#aura wanders again

[shire-ivy]

Saw someone say musicals were never made to be sad, never meant to be tragic and I'm ????? There has always been a very special kind of sadness in musicals. Some undefined melancholy.

[shire-ivy]

Why does the wine in question looks like that thing the teletubbies eats

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Something Borrowed, Something Blue.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[scorpieuns]

SWEET INHIBITIONS | PARK SUNGHOON

summary: you know what they say, never answer a call from your boss when you’re drunk off your mind—oh, and never tell him that he desperately needs to get laid.

word count: 6.4k

warnings (18+): smut. swearing. pet names (sweetheart, baby). alcohol. kissing. heavy petting. spanking. semi-public sex. rough sex. office sex. unprotected sex. light teasing. minor brat taming (?). slight dacryphilia.

MINORS DNI!!

A/N: been dying to do an office siren fic for the longest time, lol. and being a huge fan of ‘the devil wears prada’ this just had to be done.

People-watching was a secret pleasure.

When writer’s block struck or your motivation dipped, your gaze naturally wandered across the sea of Vogue employees—the editorial department, buzzing with energy, some typing furiously, others fighting off yawns as they cradled half-empty lattes.

It was a vibrant chaos, punctuated by the occasional sound of heels clacking or phones ringing.

For the past week, your unofficial subject of interest has been Audrey Klein, one of the junior beauty editors.

Every day at precisely 1:00 PM, Audrey would reapply her signature lipstick—Dior Addict 922, a sultry red that had headlined Vogue’s “Power Lips for Winter” feature last month.

She’d peer into her compact mirror with laser precision, tousle her bangs into submission, and sashay toward the pantry with the confidence of a supermodel strutting the red carpet.

Her heels echoed through the bullpen, catching a few glances like she anticipated. The cacophony of staff chatter and the steady hum of keyboards seemed to fade when she passed.

“She’s at it again,” Anton, your cubicle neighbor and the office gossip, murmured as he perched on the edge of your desk.

He nodded toward the pantry where Audrey now leaned against the counter, laughing at something your features editor, Park Sunghoon, had just said.

“Do you think he even notices her?”

Park Sunghoon was practically a Vogue institution. At a young age, he gracefully ascended to Features Editor after a meteoric rise from editorial assistant.

With his impeccable tailoring, razor-sharp instincts, and a résumé that included stints at L’Officiel and Harper’s Bazaar, Sunghoon embodied everything Vogue stood for: brilliance, beauty, and an aura of untouchable mystery.

But the real excitement around the office? Sunghoon was devastatingly handsome. Unfairly so, as Anton liked to say.

He was like a dreamboat from Ancient Greek mythology, beautiful eyebrows, perfectly aligned moles, hypnotic brown eyes that seemed to see right through you—and a smile that drove the young seasonal interns crazy, though that was a very rare occasion.

And yet, he was maddeningly aloof, entirely unbothered by the countless women who lingered a little too long at his desk.

“Dedication or desperation?” you mused, glancing at Audrey. “I’ll never understand why everyone worships him. He’s…exhausting.”

Anton snickered, twirling a pen effortlessly between his fingers. “He’s also fine.”

He stops, tapping the pen against his chin in pensive thought, “I guess his beauty is an apology for his scary personality.”

Anton was only partially right.

Sometimes, you hated the way your stomach would twist whenever he glanced at you during a meeting, willing away your unfathomable fantasies—because, at the end of the day, his looks couldn’t overcompensate for his personality.

Park Sunghoon terrified you.

Not in the obvious sense though. He wasn’t loud or explosive. Sunghoon didn’t need to raise his voice to make his point. He could slice through your confidence with a single look or a flat, unimpressed tone.

And yet, despite the intimidation, you couldn’t help yourself.

You were stubborn. Always had been. And that stubbornness meant that every time he ripped apart one of your articles—usually with a sigh and a biting comment—you couldn’t just sit there and take it.

You’d defend yourself, argue your points, even as your palms got clammy and your voice wavered just slightly under the weight of his simmering gaze.

“You’re insufferable,” Sunghoon said once, after a particularly heated debate over a piece you’d written about emerging fashion tech trends.

You’d stayed late in his office, going back and forth until he finally waved a hand and let you keep half your original draft.

“And you’re impossible,” you’d shot back, clutching your notes to your chest like a shield.

But you’d do it anyway. You’d rewrite your drafts, re-interview sources, and pull all-nighters just to meet his exacting standards. No matter how stubborn you were, the truth was you always gave in.

You did everything Park Sunghoon requested—eventually.

And maybe that was what frustrated you most. Because no matter how hard you fought, he always won in the end.

It wasn’t just you, either. Sunghoon had a way of getting under everyone’s skin. You’d seen seasoned journalists break under his criticism, storming out of meetings or retreating to the bathroom to cry.

He was unrelenting, unapologetic, and always right—or at least, he acted like he was.

Still, despite everything, you weren’t like the others. You didn’t quit. You didn’t crumble.

