silence passed over them, as if to let the words sink in before Medic started persisting again.“So there’s nothing going on between you two?” They tilted their head in curiosity like a cat. Villain fought the urge to roll their eyes and rubbed their temples instead, surprisingly taking a second to think before answering. “Other than the usual hatred and disgust, no.” The other hummed in acknowledgement, nodding as they took in the Villain’s reply. “So if the Hero were to start seeing someone else, you wouldn’t mind?”

The sudden hypothetical caught the Villain’s attention, making them flinch and glare at their sibling, dumbfounded. “What kind of question is that?!” Their voice slightly raised, though they didn’t mean to come off as harsh, the provoking question just irked them. Medic scoffed, a mocking smile playing on their lips as they brushed off their aggression. “Just answer it,” they urged.

Villain bristled at the smug look on their face, weighing the consequences of knocking them out right now. “I don’t care who they see or don’t see, they’re not important to me.” They lied, the thought of it brought some discomfort to the Villain. After all, who has time for relationships when you’re busy fighting crime? Why would you not devote your utmost attention to your enemy? It’s absurd to think their the Hero would start to stop paying their attention to the Villain in favor of their spouse. The Villain had almost forgotten the fact that the question was a hypothetical.

“Okay,” Medic raised their hands in the air in a defeated gesture while averting their gaze. The corners of their lips twitching to hide a smile, undoubtedly. They leaned back in their chair again, quietly reaching out for the TV remote on the nearby desk. “You don’t believe me,” the words came out from the Villain’s mouth as more of a statement than a question. It wasn’t particularly hard to tell when Medic didn’t believe their half-assed lies. The derisive tone seemed to run in the family after all.

The TV screen lights up the dimly lit room, causing the Villain’s eye to twitch as they adjusted to the brightness. “I believe you, I’m not sure if you believe yourself,” Medic feigned indifference as they casually propped their feet on the bed. “Shut up,” Villain remarked. Kicking their feet away with a grumble, earning an annoyed scoff from Medic.

“At least say thank you for patching you up,” they pressed the buttons on the remote, rapidly switching between channels while humming. The Villain slumped on their bed, stretching their bandaged arm carefully, almost forgetting the fact that their body hurt like hell. “No.”

Medic turned their head towards them and huffed out an annoyed breath. “Say thank you or I’m telling mum you ended up in the clinic again.”

“Why do you always pull that card?” Villain had the urge to throw them out of the room, but relented given their threat. Which they knew wasn’t a bluff. “Because it always works,” Medic shrugged as if it was a common fact.

Villain groaned and leaned their head against the headboard, running their hands through their ruffled hair. “Thanks, happy now?” they gave in. Secretly fearing the wrath of a certain woman who they haven’t called in a month.

“Good enough,” Medic smiled smugly. Putting away the remote after settling on the news channel, one of the few that was interesting enough to capture their attention.

“Freak,” Villain muttered under their breath.

“Loser,” Medic replied.

The news flashed a clip of various heroes being awarded a few days ago, smiling and waving to the locals. Their hero inching closer to a certain rookie who hadn’t even been in the business for a year, hand in hand as they laughed softly together, lost in their own world. The Villain clenched their jaw.

part 2

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walkintomymystery · 6 months ago

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Fall Into Me

(Set after Sonic 3 - Alternate Ending)

Defeated, world-weary, and impossibly lost, Shadow allows himself to be taken back into G.U.N custody. While they decide his fate, he is housed in a secret facility hidden deep in the heart of one of the country's National Parks. Still reeling from the heartbreaks that have shaped his life, Shadow never expected to find the closest thing to a home he'd known in over fifty years.

Pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x Original Female Character

Warnings for this chapter: a little about not eating/sleeping, a bit of action but no blood

Chapter Four

Shadow stared emptily at the wall opposite him. It had been another long night.

His self-inflicted confinement wasn’t so harsh really; he’d always been fairly adept at amusing himself. Without Maria by his side, the ARK had been a lonely place, and when she was too sick for him to visit, Shadow had to find ways to keep his mind busy.

The days were easy. He re-read his books, combed the room for cameras and bugs again and again, and tried to build a mental map of the base, for future reference. Shadow also found a chessboard tucked away in the bottom of his closet and had whiled away many hours beating himself in game after game.

He’d be alright, if it wasn’t for the nights. Time passed so slowly in that other world. In the deep violet twilight, Shadow could practically feel each second easing by.

The silence made his head hurt, and all he could do was stare and stare, and try in vain to keep his thoughts from wandering to places he’d safely locked away, never to be opened again.

Shadow still hadn’t slept. If anything, avoiding sleep had only gotten easier with each passing day, as if he’d finally pushed through and out the other side of his fatigue. Now insomnia clawed at him, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep if he wanted to. The thought of resting, of letting his guard down and surrendering to that exhaustion, filled him with more dread than ever before.

His empty stomach twisted and wrung itself in the pit of his belly, begging for food. It had been two days since he last ventured out, since he last ate anything, since he last saw Kit, and Shadow could feel his now mortal body growing weaker and weaker with every hour.

He’d considered sneaking out to the cafeteria, but every time he got close to caving, he was reminded that Kit was able to hear his every move, even from down the corridor. Sometimes, Shadow amused himself by muttering under his breath, cursing her and the people who kept him here, just in case she happened to be listening.

He didn’t want to give her or any soldiers the satisfaction of catching him sneaking out, so Shadow stayed locked up in his room, trying to formulate a plan.

All the information he’d gathered from the books Kit had left for him had been carefully stored away in his brain, filed and categorised for future reference. It would be hard to find someone on Earth who knew about Northern Montana than Shadow did, much to his dismay.

Consisting of just over a million acres, Glacier National Park was an enormous place to be lost in. There were mountains to traverse, over 130 lakes, thick brush, wild animals, tundras and prairies.

Even if he did manage to find the Going-to-the-Sun Road, the highway ran for fifty miles before it reached any kind of civilisation, and what then?

Without his powers, Shadow had no way off this planet. They’d catch up with him eventually, and he’d be right back where he started. But if he kept to the dense shrub, then it would take even longer to get away from The Hill.

Shadow sifted through the facts and figures he’d committed to his expansive memory. According to one of the books he’d devoured, 75% of the park still remained untouched, useful for keeping hidden, but he would have trouble finding his way.

Shadow sighed and lay down on the bed to stare up at the ceiling instead.

There was a way out of every trap. He’d learnt that the hard way. He just had to find it.

Shadow and Kit soon fell into a routine again. As he refused to sleep or leave his room, their morning and nightly rituals were his only way of keeping track of time.

In the mornings, Kit knocked and asked if he’d like to explore the woodland with her, or if he wanted to meet some of the people who worked at The Hill. Every morning, he ignored her, and she went away with a sigh.

Every evening, Kit would knock to tell Shadow that dinner was ready and that she’d love to see him in the cafeteria, before giving up and walking away again.

But tonight was different. When Kit knocked at the door at the usual time, she hesitated before speaking.

In the dark of his room, Shadow raised his head. The light from the hallway seeped under the door, casting a golden rectangle on the floor. He watched Kit’s shadow shift nervously from foot to foot, restless and uncertain, framed by yellow light.

“Shadow?”

Her voice sounded softer than usual, as if through ignoring her, he’d finally worn away its edge.

Kit knocked again.

He could imagine her ridiculous ears swivelling in every direction, trying to pick out his movements beneath the laughter in the next room, and the blaring television noise down the hall.

“I brought you those books you asked for. If you want, I can take away the ones you’ve finished?” She paused, then tentatively added, “I’d love to know what you thought?”

Shadow almost ignored her, but curiosity got the better of him. Though she was deceptive and annoyingly cavalier about his imprisonment, something about Kit made him want to look again, to take his time.