And that, in itself, was something of a miracle.

Sunghoon had once acknowledged it in his own infuriating way—after tearing apart one of your drafts and sending you back to rewrite for the third time, he’d leaned back in his chair and said, “You’re stubborn. But you’re good. That’s why you’re still here.”

It wasn’t a compliment—not really. But coming from him, it almost felt like one.

So yes, Park Sunghoon intimidated you. He frustrated you. Sometimes, you even despised him.

You grumbled, returning to the half-written article on your screen. “101 Tips to Get the Guy” wasn’t your finest pitch, but it had been approved begrudgingly.

Now you were stuck trying to make a glorified listicle feel worthy of Vogue.

“Oh- three o’clock,” Anton whispered knowingly before retreating to his own desk.

The sound of Sunghoon’s voice startled you.

“(Y/N),” Sunghoon greeted, appearing beside you. His tone was just as sharp, cutting through the din of the office.

He held a coffee cup—likely a black coffee, cold foam, his usual drink of choice—and a clipboard tucked under his arm.

“How’s the article coming?”

You turned, only to be met with the sharp lift of his brow. He adjusted his glasses, the motion precise and maddeningly deliberate.

“Don’t bother lying.” His voice was cold, laced with quiet disdain. “I’ve seen you staring at Audrey all day.”

“I wasn’t…” you trailed off, voice growing small as his brown eyes narrowed slightly, looking away as your face flushed.

“Sure,” he said dryly. “Bring me what you have. My office. Ten minutes.” Sunghoon didn’t wait for a response, striding back to his glass-walled corner office.

You winced, shrinking into a puddle while Anton flashed you a sympathetic smile. “Great,” you groaned under your breath, scrambling to pull your draft together.

Sunghoon’s office was as intimidating as the man himself: a sleek mix of polished mahogany and chrome, with towering shelves of art books, Claude Monet impressions and archival issues of Vogue.

He leaned against his desk, sleeves rolled to his elbows, looking like a dreamy editorial spread come to life.

But this somehow felt more reminiscent of a REM Nightmare.

“Let’s see it,” he said, motioning for you to hand him the printout of your article.

You stood awkwardly, clammy hands clasped behind your back as he scanned the first few paragraphs.

The silence was deafening.

Crashing a friend’s psychology class one time in college, could only tell you so much about body language.

Furrowed brows, then raised. Short, irritated huffs between each paragraph—the bottom line? It wasn’t looking good.

After a moment, he sighed—long and dramatic—before dragging a hand through his hair and shoving his glasses up into it.

Why did he have to look so hot when he was disappointed?

“This… reads like something out of Seventeen magazine.” Sunghoon dropped the pages onto his desk with a thud.

“Excuse me?” you said, trying to keep your voice even.

“This isn’t Vogue, sweetheart,” he continued, ignoring your indignation. “This is…fluff. A cute checklist for teenagers who are still figuring out contouring. We don’t do fluff here. We do substance. Style and sophistication. This? It’s juvenile.”

Your fists clenched at your sides. “With all due respect, Sunghoon, the concept was approved. I’m simply delivering exactly what was asked for.”

Sunghoon straightened, his sharp gaze pinning you to the spot. “And I’m asking you to elevate it. Vogue readers don’t need ‘101 Tips to Get the Guy.’ They need insight. Depth. Why not reframe it? Something like, ‘The Science of Seduction: Beauty Hacks Proven to Work.’”

“That’s…” You paused, begrudgingly acknowledging it was a better angle.

“It’s Vogue,” Sunghoon said simply, leaning back. “Rewrite it. And please, try not to bore me this time.” He waved you off like a rejected textile, dismissing your presence as he made a call.

The walk back to your desk felt much like a walk of shame, slamming your notebook down with a frustrated sigh.

“Rough?” Anton asked, biting into his sandwich.

“Rough is an understatement. Sunghoon called my article juvenile,” you hissed, collapsing into your chair.

Anton shrugged. “He’s probably just stressed y’know? Winter issues are always chaotic.”

“Yeah, but chaotic doesn’t give him the right to be a jerk,” you shot back. “Honestly, he just needs a good lay.”

Anton almost choked on his food, “with his face?” He smirked, “He probably gets more action than anyone here.”

“With his personality?” you countered, turning to his office.

Over the frosted partition, you could spot him pacing, grateful you weren’t the one being yelled at over the phone.

“Highly doubtful.” You continued.

Anton raised an eyebrow. “I…wouldn’t be so sure. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say you wouldn’t mind finding out yourself.”

Your glare could’ve melted steel. “Not even in my worst nightmares.”

But even as you said it, your mind wandered—briefly—to how Sunghoon had looked leaning against his desk, adjusting his tie with his sleeves rolled up, tearing your work to shreds.

Infuriating. And annoyingly hot.

But he was still an insufferable prick. So, you pushed the thought aside and focused on your screen, hammering out an article that might—just might—finally earn a fragment of his approval without the usual snide remarks.

The city sparkled under the glow of Manhattan’s nightlights, alive with the usual buzz of life roaring in the busy streets.

The day of work was finally over, and you, Anton, and Yunjin, fresh from the trenches of Vogue, stood on the corner of Fifth Avenue impatiently flagging down a cab in the gelid air.

Yunjin had her coat draped over her shoulders like a makeshift cape, exuding effortless elegance as always, while Anton clutched a bag of takeout fries he’d snagged from a food truck on the way out.

“Where are we going again?” you asked, voice slightly muffled by the scarf you were wrapping around your neck.

“Lustra,” Yunjin beamed, checking her phone with a practiced flick of her wrist. “Chic but not pretentious—and they make a mean Moscow mule that’ll change your life.”

Anton let out a low whistle, his breath slipping through the sharp hisses of cold air. “It better for the prices they charge. You sure they’ll let me in? I’m just a humble journalist. Not exactly a hot commodity like you two.”

“Oh please, Anton,” Yunjin scoffed, stepping gracefully into the cab that had finally pulled up. “You’re literally gorgeous, they’ll let you in.”

Lustra was everything Yunjin promised: dim lighting, plush velvet seating, and a DJ spinning music at just the right volume to feel alive without completely drowning conversation.

The three of you nestled into a corner booth, Moscow mules in hand, and dissolved into the kind of freewheeling, tipsy conversation that made you forget the stress the day had given you.

Yunjin, as usual, was glowing—slightly moving to the music’s beat. “Did I mention Scarlett and I hit six months last weekend?” she said, her tone humble yet smug.

“Congrats!” you said sincerely, raising your glass as the man beside you gave the beaming girl a congratulatory hug.

“Yeah, yeah, rub it in,” Anton groaned sarcastically. “Meanwhile, I went on a date with a girl who ditched me the second I started talking about my favorite filmmakers. Can you believe that? How do you date someone who doesn’t know who Coppola is?”

You paused, a bit confused, “wait, Francis or Sofia?”

“Sofia.” Anton simply states and Yunjin snorts into her drink, “Okay, very tasteful but you really need to leave the fanboying for like, fifth dates, Anton.”

“What about you, (Y/N)?” Anton asked, eyeing you amusingly, nudging your shoulder. “Any love life updates?”

You swirled the remnants of your drink. “Not much to report. Between deadlines and Sunghoon riding my ass, I barely have time for one-night stands,” you paused, downing your drink, “let alone a relationship.”

Anton chuckled. “Oh, here we go again. Another Sunghoon rant incoming.”

“No, seriously!” you insisted, waving your glass.

“That man is the bane of my existence. He’s so uptight, and his looks—fine, I’ll admit he’s hot—do not make up for his sour mood. And you know what he needs? A good one-night stand. Someone to take the edge off so he’ll stop ruining my life.”

Yunjin raised an eyebrow, her lipstick-stained glass hovering mid-air. “And who, pray tell, is this mysterious someone?” She shot a brief conspiring glance towards Anton who smirked.

“Yeah…do we know her?”

“Oh, shut up,” you shot back with a roll of your eyes, laughing. “It’s not me. I wouldn’t touch that man with a ten-foot pole.”

“Hmm,” Anton said, smirking. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

You were just about to retort when your phone buzzed on the table. The name on the screen making your stomach drop.

“Oh, no,” you groaned.

“What?” Yunjin asked, leaning in.

“It’s Sunghoon,” you said, swiping to answer. “I’ll be right back.” You sifted through the crowd, briefly apologizing for the noise as you stepped out.

Outside, the winter breeze bit at your skin as you stepped away from the club’s noise. Sunghoon’s voice finally came through the line, crisp and formal. “(Y/N), I need you to come into the office. Fifteen minutes.”

Your eyes widened as you slowly processed his words, holding back an incredulous laugh—at this hour?

“Are you serious?” you asked, irritation creeping into your tone.

“Very,” Sunghoon replied. “Unless, of course, you’re too busy… gallivanting at clubs.”

Oh you could taste his sarcasm on your tongue, and you would’ve let it slide if it wasn’t filled with such derision.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Gallivanting? People with hobbies call it living, Sunghoon. You should try it sometime.”

His radio silence on the other end—or maybe the alcohol—suddenly gave you the courage to keep going.

“Screw it, you know what your problem is?” you said, words spilling out faster than your brain could process them.

“You’ve got a lot of pent-up anger, and you know what the cure is? Getting laid. Seriously, you’d be doing everyone a favor. Maybe then you wouldn’t be such a miserable ass all the time.”

“Excuse me?” he said, his voice colder than the air around you.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’re gorgeous, fine. But your personality? Yikes. That’s probably why women run the other way. Just…” you groaned, “let your inhibitions go for one day, Sunghoon.”

“Maybe then I wouldn’t be standing in the fucking cold because of you!”

With that, you hung up, your heart pounding.

You brushed the setting panic away as you stepped back inside.

You didn’t remember much after that. Brief flashes of hitting the dance floor, and sipping a couple more drinks flickered in your memory, until Anton took you home.