Shadow had tried to picture her in his head a few times but could never summon a complete image of her. Snatches of her bright, lavender eyes, her short, sharp black claws, and the dagger of her smile flashed through his mind, but Shadow found it hard to piece them all together into one person.

He could recall her voice though, as clear as a bell. Low and soft, clearly smart, enough to toy with her words and with him, but never cruel. And when she called his name through the door, Shadow found himself surrendering to that curiosity despite his better judgment.

Kit seemed even more surprised that he’d opened the door than he was. She smiled, and for the first time, it felt genuine and perhaps even a little shy.

“Hi, Shadow.”

He huffed in response, and felt a surge of victory when Kit’s smile dropped a little.

“What did you ask about the books?”

“What? Oh, I asked if you liked them?”

“Why?”

Kit glanced away, then back to him, confused.

“They were mine first. I’ve read them too. I just wondered what you thought of them.”

“Why?”

Kit only looked more confused.

“What?”

“Why?”

”Because,” She shrugged, her voice cracking as she searched for an answer. “I want to know your opinion. I’m interested.”

“In me?”

“Well,” Kit looked sheepish. “Yeah.”

Taken-aback, Shadow set his teeth.

Who was this fox? She moved and changed like the phases of the moon, one moment tough and inscrutable, the next earnest and forthcoming, and now this.

Kit shifted awkwardly from foot to foot again, reshuffling the small stack of books she held in her arms. Conversely, Shadow remained absolutely still, like a moss-patched statue.

It was Friday night, not that that meant anything to Shadow. The corridor was empty but most of the doors had been left ajar, like a college dorm. People could move easily to and fro, some just poking their head around the door, while others brought beer and snacks to share with their friends.

“How are you feeling?”

Kit kept her voice low. Though no one was paying them the least bit of attention, she didn’t want to be overheard.

Shadow’s frown deepened.

“How am I feeling?” he repeated incredulously.

“Fair enough. Stupid question. That’s on me.” Kit held up her hands to show him the books she’d brought for him. “Here. I raided the library. Well, we call it that but it’s more like a big…”

She trailed off, sensing he wasn’t in the mood.

“Anyway, the point is… Books.”

Shadow hesitated, then took the small stack she passed to him, being careful not to let their hands brush.

Something was wrong.

Kit looked nervous. He didn’t think he’d ever seen that before. Even in their first meeting, when he knew she must’ve been on high alert, she had maintained a mask of calm. Now, Kit’s soft lavender eyes were wide, and her gaze kept flicking to the left, down the corridor, as if she anticipated someone coming around the corner.

She fidgeted in the doorway, and he wondered momentarily if she was waiting for him to invite her in. But then Kit forced a smile again and her anxious hands stilled.

“I’m sorry about the other day. You’re right, we don’t know each other yet, I shouldn’t make assumptions. But I’d like to know you. And I’d like you to know me. Maybe even trust me. We really don’t expect anything of you, Shadow. We just want you to feel at home while you’re here, so… When I knock for you tomorrow, will you come to the door?”

Shadow wasn’t sure how to respond. He’d always appreciated candour, and others being straightforward with him, but an apology had completely blindsided him.

Again, he considered how little he understood about Kit, her motives, her actions, her attitude towards him. She shifted and reformed like the clouds, never settling in one place for very long before she reshaped herself.

He hated the unpredictable, and he couldn’t wrap his head around her. Shadow didn’t know if she was throwing everything she could think of at him to see what stuck, or if she was just as uncertain of how to navigate their relationship as he was.

“I just…” Her gaze rose to the ceiling briefly, then back to Shadow. “I just want you to feel as at home here as I do.”

“How can you ask that of me?”

Shadow readjusted the books in his hands, and Kit watched his movements, innocuous as they were. Still wary of him then, despite everything she said, despite the power she had over him.

“I know, I know…” Kit gave him a weak smile. “But I think we have more in common than you think. I-”

The laughter coming from next-door rose suddenly and Kit turned her head towards the sound, startled. When she looked back at him, her mask was back in place.

“I asked about your shoes. You should have them back soon but… I’m sorry. I did try.”

“What are they doing with them?” Shadow’s grip tightened on the books until his nails came close to puncturing the tough material of his gloves. “They were given… They’re important to me.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll keep asking. I promise.”

For some reason, Shadow believed her.

Kit took a tentative step closer, and he fought the instinct not to move away.

“Will you come tomorrow?”

Again, her eyes darted down the hallway, as if she was waiting for someone to come around the corner at any moment.

Was she not supposed to be here? No, that couldn’t be it. As Kit had reminded him many times, they were both allowed to wander around the base as they pleased, he just couldn’t leave.

So what then? She was allowed to be here, it was her job to speak to him… Perhaps Kit was saying things she ought not to be and was afraid of being overheard. But Kit was also, as she put it, a ‘guest’. She seemed right at home, practically one of the family. What did she have to be afraid of?

Shadow scowled. He felt exhausted and ravenous and weak, and the last thing he wanted to do right now was unpack the riddle of his captors.

“Will you ever leave me alone?”

“Never.” Kit smirked. “I told you, I’m persistent. This place… It means a lot to me. It could mean a lot to you too. I know it.”

“Why would I-”

“Because you don’t have a home. And this could be it. We could be… You could be happy. This is a good place, Shadow.”

He sighed.

“So you keep saying.”

Shadow had never been very good at reading people and their intentions. Keeping others at arm’s length tended to deal with that neatly, and Kit was no exception. But she seemed genuine enough.

In the low light of the hall, Kit’s eyes shone, open and honest, her small hands folded in front of her. He watched her thumb rub anxiously back and forth across the backs of her fingers, then his gaze found the brass rings snapped around her wrists. His own still buzzed angrily, sending short bursts of pain shooting through his marrow.

Shadow sighed again.

“I want my shoes back.”

Sensing an impending surrender, Kit brightened.

“I will get them for you, I promise. Cross my heart.”

With her index finger, she traced an X over the left side of her chest.

It made Shadow’s stomach twist to see it. Maria used to do the same. Whenever she made a promise, she would raise her right hand while the other crossed her chest, and all with a huge smile. Kit’s smile was almost as bright.

Shadow huffed and pulled the books closer to his chest.

“See to it that you do.”

He didn’t give Kit a chance to respond. He tapped the door closed with the heel of his borrowed sneaker, then sat down at the table to read.

Shadow slid the books slowly off the pile and placed them down, one by one, on the table in another stack. A few were non-fiction, more information about the park, but there were a few novels as well. The titles seemed vaguely familiar, and he wondered if he’d seen them before in the ARK’s extensive library. Maria loved to read.

At the bottom of the pile, he found a small rectangular box, the same size and shape as the books, disguised in their midst by its dark colour.

Shadow frowned, glancing towards the door.

When he slipped his thumb under the plastic lid, he found it came off easily. Inside, neatly organised into different compartments, was dinner. Vegetables, chicken, some fruit, something sweet, all from the cafeteria, but whether it was his aching hunger or the way it had been presented, it looked like a meal fit for a king.

Shadow stared. He stared and stared some more.

Slowly, he picked up the plastic fork that had come with it and poked tentatively at the chicken. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted.

Though his stomach begged him to hurry, Shadow took his time, knowing he’d make himself sick if he ate too fast.

Had this been what Kit was so nervous about? She was supposed to be his keeper, the one to convince him that this was home now and he should make himself comfortable. Perhaps they’d told her she had to entice him out, with food and water and a breath of fresh air, and she’d defied them. Perhaps false kindness was part of her plan.

Head churning with second-guesses and double-bluffs, Shadow ate his dinner, read his borrowed books, and finally felt the gentle hand of sleep on shoulder, rather than the thorny snare of his nightmares.