The next morning, you stumbled out of the elevator nursing a hangover that could bring a lesser mortal to their knees.

Sporting oversized sunglasses and clutching a venti black coffee, you mustered up weak smiles to your coworkers in greeting, before you slumped into your chair.

“I must say, those glasses go with your blazer quite well.” Anton greeted you with a knowing grin.

He handed you a Tylenol, and you pouted at him with a grateful smile.

“Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you muttered, sipping your coffee.

“Remind me to never drink like we’re in college again.” You groaned and your best friend chuckled, “but it was fun, our first night off since like, ever.”

“At least I could sleep in after that.” You whined, recalling your haphazard morning routine when you missed your alarm.

Anton leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Ooh, looks like someone else had a rough night, too.”

You followed his gaze to Sunghoon, who was pacing the office, angrily critiquing an intern's layout with the precision of a surgeon.

You watched the intern subtly dab a tissue at her eyes when he walked away, immediately restarting her layout.

“Uh-oh,” Anton whispered. “What’s his deal?”

Wait…

Your jaw dropped in horror, as the memories of your call flooded back, ducking under your cubicle.

Anton noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “I think I know why he’s in such a bad mood…”

In a hushed, frantic whisper, you told him everything, recounting your drunken tirade from the night before.

Anton stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and glee—grin growing by every word and detail you dropped.

He placed his croissant down slowly, like he needed his hands free to fully process the chaos.

“You what?” he whispered, leaning in so close it felt like he was about to crawl into your lap.

“I told him to get laid!” you hissed, slumping further into your chair. “I basically said his entire personality is why women run screaming! And I said it while I was drunk in the middle of the street!”

Anton’s face twisted as he tried—and failed—to suppress his laughter. “Oh my God, (Y/N). You didn’t just burn the bridge. You nuked it.”

“Not helping, Ant!” you groaned, burying your face in your hands.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Anton paused, his grin so wide it looked painful.

“Let- let me get this straight. You—our beloved, mild-mannered coworker—called Park Sunghoon, the Ice King of Vogue, an uptight, sexually frustrated killjoy who needs to let loose. Do I have that right?”

“Essentially,” you muttered through your palms.

Anton sat back, folding his arms with a hum as if to fully savor the moment. “You realize you’re my hero now, right?”

“This isn’t funny!” you hissed, peeking over your sunglasses to make sure Sunghoon wasn’t within earshot. “He’s already in a bad mood. What if he fires me?”

Anton waved a dismissive hand. “Please. Sunghoon doesn’t fire people. He just makes their lives a living hell until they quit.”

“Great,” you deadpanned. “Super comforting.”

“Honestly, though,” Anton said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, “he probably needed to hear it. You’re not wrong. He is an uptight control freak, and let’s be real, he could use a night of… recreational activities.” He let out a chuckle, stopping himself when he noticed your glare.

“You’re supposed to help me, not encourage my demise.”

Anton smirked. “Fine. Damage control time. First, don’t mention it unless he does. Second, be professional, act like nothing happened. And third…” He trailed off, eyes lighting up mischievously.

“What?” you asked warily.

He grinned, snapping his fingers and pointing out, “if he does bring it up, double down. Tell him you’re just looking out for his uh well-being.” He covered his mouth to avoid another giggle from slipping through.

You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “I’m doomed.”

At that moment, Sunghoon walked by your desk, his perfectly tailored suit somehow making him look even more intimidating.

He glanced in your direction—just a flicker of his sharp dismissing glare—before continuing down the hall.

Anton leaned closer. “That look was…scary.”

“His looks are always scary,” you muttered, though your stomach churned with nerves.

“No, this was different,” Anton stated. “This was like…‘I’m planning your funeral and choosing tasteful florals for the casket’ scary.”

Before you could respond, Yunjin appeared, holding a stack of mood boards and looking utterly unbothered. “Why do you two look like someone just died?”

“Oh, no one’s dead,” Anton said cheerfully. “But (Y/N)’s career might be.”

“Thanks, Anton,” you said dryly.

Yunjin raised an eyebrow. “What happened now?”

Anton wasted no time filling her in, embellishing just enough to make your drunken tirade sound like a full-on Shakespearean monologue.

Yunjin listened, her expression shifting from confusion to horror to amused admiration.

“Well,” Yunjin said finally, “at least you were honest.”

“That’s not helping!” you snapped.

She giggled with a hopeless shrug. “Look, if he hasn’t confronted you about it yet, maybe he’s letting it slide. Or maybe he secretly agrees with you.”

Anton snorted. “Yeah, because Sunghoon is definitely the kind of guy to take constructive criticism well.”

Yunjin looked thoughtful. “Or,” she said, a mischievous glint in her eye, “he’s planning to make you pay for it in the most passive-aggressive way possible.”

You groaned again, face sinking further into your hands. “I need a time machine.”

“Or a therapist,” Anton said.

“Or both,” Yunjin added.

The three of you fell silent as Sunghoon reappeared, this time striding toward his office with a stack of proofs in hand.

He didn’t look at you, but the tension in his jaw was impossible to miss.

“Yep,” Anton concluded. “He’s plotting your doom.”

You shot him a withering glare. “I hate you so much.”

“Don’t worry, (Y/N)” Anton said with a grin. “If he does fire you, I’ll buy you a consolation martini.”

“Because that’ll fix everything,” you muttered sarcastically as you mentally prepared for whatever wrath Sunghoon was surely about to unleash.

The office printer room was its own little world—tucked into the far corner of the writers floor, dimly lit, and constantly humming with the soft whir of machines churning out drafts, proofs, and pitches.

It was the perfect place to avoid people, particularly a certain brooding features editor who had taken up far too much real estate in your thoughts since last night.

You spent the morning successfully avoiding him, hiding back in your workspace and typing whatever nonsense to look busy, pretending to speak to coworkers when he passed by and making your coffee in the fashion department.

But, of course, you couldn’t evade him forever.

Every passing moment was spent trying to find the right words to say something when your worlds inevitably collided.

You tapped your foot impatiently as the printer sputtered and beeped, taking its sweet time with the twenty-page document you needed for your pitch meeting tomorrow.

You glanced at the door nervously, praying that fate wouldn’t bite you in the ass.

What would you even say? You’re sorry you told the truth? You’re sorry you got “unreasonably” upset that he called you off work?

“Six more pages,” you muttered under your breath, watching the slow machine spit out the pages like it was mocking you. “Just six more…”

The door creaked open, and for a brief, foolish moment, you thought about pretending you hadn’t heard it. But then you caught a whiff of cologne, that telltale wood scent with notes of vanilla and bergamot.

Only he would wear Tom Ford.

“(Y/N).” His voice was low, clipped, and far too close for comfort.

You forced yourself to look up. Sunghoon stood by the door, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a folder.

Even without the blazer, he looked effortlessly immaculate, his white shirt sculpted to perfection, his expression a familiar mask of indifference—except for the way his jaw ticked slightly when your eyes met.

“Mr. Park,” you greeted, your voice straining for neutrality.

You turned back to the printer, focusing on the flashing green light like your life depended on it.

Sunghoon took a few steps closer, the sound of his leather shoes on the tile making your pulse quicken.

“Avoiding me?” he asked casually, but there was an edge to his tone that made your stomach drop.

“No,” you quickly lied.

The printer suddenly shut off, and you cursed under your breath—grabbing whatever stack of papers remained.

You didn’t even bother aligning them, too focused on your escape. “Just busy. You know how it is.”

You turned to leave, but Sunghoon sidestepped, blocking your path. “Busy club hopping?” he asked, arching a brow.

Your face burned.

Of course he remembered.

“I had a night off, it was a personal evening” you said, clutching the papers to your chest like they could shield you from his piercing stare.

"Hmm. Personal," the tall male repeated, the word dripping with irony. "Interesting. Because I recall a very personal call from you last night.”

You cringed, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

“Something about my... personality? Stressed. Uptight. And my supposed need for, what was it again? Oh, right-getting laid." Sunghoon’s voice was calm, but the restrained anger in his tone was palpable.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your brain scrambling for something, anything, to say. “I—well, I was…drunk.”

“Clearly.” He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “Drunk enough to think that telling your boss at midnight to psychoanalyze his personal life was a good idea.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done.

“Drunk enough to suggest that I—how did you put it?—‘let my inhibitions go.’”

The way he said it made your face flush even hotter, and your thoughts briefly betrayed you, wondering what it would look like if he ever did.

“Look, I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “It was unprofessional, and it- it won’t happen again.”

Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, studying you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment.

“It was unprofessional. And reckless. And frankly…” He leaned in, just enough to make you feel the heat of his presence. “…you’re lucky I don’t have HR on speed dial.”

Your heart was pounding now, and you couldn’t tell if it was from fear, embarrassment, or the undeniable air crackling between you.

“I said I’m sorry,” you said, your voice coming out softer, more desperate than you intended. “I shouldn’t have said—any of that.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond immediately. He simply stepped closer, gaze locked on yours, unreadable and unrelenting.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it, sweetheart.” he said, his voice low and almost dangerous.

“You don’t just…” he trailed off, his eyes dragging over you slowly. “Get to say whatever you want and walk away.”

You stepped back again, only to feel the cool, unyielding surface of the printer against your back.

He was close now—too close. The scent of his cologne made your head spin, and you couldn’t tell if it was the lingering hangover or his intense presence.

“I wasn’t trying to—” you stammered, your throat dry. “I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” Sunghoon interrupted feigning confusion, his hands braced on the machine on either side of you, trapping you in.

“Didn’t mean to call me uptight? Didn’t mean to tell me I needed to get laid?” His tone was sharp, but his gaze softened ever so slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smirk.

Your heart was hammering against your ribcage, and you hated how your breath hitched as his face inched closer.

The atmosphere between you was suffocating, the air charged and stifling all at once.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe.