That night, he slept peacefully for the first time in fifty years.

Kit rolled back and forth on her feet from heel to toe, working up the courage to knock on Shadow’s door.

She’d been awake for hours already, which wasn’t like her at all. Most of the base was usually up, dressed, and on the way to work before she was even able to crack open her eyes.

Since Shadow arrived, things had been a little different. She had a mission now, an important role that only she could fill, and Kit would rather die than disappoint the people that took her in when she had nothing.

Being Shadow’s keeper meant getting him to breakfast before the cafeteria closed, which meant getting up at a good time, even if she’d only managed to draw him out of his room a grand total of once, so far.

Today would be different though, she could feel it. Or maybe that was just blind, desperate optimism.

Kit pulled in a deep breath, then briskly knocked four times on the door, as if anything about the situation was ordinary.

“C’mon,” she whispered to herself as her ears circled left and right, searching for him. “C’mon, tough guy. Give me a break. I’m doing my best here.”

Kit almost punched the air in celebration when she heard shuffling movement behind the door.

She took a step back, giving Shadow space, and tried not to look too worried when he finally showed his face.

She knew he hadn't been sleeping. Sometimes, Kit awoke in the night to hear him shifting around in his room. It was faint and difficult to pinpoint amongst the others in the base, but once she got a lock on him, he was unmistakable. Shadow’s heartbeat was almost twice as fast as the humans that bracketed him, and he liked to huff and sigh to himself like an old man. Which, she supposed, he was.

His eyes had been so bright and stormy when he arrived. You could see the power crackling behind them, the rage and the fury that burned in his core. Now, he just looked tired and faint, like ink running off the page of a tear-stained letter.

Kit didn’t think pointing out how awful he looked would make Shadow any more agreeable, nor would suggesting he get some fresh air and then some rest. She didn’t think Shadow was open to taking any advice at all, least of all from her, so Kit stuck to what she knew.

“Morning, handsome.”

As expected, his response was gruff and terse, but Shadow did at least appear a little more amenable than he had the night before. The food must have done him some good. Which reminded her…

“I brought you breakfast.”

Kit pressed the handles of a small brown paper bag into his hand, being careful not to let their fingers brush, just as Shadow had the night before.

Shadow peered curiously inside.

“What is this?”

“Pancakes. They’re rare here so I thought I’d better snag you some before they went. They’re all boxed up so you can save them for later, if you want.”

She wasn't planning on this becoming the norm, but Kit simply couldn’t let Shadow’s hunger strike go on any longer.

“Here.”

She held out a steaming styrofoam cup, and Shadow hesitantly took it.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d like coffee or not but it’ll keep you warm either way. You’ll need it, it’s cold out today.”

Shadow scowled, first at the coffee, then at her.

“I don’t want it.”

Kit huffed.

“It’s not poisonous, Shadow. C’mon, it’ll make you feel better.”

He stared at her for a second, then Shadow lowered his head and gave the drink an experimental sniff.

The sharp smell of machine brewed coffee made his nose wrinkle, and Kit couldn’t blame him, it wasn’t the nicest stuff. Sometimes, Lisa brewed her own and that was infinitely tastier, but she hadn’t had time to ask.

Resigning himself to the situation, Shadow carefully wrapped his hand around the cup, then held it against the black sweater he wore, warming his chest through the material. It was the first and only time Kit had seen him be gentle.

“What do you want? What’s so important?” he asked.

“Lisa wants to meet you. I thought we could all go out onto the trail together.”

“Why would I want-”

“Lisa said she’d turn off your bracers. Or, at least, lower the inhibition rate.”

Kit glanced down at the rings around his wrists. Hers had only ever been switched on for a few minutes at a time, and only once or twice in all the time that she’d worn them. She remembered how it felt though, to have every ounce of life sapped from you as they buzzed and hummed through your bones.

She had mentioned the long-term effects of their use to Lisa. Shadow had been at the base for a week now, and his bracers had been permanently switched on, night and day. His back was starting to arch, and anyone could see how lifeless his eyes had become. He swayed slightly on unsteady feet, and if you looked closely, you could see that Shadow was trembling.

The bracers had never been used like that before, as far as Kit knew. But Lisa had reassured her that there would be no lasting effects; they would never do anything to harm Shadow. Kit had still looked concerned so Lisa promised that if he behaved, she would switch them off.

“It might make you feel better,” Kit said quietly, looking him up and down again, her chest tight.

Whether he’d finally realised that he could trust her, or his will had bent and snapped like the bow of a cedar in a storm, Shadow closed his scarlet eyes with a sigh.

“Fine,” he said.

Kit grinned.

Shadow left his breakfast behind but took the coffee. Every so often, he took an experimental sip, and seemed to hate it less every time.

Together, they trudged across the clearing towards the tree line.

It was a beautiful time of year in Glacier, before the snow settled, when the forest was still teeming with life and the burning orange and yellow leaves lay as a blanket of fire for them to follow.

The air was rich with woodsmoke and pine sap, and a gentle breeze brushed Kit’s cheeks as they made their way into the wood, which welcomed them with open arms.

She could feel Shadow’s eyes on her. He still didn’t trust her, that much was obvious, but she thought he might believe her when she said that no harm would ever come to him here. Then again, if she’d been through everything that Shadow had, Kit supposed she wouldn’t be very trusting either.

To her surprise, Shadow was the first one to break the silence.

“How long have you been here?”

Kit raised her hand to push away a low branch and held it aside, gesturing for Shadow to go past.

He regarded her curiously but did go on ahead.

“At The Hill?” she clarified.

“On Earth.”

Behind the tree line lay a foot-worn trail, carved out by many decades of hikers, and now the heavy, ridged boots of the soldiers. It wound deeper into the woods, curving behind a clutch of brilliant gold larches.

Kit knew these forests like the back of her hand. She surprised even herself. Sometimes, areas of the park felt familiar, even if they were entirely new to her, as if the whole wood was music on a stave and she could read every note intuitively. The park just made sense to her, this world made sense to her, even when nothing else did.

“To be honest,” Kit said. “I’m not sure. I think it’s been around six months.”

Shadow stopped and turned to her. He looked suddenly uncomfortable to be leading the way. It meant his back was to her, and though Kit wanted to show him that she wasn’t ever going to hurt him, she gave him this, and took the lead again.

She heard Shadow begin to follow her, his soft-soled sneakers carefully picking through the fallen leaves. His heart was beginning to race in his chest, she could just about hear its soft melody under the forests’ chorus

“How can you not be sure?”

“I…” Kit readjusted, settling her voice. “I don’t remember how I got here.”

“How can you not remember?”

She stopped, one hand pressed against the solid, cracked trunk of a fir tree. Its envy-green needles stretched out all around it, granting shade and shelter to those who passed beneath.

It was one of her favourite trees in the forest. Sweet-smelling resin seeped from its leaves when crushed between her hands, and the bark was often beaded with sap blisters, a reminder that this forest was alive and breathing and watching.

Kit turned to Shadow to find him gazing at her curiously.

You could easily forget that he was new to this world, new to everything that wasn’t the dark hull of a spaceship, suspended above all life on this planet. He wasn’t from Earth, but he wasn’t quite alien either.

How tragic, Kit thought, to be from nowhere, to have no one, and to know that your one purpose was gone. It made her want to reach out, to expose frayed nerves of her own, despite the strict orders she’d been given.

“Apparently, I fell to Earth like a star. All I remember is a bright white circle of light. And pain. It hurt.”

Kit grimaced.

“A few of the rangers found me in the woods, all muddy and wet. I must’ve been laying there in the rain for hours. They brought me back here, patched me up... I couldn’t remember anything, not even my own name. I still can’t.”