“I—I was drunk,” you reasoned again, your voice barely audible.

“And yet,” Sunghoon murmured, leaning down slightly, his dark eyes boring into yours, “you said it. You think I don’t know what you meant?”

You could feel the faintest brush of his breath on your skin as he bridged the thinning gap. Your knees felt weak, and your grip on the papers loosened slightly.

You turned your head, trying to look anywhere but at him, but he reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your chin, tilting your face back toward him.

“Look at me,” Sunghoon said, his voice quieter now, almost a command, but it wasn’t harsh—it was soft, almost…intimate.

You obeyed, your eyes flickering to his, and that was your mistake.

His gaze flicked down briefly to your lips, and your breath caught as his face drew closer, his lips just inches from yours.

The tension was unbearable at his point. Your chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Every logical part of your brain screamed at you to stop, to say something, to step away. But you couldn’t.

And then, before you could think it through—before you could stop yourself—you surged forward, crashing your lips against his.

The stack of papers in your hand fell to the floor in a forgotten mess as your hands reached up instinctively, clutching the fabric of his well pressed shirt.

He groaned against your lips, his voice rough and full of something you couldn't quite name.

For a second—a fraction of a second—you thought Sunghoon might pull away, but then his hands were on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the kiss deepened.

It was everything you didn’t know you needed—hot, consuming, and utterly intoxicating. The taste of espresso and something uniquely him lingered on your tongue as his fingers tightened around your waist, anchoring you to the moment.

You only briefly pulled back, gasping for air, before Sunghoon’s lips chased yours again, kissing you with a force that almost made your knees buckle.

It was frantic, needy and messy in a way that came from too much tension snapping at once.

Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest as your hands rushed for his buttons, each one revealing a much more intimate vision of him only the naive interns could dream of.

Your hands landed on his chest as his lips grazed along your jaw, planting kisses on your neck that made you fall back in breathy sighs.

They traveled up his neck and into his soft dark strands, moaning softly as he skillfully unbuttoned your blouse, palming your breasts over your lace bra hungrily.

Without any warning you were quickly spun around, and bent over the printer, a soft gasp escaping your tingling lips at the cool contrast of the machine on your hot skin.

“Is this what you meant?” He asked, hating the way your heart skipped at the sound of his belt unbuckling behind you.

His hand crept up your skirt, sending shivers up your spine as he hooked his fingers around the band of your panties, tugging them down without care.

You felt your cheeks flush at the cool air hitting your glistening cunt, practically aching for him.

“Hmm?” He mused, awaiting an answer before landing a sharp, yet pleasurable smack on your ass.

The sound of your gasp echoed off the walls, gripping the machine as you anchored yourself, swallowing a choked moan.

You felt the heat of him pressing against your entrance, the head of his cock teasing your sensitive clit. You let out a breathy moan, trying to rock yourself backwards to feel him inside you.

Sunghoon’s hand pressed firmly on your back, holding you in place with tut. You felt another smack on your reddening skin, holding back a whimper.

“I need you to answer me, sweetheart,” he instructed, “is this what you wanted?”

You nodded, begging he would take the hint.

Of course he didn't, continuing to tease the both of you as his hand caressed your backside, his lips planting kisses across your exposed skin.

When you didn't say anything else Sunghoon spanked you once again, a louder whimper escaping your mouth this time.

"I can’t hear you," he instructed, a smirk tugging his lips, "is this what you wanted?"

"Yes! Fuck." You rushed, with desperate cries.

Without a moment of hesitation his cock slid inside of you, both of you lowly moaning in pleasure.

You had never felt so good in your life.

His hand found its place on your waist, gripping tight as he started a rhythm, bottom lip slipping between your teeth as you willed yourself not to moan.

The last thing you needed was for the whole office leaning their ear against the printing room door in scandalous curiosity.

“Don’t make a sound, ‘hear me?” He instructed, with every slow thrust, inching deeper as you whimpered in response, nodding hastily.

"That's it, sweetheart," he praised, his cock meticulously stretching you out with every passing second, "So fucking tight.."

You shudder under his tight grasp, swallowing a few moans as he slowly bottoms out into you with every drag, arching into him as he bites his lip at the pornographic sight.

“You take me so well, don’t you?” He groaned, practically sensing the cocky smirk on his lips as he reveled in your sweet whimpers.

He was such a prick.

“You’re— you’re a— fuck.” you cry, biting your lip to stifle your moans.

Sunghoon leaned over, his groans tickling the shell of your ear like he wanted you to break, “I’m a what, baby?”

Your brain was too foggy to form a coherent sentence, irritation a mere afterthought as he hit every spot, his cock filling you perfectly. You couldn't even remember the last time someone fucked you so full.

So much for declaring that you wouldn’t even touch Sunghoon with a ten foot pole.

You let your guard down for a few seconds before his hips experimentally snapped into you, lewd moans tumbling past your lips before his hand instantly clamped your mouth.

“You never listen, do you (Y/N)?” Sunghoon grunts, grabbing your hips and slamming himself into you, his cock reaching even more profound places as you cry out, desperate moans muffled by his palm.

His brows furrow, low groans escaping his lips, “so fucking stubborn.”

Your hands search for any surface to grip onto, surging forward from the sheer force of his hips snapping into you, gasps drowned into his palm.

“Walking around challenging my authority?”

You couldn’t respond, pretty eyes rolling to the back of your head, eyes fluttering shut as he pounded into you, making sure to hit the most pleasurable spots inside you.

“Mr Park? Are you in here?” a voice called through the door, loud enough to cut through the haze of everything.

You froze, rising up in alarm before he pushed you down. Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, indifferent to the reality of the situation that teetered on the lines of danger.

“Yes,” he called back, his voice calm and steady, yet still rutting into you.

His grip finally left from your side, instead slipping a hand between your thighs and circling over your sensitive clit, jolting as your muffled cries of pure ecstasy were heard by him and no one else.

The voice on the other side hesitated, then added, “I have the updated layouts you asked for.”

Your nails dug into the skin of your palms, fighting the urge to scream as he hitled himself deeply, making a mess of you as he fucked into you over, and over again.

You were damn near the cusp of falling apart from everything, yet the fact that he had the audacity to be so calm and collected while stretching you out, sent you over the edge.

“Leave them on my desk,” Sunghoon replied coolly, not even glancing toward the door.

The footsteps retreated, and you closed your eyes in sheer relief. You were a teary mess now, crying at the dizzying sensation of fingers on you, velvety walls tightly hugging him as his thrusts picked up.

“You crying for me, princess?” He moans, and the soft delivery of his words makes your cunt flutter around him.

He finally moves his hand away from your mouth, as if challenging you to make a sound.

“Sunghoon, fuck.” You cry, in a broken whisper, clenching around him uncontrollably as he tries to hold you still.

“I know baby, I know.” He cooed, savoring the way your legs shaked, pupils blown wide with lust as his pistoned in and out of you so easily.

With his fingers, he continued his assault, working your clit in tight circles as your hips bucked wildly. He groaned, feeling your walls squeezing him, threatening to bring him over the edge.

But he wouldn't cum before you.

Sunghoon’s lips ghosted over your ear, his soft guttural moans shooting straight to your core, “such a pretty mess for me, aren’t you?” his lips curled into a grin as you finally tipped over the edge.

A soft, yet long moan that slipped was quickly muffled by his hand as he fucked you through it, your toes curling and thighs quivering.

White hot pleasure washed over you like a tidal wave, drowning you in sheer bliss. But just when it was starting to subside, he was slamming his cock into you.

The sound of his skin meeting yours was like music, and his fingers returned to your clit, sending you spiraling back into ecstasy.

Your weak cries of pleasure only seemed to encourage him more.

Sunghoon moaned, a beautiful sound leaving him as his cock twitched. With a few hard erratic thrusts, he came, filling you up completely, not wasting a single drop.

He groaned softly, riding out your highs before you whimpered at the feeling of him slipping out of you, both panting.

The silence between the two of you was mutual as you caught your breaths. Sunghoon leaned down, sliding your panties back up and pressing a soft kiss on your asscheek.

It was infuriating to admit that, just as good as he was with everything else, he was really good at fucking.

[nekoashiii]

⠀ ⠀Maid to Be Caught

Pairings: Lads!men x Afab!Reader

Summary: While trying on your maid dress, your husband walks in the room.

Notes: masterlist \ other 3 li's will be in part 2

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Sylus

It was a nice afternoon, you were free thankfully, no missions and no annoying wanderers to take care of—to make it better or worse Sylus was sleeping. so you took the opportunity to scroll online and see if anything catches your eyes. lord and behold you found a maid dress, without much thinking, you bought it.

You had been waiting for it for days, refreshing the tracking page every few hours, and now it was finally here—your brand-new maid dress. The moment you pulled it out of the package, excitement buzzed through you. The fabric was soft, the lace details intricate, and the little apron? Absolutely adorable. It was perfect.

Slipping it on, you admired yourself in the full-length mirror, turning from side to side. The dress hugged you in all the right places, flaring out at the waist in a playful way. The stockings that came with it were silky smooth against your skin, and the headband with tiny ruffles added the finishing touch.

You couldn’t help yourself.

Lifting the hem slightly, you struck a ridiculous, dramatic pose—a mix between a butler’s stance and a cutesy maid greeting.

“Welcome home, master~” you purred into the phone, barely holding in your laughter.

On the other end, your friend burst into cackles. “Oh my god, you actually did it! You’re insane.”

You snickered. “I know, I know. But it looks kinda cute, right?”

You tilted your head, pouting at the mirror before attempting another pose—knees touching together, arms in an exaggerated curtsy.

And that was when you heard it.

A quiet shuffle at the doorway.

Your stomach dropped.

Slowly, your gaze slid from your reflection to the full-length mirror’s edge, catching sight of a tall, imposing figure standing at the entrance of the room.

Sylus.