It was a thought that haunted her like a second shadow. Where had she come from? No one seemed able to tell her. How had she come to be here? Did anyone miss her? Had she come to Earth of her own devices or had someone pushed her here? These questions kept Kit up throughout those first few terrifying nights at the base.

But the humans who saved her had quickly become family, and the desire to know what had happened to her and the ache of a home she couldn’t remember were starting to fade. Kit had a sense of purpose now, she had a mission. Her fears and worries could be put to the wayside. She had someone else to look after.

Shadow frowned.

“They named you?”

Kit couldn’t help following the arc of the red arches above his bright eyes, how they seemed to emphasise the slightest shifts in Shadow’s expression. She’d thought him so blank and impassive when they first met. Now in the bright morning sunlight, Kit could see that wasn’t the case. You just had to look closely enough.

“Lisa did,” she said, and watched Shadow’s frown deepen.

“So you are a prisoner too.”

“Guest.” Kit spread her arms, emphasising all the freedom they had granted him. “You don’t look like a prisoner to me.”

Shadow’s sharp eyes fell to the bracers snapped around her wrists.

“You don’t look like a guest to me.”

Kit’s good mood soured. He had a habit of doing that. Just when she thought they were getting along, or at least starting to, Shadow cut through to the bone. The weight of responsibility resting on her shoulders only grew heavier with every step he took back from her.

But she had faith. Kit had never been one to shy away from a challenge, and getting Shadow to trust her, trust her friends, was definitely that. This was a good place. He would see that too, soon enough.

Tired of talking, Kit turned and pushed further into the woods until the trail widened up into another, smaller clearing where Lisa was waiting for them.

Her face immediately broke out into a smile when she saw them coming, dislodging her round glasses. She had to push them further up her nose to stop them slipping off.

Lisa raised her hand and waved.

“Good morning, guys! It’s good to finally meet you, Shadow. My name’s Lisa, I’m the head researcher here at the Hill.”

Shadow hung back at the edge of the clearing. He looked Lisa up and down, scowling so deeply, Kit was worried he’d give himself a headache. It made her chest squeeze to see.

“You’re the one I have to thank for these,” he said gruffly, and held out his gloved hands, making the bracers glint in the sunlight.

Kit glanced nervously at Lisa.

She wanted, needed, Shadow to like Lisa, to trust her as she did. Kit knew the scientists would help him either way, and keep him safely hidden away from the world for as long as was necessary, but she couldn’t help thinking Shadow would be happier if he felt at home.

Selfish as it was, she was lonely. It would be nice to have a friend who knew what it felt like to be otherly on Earth.

Lisa pressed her lips together in thought, or perhaps sympathy. Pushing her glasses up her nose again, she took a step towards Shadow, reaching out to him with clever, gentle hands.

“I’m sorry. The adjustment period can be rough, but it’s the only solution we have.”

She knelt down in front of him so that they were at eye-level.

Shadow regarded her warily, his lip curling back in a snarl, baring one sharp fang that gleamed brilliant white against his dark fur.

He seemed so unnatural out here, amongst the deep greens and earthy browns. His sleek black body was so alien against the trees, his red markings a warning to others not to get too close.

“Hey,” Lisa smiled and poked his chest. “This sweater used to be mine. My sister gave it to me, and I gave it to Kit. Is it keeping you warm? It can get pretty cold out here at night, huh?”

Shadow said nothing, though he did look down at the black pullover he’d chosen that morning.

Sensing she wasn’t going to get much out of him, Lisa pushed up her sleeves.

“Here, let me take a look.”

Lisa wrapped her long fingers around one of his bracers without fear.

Kit noted that she spoke to Shadow like a colleague. They knew he was smart, his impressive IQ had been just one of the many astounding statistics in his file, so it seemed ridiculous to even consider talking down to him.

Shadow watched her closely but allowed Lisa to lift his hand and turn it over, palm up. Her deft, careful movements were so different to how he’d been treated in the past.

Kit couldn’t imagine how much effort it must take for Shadow to rein in the anger and frustration coursing through him and allow someone to get so close, especially a scientist, someone he didn’t know and had no reason to trust.

Her ears twitched, swivelling in his direction, and heard his heart skip a beat when Lisa carefully pulled his hand closer to her. He was afraid.

“Are they still hurting?” Lisa asked.

Kit flinched when Shadow’s gaze rose to meet hers over Lisa’s shoulder. He seemed… Embarrassed? As if he would rather Kit weren’t here, like she was interrupting something private, encroaching on doctor/patient confidentiality.

It occurred to her later that although Shadow claimed to hate scientists, he fell into the role of test subject very easily. It was home to him, familiar, but with no semblance of warmth or comfort to be found.

“I feel… Cold all the time,” Shadow said quietly, his gaze falling to watch Lisa’s hands again. “I feel the need to eat and to sleep. These are not urges I am used to.”

Lisa nodded sympathetically.

“The bracers cut you off from your powers. Without them, you’re just like everyone else. Hunger, exhaustion, pain… Hopefully, there’ll come a time where we can trust you, and you can trust us, and we won’t have to use them anymore.”

“Your pet still has them.”

Shadow’s sharp eyes found Kit again, and she scowled. She regretted reacting to that word so visibly when he first used it, now Shadow knew he had good ammunition against her.

It was a sore topic. Though most had welcomed her to the base with open arms, there were a few who apparently couldn’t resist antagonising her. They made her feel like a wild animal that the rangers had brought home one day, a mascot for the base. They were a reminder that she did not truly belong here, as much as she yearned for it with all her heart.

Lisa looked back over her shoulder and shot Kit a reassuring smile that made her chest feel a little less taut, then she turned back to Shadow.

“Kit’s powers are impressive. She can do things that fall right out of science fiction. Her bracers can help her channel her power as well as cut them off. Speaking of…”

Lisa straightened up and slipped her hands into the pockets of her army green jacket.

“How would you like to stretch your legs?”

Kit watched, hardly daring to breathe, as Lisa pulled out a small device from her pocket, almost like a television remote. There were a couple of buttons near the top and a dial set into the centre, sleek and black and designed to fit comfortably in Lisa’s hand.

Something in her chest twisted. Kit didn’t think it was a good idea to give Shadow anymore leniency then they already had. Even with his bracers, he was dangerous to be near to. One afternoon stroll through the forest where no one got hurt did not mean that the Ultimate Lifeform was in the mood to comply.

Kit opened her mouth to speak but stopped when Lisa looked her way. She didn’t have to say anything, a flash behind her dark eyes let Kit know that now was not a good time to interject.

Kit shut her mouth.

Lisa pressed her thumb against one of the buttons, then slowly turned the dial to the left.

Immediately, Shadow gasped, his coffee cup falling to the ground. His knees buckled beneath him and he staggered forward a step, only just catching himself on a nearby tree.

Kit instinctively took a step closer but Lisa silently held out her hand, warning her to stay where she was.

Shadow’s fingers dug into the rough bark of the tree, just barely keeping himself upright.

Kit knew what he was feeling. To abruptly jump from knowing nothing but an all-consuming numbness to feeling the power in your veins surging like an electrical current, it was almost too much to bear.

Shadow closed his eyes, his brow creased in concentration as he slowly rose to stand upright again. His back seemed straighter, his gloved hands balled into tight fists.

Shadow’s whole being was alight with the power that he’d been gifted at his creation. Kit could practically hear the energy cascading around his body.

Lisa wouldn’t have turned his bracers off completely, just lowered the inhibition rate enough to give Shadow some of his strength back. It wasn't enough to cause harm to others, but it would pull the most important scientific asset acquired in the last century back from the brink.

Shadow raised his head, and the whole forest seemed to bow in deference.

Fascinated, transfixed, Lisa grinned.

“Better?” she asked.

Shadow rolled his hands into fists.

“Much,” he said.

He didn’t let a single new second pass him by. Shadow bent his knees, drew in a lungful of clear, crisp air, then shot off into the woods, disappearing between the trees in the blink of an eye.

A quiet stillness fell in the clearing. There was only the gentle wind through the leaves to break the silence, and the sound of Kit’s own heartbeat thumping hard in her ears, her neck, her wrists. He’d acted just as Lisa predicted he would.

Beside her, the scientist took off her glasses to clean them on her sleeve. It was a habit Kit knew by heart, she often did it when she was thinking.

Lisa slipped her glasses back on, letting another few moments go by before she said,

“Kit?”

Though it made her heart sink in her chest, Kit nodded.

“On it.”

She caught up with Shadow quicker than she thought she might.

Though he had a speed advantage, his bracers were still switched on, even if their control had been reduced. He was not as fast as he was used to, and the strain it put on his body caused him to lose strength quickly. At least, that’s what Lisa had hypothesised.

Kit knew these woods as if she’d lived there all her life, every fallen tree trunk, every hillock and knoll, every bramble patch and streambank. Shadow’s senses were still dulled, while hers were sharp and focused. He had no idea where he was going; Kit would do anything to not disappoint her saviours.

A rush through the fallen, dry leaves to her left made Kit change direction on a pinhead and within seconds, she had eyes on Shadow. He ran across her path and she flung out her hands, knocking him off his feet with one burst of her power.

Shadow grunted as he hit the ground hard, rolling a few feet before finally ending up on his stomach. He immediately tried to get up, his worn, old sneakers scrabbling to find purchase on the carpet of silken leaves beneath him, but Kit waved her hand, pressing him down against the earth.

It came as naturally to her as breathing. With Lisa’s help, she’d only grown stronger. What had once required all her concentration now only warranted a passing thought, what had once been a tremendous effort was now just a flex of her muscles.

“You see how this works?”

Kit knelt down beside Shadow, her hand held out at her side. Fingers splayed, she held him in that position, focusing all her energy to the palm of her hand.

“If you behave, you get your freedom. If you try to run, I take you down.”

Shadow managed to turn his head, his cheek pressing into the dirt. He bared his teeth, his whole body trembling as he fought against her, but he barely managed to move an inch.

“I was right,” he spat, “You are their pet. Just an attack dog, to keep me trapped here.”

His words stung but Kit brushed the feeling away.

“I’m on your side, Shadow.”

“Then let me go.”

Kit shook her head.

“It’s not up to me.”

Shadow growled deep in his throat as he tried to push himself up, but he couldn’t move his arms. He kept trying to hook his hands under his chest but Kit only had to circle her wrist and he was pinned tighter to the ground.

But then, to her horror, the bracer at her wrist started to hum.

“What-”

Kit gasped as a sudden rush, like ice cold water, suddenly spread throughout her entire body. Both her bracers buzzed and seemed to tighten around her wrists, clamping down until it felt claustrophobic.

Her concentration broken, Kit grabbed at them, trying to dig her fingers under the bands to tug them away from her skin, but the awful numbing sensation only grew stronger.

They were too deep into the forest. They were out of range, and the failsafe settings had kicked in.

Sharp pain shot through her, breaking through the sudden dull haze that enveloped her. Kit cried out and tried to grab at her ankle but Shadow had swung his leg around and knocked her off her feet.

The world flipped on its axis. Kit fell hard, jarring her forearms and elbows as she attempted to catch herself.

She blinked and Shadow was on top of her, his body heavy against hers. He held her legs down with just one of his own so that her feet kicked uselessly against the ground. His hands found her wrists, pinning them by her shoulders so that they twisted painfully.

“Why are you keeping me here?”

“Shadow-”

Kit sucked in a sharp breath as his fingers tightened around her wrists. She was sure he’d be cutting off the circulation if it weren’t for the bracers.

“Tell me!”

“They just want to study us!” Kit’s arms trembled as she tried in vain to push him off. “We’re still aliens, Shadow. They’re putting a lot of trust in us. We should be thankful for their kindness, for letting us stay here. Ou-Our powers could be used to help people.”

Kit’s eyes flew wide as Shadow lowered his head, closing in on what remained of her personal space, his nose just a breath away from hers.

“I am not a lab rat,” he seethed.

Despite the panic clawing at her throat, Kit managed a dry, strained laugh.

“Aren’t you?” she shot back.

As Shadow’s eyes narrowed, the terrifying, awful crackling that seemed to rise from his chest filled Kit’s ear. To her own disappointment, she gave a frightened whimper while her legs scrabbled uselessly beneath him.

As the light behind his eyes grew brighter, she could feel the hands that held her down growing hotter and hotter, sparking and cracking like red-hot embers as Shadow’s power manifested.

But then, Kit felt her bracers switch off again. She sucked in a deep breath as the world came rushing back to greet her.

With a rough cry, she splayed her fingers and sent Shadow flying backwards.

She didn’t have time to think. Shadow landed on his feet and immediately ran at her again.

Kit waved her hand and knocked him off course, sending him sprawling into a bank of burning red and yellow leaves.

Shadow groaned, but she knew it wasn’t her doing. His bracers had snapped back into life again, severing his connection to his powers.

Slowly, Shadow sat up on his elbows. His face was all screwed up with frustration, and Kit knew his once sharp senses were whirling around his head, just out of reach.

“If I help you,” he growled. “Will you let me go?”

“Shadow, if you help us, we can both get what we want.”

Kit shook out her hands, bending and arching her fingers. It was good to have her powers back safely in her grasp. It almost felt like pins and needles, the prickling, uncomfortable sensation of life returning to her.

“Lisa is trying to find a way to get me home. She can help you too.”

Shadow struggled to his feet, snarling.

“I have no home.”

“Then why are you trying to escape? Where are you running to?” Kit shook her head. “The faster you realise that this is a good place, the faster you can leave. Please help us, Shadow.”

The bracers at her wrist stuttered and died again. Kit’s teeth clenched together so hard, she almost bit through her tongue.

Shadow’s sharp gaze crossed her face, immediately sensing the shift in her.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he leapt forward and swung his fist at her head, but he wasn’t as fast or as strong as he was used to.

Kit managed to duck out of his way in time but still felt the power behind his fist as it whistled past her head.

Shadow swung again, this time grabbing onto one of her long ears and pulling down hard.

Kit shrieked, her hands flying to prise his off her, but Shadow flung her against the nearest tree trunk.

He pressed his forearm against her throat, not hard enough to choke her, but enough pressure to make Kit scrabble and panic as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Your powers,” Shadow leaned close again, crowding her body with his till she couldn’t move an inch. “Lisa said she was helping you grow stronger. What did she mean by that?”

Kit tried to tuck her fingers under his arm, hoping to pull it away from her throat, but Shadow just pressed down harder.

“Tell me!”

“She thinks I might be able to control more than the physical!”

Kit clung to his arm, raising her chin as far as she could to ease the strain on her windpipe, but it had little effect.

“She thinks, with time, I might be able to control the mind as well. See into people. The results are- Ah! They’re limited at the moment but I’m growing stronger with every session. That’s why she invented the bracers, to help me concentrate my powers.”

Shadow narrowed his eyes.

“And take away mine.”

Right on cue, Kit felt the bracers flicker into life again. She closed her eyes, reached out to her power, and pulled it back to her.

Shadow grunted as his back hit the rough bark of a nearby tree, scraping his skin and knocking the air from his lungs.

With her hand wrapped around her throat, Kit pulled in deep breath after deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart.

This was not what she thought convincing Shadow would look like. This was beyond anything she’d ever trained for.

Doubt clouded her mind but she tried to push through the fog. Lisa had entrusted her with this for a reason. She could do this. If Kit ever wanted to find out who she was, if she ever wanted to find a way home, she had to do this.

Kit sighed as she approached Shadow, disappointed that it had come to this. She’d never had to use her power for self defense before. It irked her that she obviously wasn’t very good at it.

“I’m sorry. But you’re just too dangerous, Shadow.”

Kit flicked her hand and lifted him a few feet off the ground, pinning Shadow against the tree trunk until he was forced to meet her gaze.

“They have no reason to trust you. Give them one.”

Shadow huffed. His arms hung limp at his sides now, all his fight gone.

“You can reach into people’s minds?”

Kit flattened the ear he’d grabbed and carefully ran her fingers along its edge, feeling for any tenderness and hissing between her teeth when she found it.

“Barely.”

“For now. How will I know you’re not controlling me?”

Again, Kit was surprised by how much his words hurt.

She didn’t think befriending Shadow would be easy, not by a long shot, but she thought she’d done enough to show that she just wanted him to be happy. Obviously, she was wrong.

Kit had to remind herself that Shadow was frightened, he was alone, and a very long way from everything he’d ever known. She could relate to that, but he didn’t seem to care.

Did he really think so little of her? Kit supposed they still hardly knew anything about each other, apart from what she’d read in the extensive, boggling notes left by Gerald Robotnik and G.U.N. She’d have to fix that. Maybe, if he let her, she could fix him too.

“Hopefully, we’ll get to know each other a little better over time, and you’ll realise what a ridiculous question that is.”

Kit raised her hand and slowly, carefully lowered Shadow to the ground.

She tensed, bracing for another attack, but instead, Shadow sank down, his back sliding against the tree trunk until he was sitting on the ground, his knees drawn up to his chest.

He watched her, and she watched him right back, the freak and the monster, alone in the woods.

At last, Shadow sighed.

“What could I possibly help you with?”

That was the million dollar question. Kit wasn’t sure just how much she was permitted to give away. They weren’t hiding anything from Shadow, not really, not forever. But he was already proving uncooperative and unpredictable. The finer details would be kept close to their chests. For now, all that mattered was making sure Shadow felt at home.

“Look after the forests,” Kit shrugged. “Help people. Learn about this planet. Tell Lisa everything you can about other worlds. And be kind to yourself.”

Kit offered him a wobbly sort of a smile, hoping to claw back some of their already tattered relationship, but of course, Shadow did not return it. He didn’t scoff or try to argue, though, and in that was one small glimmer of hope.

“Isn’t that what you’re for?” Shadow asked. “You’re my keeper, aren’t you?”

Kit began to smile properly then. Was that an attempt at humour? He was a strange one.

“You’re right. I haven’t been doing a very good job.” She moved closer, kicking a stray pebble aside with the toe of her shoe. “But I think you need to meet me halfway, Shadow.”

“Will you leave me alone?”

“I still think we could be good friends.”

Shadow huffed, and it was as close to a real, genuinely mirthful laugh that Kit had ever heard from him.

“You’re crazy,” Shadow muttered.

Kit took a few steps closer, but she wasn’t afraid. If Shadow tried anything, she could easily put him right back down. But he wouldn’t, she was sure of it. He was angry but he wasn’t stupid. He acted forcefully, not thoughtlessly.

“Maybe,” Kit said. “I don’t really know anything about who I am.”

She held out her hand to him, open and empty.

“Help me figure it out?”

Shadow stared at her palm.

She watched a hundred different emotions pass behind his eyes, flashes of light, uncertainty, fear, memories, and under it all, an aching, reaching, grasping, squeezing feeling of longing. He wanted to trust. He wanted to belong. Who didn’t?

Finally, Shadow took her hand and let Kit pull him to his feet.

“Okay.”

He awoke in the middle of the night again.

For a few moments, Shadow couldn’t breathe. All he knew were flashes of the inside of a laboratory, stark white walls, a cold metal gurney, and the most overwhelming sense of fear he’d ever known.

Shadow wasn’t sure what was worse, that awful, lonely room, or the blood-soaked pictures that usually haunted his dreams.

He felt better than he had in days but he still wasn’t comfortable. His belly was full, he’d been able to stretch his legs and feel his powers warming his body again, but he was still here, alone in the dark.

Just a few rooms away, Kit was sleeping soundly. He wondered what she dreamt about. She had even less than he had. No memories, no one to miss, not even the soft anguish of knowing you were once loved by another, even if that person was now gone.

Kit’s mask of amusement had slipped just a little when he asked her about it, and Shadow was granted a glimpse at the face beneath.

Something, something behind the soft lavender fields of her eyes, was guarded and sharp. He had prodded and poked and picked away at her and found something real and important at last.

Her hand had risen subconsciously to her wrist again, and fiddled with her bracer. Though she claimed she understood the reason behind their use, she didn’t seem completely comfortable with them. Heavy and clumsy, they slipped up and down her wrists as if she still wasn’t completely used to them, even after six months.

I don’t really know anything about who I am. Help me figure it out.

It was an antagonistic thing for her say. Shadow didn’t care about Kit. He didn’t care about this place and its mission. But curiosity, a need to understand his new circumstances, a desire to be free despite everything, forced him to recognise that knowing his captors would be the surest way of surviving them.

Shadow closed his eyes and slipped slowly off to sleep again, his dreams alight with sunbeams cutting through the leaf canopy, of the dewey grass against his fingertips, and the smile on Kit’s face when he agreed to help her.

Anything to shut her up and get her off his back. That smile was his ticket out here.

That smile.

Next Chapter

Master List

#shadow the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #shadow x oc #sth

76 notes · View notes

dmitriene · 2 years ago

Text

𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗨𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗕𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗚𝗘𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗖𝗟𝗢𝗦𝗘𝗥 𝗪𝗜𝗧𝗛 𝗙𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗕𝗢𝗬 𝗟𝗘𝗢𝗡.

❝𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗡𝗧❞ 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘣𝘰𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘬𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘺 𝘹 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 ❝𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗦❞ 𝘍𝘓𝘜𝘍𝘍, 𝘊𝘖𝘔𝘍𝘖𝘙𝘛, 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞, 𝘚𝘔𝘜𝘛 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘦𝘳, 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘩𝘰𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘤𝘩, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘴𝘶𝘣 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘢 𝘱𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘺, 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴

❝𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘❞ 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴.. 𝘢��𝘴𝘰, 𝘪 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘭𝘦𝘰𝘯 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘳𝘦4 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪 𝘢𝘥𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺..

✎ 𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵. 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘴. 𝘢𝘰3. ˑ༄

living through the wall with leon was, well, roughly speaking, unbearable, no matter how many pillows you tried to put on your head to drown out the noise behind the door, and no matter how much you kicked the door to his room, and even if you filed a complaint against him, no one in college seemed to care.

happy studying years in the end were nothing more than sleepless nights and irritation from every unnecessary noise, first because of it your healthy sleep suffers, and then also your reputation in college, because his whisper while he was purring something on the ear of your stupid classmate, was heard throughout the entire audience, and her squeaky giggle caused nothing but a desire to hit her on the head with a book.

of course, kennedy never stood on ceremony with any problems — someone else will do his homework for him, the curfew begins only when he has had enough time on his bike, and no one will punish him for the noise in the room because of his meetings with friends over a joint or a makeout session with one of his peers, all doors are open to him.

you, as a rule, did not come into his field of vision — he did not touch you, you did not touch him, if not fleeting meetings in the middle of the night in a cool corridor, when you stood shaggy and with black circles under your eyes, and he leaned on the doorway in nothing but gray sweatpants, making no attempt to hide his still proud erection as sweat dripped down his forehead, darkening his wheaten hair, his voice a little hoarse, growling — «you wanted something, bun?» sending a shiver down your spine, but you are tired of the endless noise.

— «can you be.. more quiet?» you were going to say confidently, but the voice itself escaped in a strained squeak in response to the strange nickname, causing the blue eyed bastard to have a bright grin instead of the usual rolling of his eyes, and he nods, fleetingly turning to the female whine behind him, calling him in a breathy moan by name, before than he glances at you furtively and, starting to close the door behind him, waves you off — «sure thing, bun)»

and what the hell kind of nickname is this?

at least he really became quieter, it is unknown whether he gagged her mouth or something else, but leon really complied with your request — he became much, much quieter, not only within his room, and there was no longer anything to hate him for, after all, he was silent both in classes and on campus, if only you knew that this was due to the fact that you seemed very, very interesting to him.

leon, in principle, is not interested in much, don’t get me wrong, but what else can a guy like him do when everything falls into his hands? he is wealthy, girls run around his little finger, problems in school and campus bypass him, for his beautiful eyes or for his eloquence, it doesn’t matter, the main thing is that he benefits from it, and his image is already shaky.

but whether this makes him less hot is another question, because no one has ever felt hostility towards him as such, unless of course it’s the ex of another girl who jumped on his dick, because if you didn’t know, then it’s not your fault, is it? and it doesn’t matter that he could have stopped fucking her after this news.

he was a collective image of what many wanted, handsome, sharp facial features that had long lost their childhood fluffiness, thick blond hair framing chiseled cheekbones with its strands and revealing the brightness of blue eyes, he had a strong physique, accumulated over years and aspirations that few people know about, refraining from getting «dirty» with tattoos, but did this apply to piercings? no, that's why he had a little secret on his tongue.

and you would never have known about any of these details if you hadn’t gone to the damn party he was holding in the campus common room, having been invited by friends, you didn’t even want to think too much about how it would all end — whether everyone would be reprimanded, will only those whom дeon has his back avoid it, and how quickly they will kick you out of college, but in general, who gives a fuck, the main idea is to relax, and it doesn’t matter that there will be a lot of alcohol, weed and couples, you’re just going with friends!

avoiding him in a fairly crowded room is not so difficult, especially if you are huddled in one corner with your friends, drinking some beer, slowly chatting about your own plans, exams, until they begin to slowly dissolve, some to other friends, who goes to their boyfriends, and in the end leaves you.. alone, just in the corner with a bottle of beer, isn’t it wonderful? and how many bottles you already drank?

you stand like this for thirty minutes, an hour, your eyes are already slightly double from having drunk too much and your inner thinking responds with a hint to leave this room and go into your dorm, so as not to wake up with a hangover, or something worse, but you don’t have time when a ringing whistle reaches your ears, literally completely from behind, and the head itself turns to the languid baritone — «who's this pretty girl out there, hm? never seen you here before, sweetheart»

sticky words flow from the soft lips of the guy you least wanted to see right now, especially in his slightly amused position, accompanied by reddish eyes and a light gait, his tank top covering almost nothing, showing off his muscular arms and wide figure, you don’t even register how your eyes wander all over his appearance, and he allows it, only teasing, taking a step forward — «what's that, cat got your tongue?»

frowning and softly clearing your throat, you turn your gaze to the side, then again into the blue gaze, absorbed by the gradually expanding dark pupils to give your answer, because the very fact that he didn’t even remember you for some reason irritates, of course he shouldn’t have, you have about zero value for him, but considering how often he kept you up at night, you expected at least a little recognition, so the next words slipped out harshly, tensely — «i'm living in the dorm nearby to yours, kennedy, we talked a couple of times»

leon furrows his light brows, humming, really thinking, at this moment resembling a sort of puppy, before he jerks his head up with a certain glint in his eyes and comes even closer, sliding his hand to place a heavy, warm palm on the very bottom of your back, exclaiming strangely joyful, stretching out into a tickling grin — «ahh, you're right, didn't understand it was you at first, bun, you cleaned up nice, hmm?» as he pushes you forward.

his words are puzzling, it’s not like you really tried hard to dress up, so it sounded strange, but even more puzzling is his gesture and attempt to push you somewhere in the far corner towards the empty sofa, where he, judging by the bottle of whiskey and a shot glass, accompanied by an ashtray in which there was a stewed joint, spent his time, and now he was determined to spend it with you, but without asking if you wanted it — «wait, wh.. where are we going, what are —» he tuts, not annoyed, more jokingly, before seemingly stroking your waist soothingly and muttering — «shh, no need to trash, just wanna talk with you, get to know each other, yk? i need to make amends for annoying you everytime, right?»

but this is something new, to be honest, a wonderful trap for you, cleverly developed by him, not exactly on purpose, no, of course, marijuana mixed with alcohol is responsible for most of his actions at the moment, but it’s not that you don’t interested, oh, you are, and he will very soon let you understand how much, just relax, let him pour you a couple sips of whiskey, hand you his joint, and then let the viscous smoke, burning your eyes to the point of tears, flow from his lips into yours, weaving your tongues together.

it didn’t take long before you found yourself in his room with him, casually stumbling over the threshold, managing to see the posters, his clothes thrown over the back of a chair and a couple of small things before he was already pushing you onto the clean sheets, they smelled of him, faintly giving off a heavy breeze, filling your nostrils with a heavy smell, when his soft, slightly damp lips fall on yours, greedily, with hunger, you are both drunk and high, but you do not resist a single action of his, accepting, allowing the moment to take over the situation.

leon kisses you passionately, clanking his teeth and intertwining tongues, allowing you to feel the cold metal, your lips swell and become warm, acquiring a pink tint, his hands slide over your body, a little calloused, surprising with their tenderness, as if velvety, moving slowly, as if checking and caressing every centimeter of your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps and reddish marks.

in the end, his hands slide to your panties, his touch is light, he tests the territory, rubs against the fabric, feeling the viscous stickiness of your wetness, and chuckles strangely with amusement, vaguely commenting on how wet you already are, while your arousal only burns more, the cotton fabric becomes almost transparent, no matter what color it is — «haha, fuck, so wet for me already, impressive»

your eyebrow jumps and arches like a house, finding yourself in his room, you were expecting something else, less pleasant, obviously sex where he would simply rip off your clothes and start satisfying himself, neglecting your pleasure, but his gentle touches, slurred and hoarse words? what happened to that fuckboy?

one way or another, all thoughts come to naught when he almost hastily takes off your clothes and carelessly throws them aside, only somewhere in the corner of the room a dull sound was heard, allowing you to understand approximately where the stack of fabric fell, after the roughly pulled tank top from him, revealing his slender, toned figure, and a small trace of hair hiding behind the waistband of his jeans.

he eagerly looks at your wet panties, stuck to your folds, causing an unexpected howl, mixed with the usual humor, to escape from his lips, his hand hastily combs his own blond locks back — «shit, so gorgeous, babe, all for me?» hunger fills his eyes as he lowers his head, burying his nose in the crook of your neck, and then peppers your body with kisses, exploring every curve and crevice with his lips, soft, with such a strange tenderness that your head short circuits from his behavior, contrary to his usual, but you don’t want to say anything.

maybe for fear of scaring him off and ruining everything, because maybe it’s all a show, but he’s so careful — he moves deliberately, his lips slide over the skin, leaving behind a trace of warmth and sensations, and his teeth lightly touch your flesh to bite gently, as if wanting to taste, brushing against the softness of your breasts and hardened nipples, even running his tongue over them, but not lingering too long.

leon reaches your waist, his breath hot against your skin as he nuzzles and tickles, blonde strands brushing against your sensitive flesh and strong hands grip your hips, squeezing with possessive force as he continues to move lower, between your legs, like a puppy on smell.

in a timely manner, his kisses and caresses become more and more insistent, but just as neat, his mouth eagerly explores your plush thighs, he sucks and kisses, his tongue teasingly slides over your heated skin, leaving very light marks, but unable to leave it completely clean, and you don’t mind, you love his enthusiasm, practically seeing an puppy ears and cute tail, and the very sight pulls a quiet giggle from your lips.

he tilts his head just like a dummy, tilting it to the side, being completely between your legs, right in front of your still leaking hole, frowning his eyebrows comically and parting his lips after he kisses, playfully, but as if a little offendedly, biting your thigh — «what's so funny?..» and you read his concern, finding a peculiar charm in it, deciding to tease, find a weak point — «nothing, puppy, keep going»

the face opposite you takes a gentle blush at almost cosmic speed and oh, what a beautiful sight it is when his light eyelashes flutter, briefly covering his bright blue eyes before he nervously licks his lips and nods, unable to even find the words, hiding behind the curtain of his silken hair when his face began to fall closer to the most important course of this evening, and you, as if completely and without embarrassment, laid one hand on his head, guiding, even stroking a little.

his tongue trails along the fabric covering your wet cunt, the taste of your arousal fills his mouth, an involuntary growl rumbles deep in his chest, a primal sound of satisfaction more suited to his usual alpha male behavior as he squirms on the sheets, you can't see, but his jeans are already squeezing tightly around his erect cock, slowly leaking precum, forming a stain on his boxers, and how he hopes that you don’t find out about it.

meanwhile, your head falls back, your fingers tangling in his hair, and you submit to the sensations, a little unfamiliar, the touch of the piercing giving new sensations through your body, his hands and fingers tightly squeezing your thighs, providing both support and an unyielding grip as he presses his mouth completely to your clothed pussy, nuzzling it, grumbling contentedly.

leon lets your folds flutter against his eager lips, his tongue working hard to please you and pick up the pace, the cotton fabric becoming a barrier, increasing the friction and teasing your swollen clit, drawing breathy, needy moans from your lips, biting your lip and arching slightly for him, pushing your hips and thrusting into his mouth, definitely causing him to react, aimed not at his pleasure, but yours.

his fingers deftly remove your panties, his aquamarine eyes focused on the wet spot and slick threads of arousal clinging to the fabric, but wasting no time, he tosses them aside without a second thought.

leon's attention is focused solely on the treasure that lies between your slippery pussy lips, moaning with need and satisfaction, his tongue caresses your cunt in wide strokes, and his nose bumps your throbbing clit, creating additional stimulation that sends a shiver down your spine.

the taste of your sweet juices envelops his tongue, driving him into a frenzy of desire, and he is tireless in his services, his tongue outlines every inch of your tender folds, trying to bring you to the point of pleasure and beyond, using everything he has with him, everything his whole face and his hands.

continuing to mercilessly attack your slick folds, his movements become more passionate, more assertive as you tighten his grip on his hair between your fingers, moving it away from his face, and he openly enjoys the taste of your arousal, a mixture of pleasure and pure needines coming from your increased moans and whining, when he himself practically moans, mumbling something — «mmghm, taste s'good, fuch»

helping himself with his hand, he lets go of one of your legs, letting it fall onto his broad shoulder, curling on his back, and his fingers deftly pass between your folds, spreading them, giving his tongue access to your tight hole, the feeling of his muscle sliding inside you, fucking you in a rhythm that matches the trembling of your legs, filling the room.

he continues to stimulate your clit, his thumb applying the necessary pressure, gradually bringing you closer to the edge, the wet, squelching sounds of his tongue plunging in and out of your wet cunt fills your ears and space, but you're already far enough away to listen, just mumbling and babbling, supporting his movements, squeezing his strands, fleetingly fidgeting with your hips to press into his mouth more actively — «ye.. yyees, good — hmmn.. boy!»

your sweet, moaning words of praise fuel leon's persistence, his movements become more and more insistent, he bobs his head up and down, his tongue and metal ball slides inside your wet hole with an inexorable rhythm, the tip twists to hit the right spot in rhythm, while he tries to suck your clit, his finger continues its exploration instead of his tongue, running along your wet folds and sliding into your tight hole, carefully, curling to feel your spongy spot and thrust against it.

the sensation sends waves of pleasure through your body, making you gasp and shudder, your walls clenching around his digit, squeezing him tightly as the pleasure builds inside you, and he reacts to your vice grip, sucking harder on your clit, flicking the throbbing bud with the tip of his tongue, the movement of his finger immediately speeds up.

the combination of his skillful tongue and the teasing pressure of leon's fingers pushes you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder, mixing with the wet sounds of his mouth working on your sensitive flesh, slurping and letting the sweet juices flow down his lips and chin, picking up the wave of sensations, fidgeting with his hips against the sheets and humping, sending goosebumps through himself from the friction of his clothed erection.

his movements continue, his second finger joins and slides deeper into you, stretching you to accept his invasion, he feels your grip on his finger as he pump and thrust, targeting your sensitive g spot with quick precision, and at the same moment he continues to focus his attention on your swollen clit, his tongue sliding and sucking with fervor.

your stimulated whimpers and your tight grip on his hair only fuel his desire even more, his hips involuntarily shaking, leon rubs his clothed erection against the sheets, and this friction adds an extra layer of pleasure to his wanton moans into your wetness — «mmhrm, good.. so good, s'tasty»

he gets lost in the sweet confines of your pussy, enjoying the taste and the soft, sucking in texture that surrounds him, the wet sounds of his fingers and his mouth working on your increasingly sensitive cunt as it clenches tighter around his fingers, slowly bringing you to the edge, forcing to groan, bending in an arc — «fuck! don't stop, kennedy, i'm — hhngh — gonna cum!»

he wouldn't stop no matter what, because he feels your walls squeezing like a vice, squeezing his fingers, and he responds by curling and opening his digits like a scissors, rubbing against your warm, wet walls, making your pussy squelch with every movement.

he hastily removes his fingers from your pussy, taking their place with his tongue, the pink muscle curls and teases your spongy spot, causing a shiver of pleasure to run through your body, you arch deep, your legs wrapping around his shoulders and you press him closer, riding the waves of impending orgasm — «yess, yesyesyes, lee.. leon!»

your body tenses, a literal cry of pleasure mixed with his name echoes through the room with a deep moan, and leon’s tongue continues its relentless attack, flicking and writhing inside you, pushing you to lose your head completely, and the intensity, the warmth in the lower abdomen increases, reaching its peak when you give in to the powerful release that hits you in a blissful wave, pressing his face deeper between your legs.

he experiences the waves of your orgasm, feeling your tightness squeeze around his tongue, your slippery creamy juices fill his mouth, and he swallows them, slurping, enjoying the taste of your orgasm, drinking it all greedily and hungry, cleaning out every drop and literally rolling up his eyes.

as you tremble in a post orgasmic state, raw and exposed, he moves away from your throbbing cunt and rises to his knees, the mattress sagging under his weight as he takes a moment to clean his chin and lips with his tongue and palm, his eyes fixed on you while you catch your breath with deep sighs and heaving chests, still with your legs spread.

blue eyes watch the way your cunt clench and unclench, testifying to the intense pleasure you just experienced, and you slowly lower your head, catching his puppy dog look, and what's more, painfully erected clothed cock, so much so that a stain has already formed on top of his jeans, escaping his boxers, causing words from your lips that make him wag his imaginary tail and whine «yes, owner» with his gaze, and you think about what’s happening with your changed attitude towards him — «one more?»

oh, of course he agrees, he is literally hooked, although the original plan was different, no? ‹𝟹

#.𐙚july's writings #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon scott kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy comfort #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon scott kennedy fluff #leon scott kennedy x fem reader #leon kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #fuckboy leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy comfort #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy drabble #fboy!leon

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