The man who could make grown men tremble with a glance, stood there motionless, his piercing red eyes fixed on you.

Your entire body froze.

A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the faint rustling of fabric as you instinctively dropped your ridiculous pose and yanked down the hem of your dress.

On the phone, your friend was still wheezing, completely unaware of the situation. “Did you just—oh my god, do it again, I need a video!”

You snapped your arm up so fast you almost flung the phone across the room, onto the bed. “I have to go.”

And then you hung up.

But Sylus was still Standing. and staring.

His usual composed aura was still intact, but there was something unreadable in his expression. His sharp gaze flickered, scanning you from head to toe. He had come in here looking for something—probably his glasses that he breaks weekly—but whatever thought had been on his mind was clearly gone now.

The way his lips parted slightly, his crimson eyes darkening just a fraction..oh no.

You cleared your throat, trying to salvage what little dignity remained.

“I-I can explain.”

His brows raised slightly, but he still didn’t say a word.

Your fingers twitched, gripping at the apron’s edge. “I, uh… I was just… testing the fit?”

Not a single reaction.

Just slow, agonizing silence.

You swallowed hard. “...Do you, um. Need something?”

Finally, Sylus moved. His voice came out smooth, deep, with the barest hint of amusement curling at the edges.

“My glasses.”

Right. The reason he was here in the first place.

Your eyes darted around the room in a panic before you spotted them—sitting right on the vanity. You lunged for them, grabbing the frames and all but shoving them into his hand.

“Here! Your glasses! Now you can go.”

Sylus took them, but instead of leaving, he took a slow step closer. The air between you tensed, thick with something you couldn’t quite name.

His fingers ghosted over the lace trim of your apron. “So,” he murmured, tilting his head slightly. “This is what you’ve been waiting for eagerly?”

You felt heat crawl up your neck. “it’s just a silly thing! I just thought it would be cute, you know? Nothing serious.”

His lips quirked up slightly, but the glint in his eyes was unmistakable. “Cute?”

You nodded stiffly.

He exhaled, the smallest chuckle slipping past his lips before he leaned in, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.

“I’d say it’s more than just cute.”

Your breath hitched.

And then, as if nothing had happened, Sylus pulled back, slipping his glasses on. The sharp, unreadable expression returned as he turned toward the door.

“I have a meeting soon,” he said over his shoulder, pausing just before stepping out.

“But keep that on. I’ll deal with you later.”

And with that, he was gone.

Leaving you standing there, heart hammering, dress still clutched in your hands.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Caleb

You stared at the sleek black box sitting that has just arrived on your bed, heart pounding in anticipation. The moment your friend sent you the link to the maid dress, You had ordered it on a whim—a harmless joke, really. A spur-of-the-moment decision fueled by boredom and the absurd thought of wearing something so… unlike you. And now, it was here.

The maid dress.

"Well," you muttered, peeling the packaging away. "No going back now." You said as you dialed your friend.

The fabric was surprisingly high quality. Smooth, dark with crisp white ruffles, a long apron, and—oh, stars above—the thigh-high stockings that came with it. You could already imagine Caleb’s reaction if he saw you in it—his sharp purple eyes widening, his jaw going slack.

That thought alone was enough to make you huff out a nervous laugh. You weren’t exactly the type to play dress-up, but there was something thrilling about the idea of stepping into this ridiculous ensemble, if only for your own amusement.

With a deep breath, you stripped down and pulled the outfit on, piece by piece. The dress fit snugly, hugging your body in all the right ways, while the stockings added an extra touch of risqué elegance. You adjusted the frilly headpiece in the mirror, tilting your head this way and that.

And then, because you had zero shame when alone, you struck a pose.

One hand on your hip, the other delicately raised near your chin, tilting your head at a flirtatious angle.

Oh, this was hilarious.

A smirk curled on your lips as you picked up your communicator and started a call with your friend. The moment they answered, you grinned.

"Okay, before you say anything," you started, shifting into another over-the-top pose, "just appreciate the absolute artistry of this moment."

A burst of laughter crackled through the speaker. "No way—did you actually put it on?"

"Damn right, I did," you said proudly, twirling slightly so the skirt flounced up. "And I look incredible."

Your friend wheezed. "You are so unhinged. Hold on, let me take a screenshot—"

The door to your quarters slid open.

You froze.

Caleb stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the floor. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, as if he had run a hand through it in frustration. The deep purple of his eyes locked onto you instantly, flicking down your form in a single, silent assessment.

Your stomach plummeted into oblivion.

Neither of you spoke.

"...Babe?" you croaked.

Caleb blinked once. Slowly. "I was looking for my data pad."

"Ah," you said, voice an octave higher than usual. "Cool. Yeah. Makes sense."

A beat of unbearable silence. Then, with painful precision, Caleb reached to the side table, grabbed his data pad, and—without breaking eye contact—straightened to his full height, trying his best not to laugh.

His lips parted, as if he wanted to say something. Then he shook his head, turned on his heel, and left.

The door slid shut.

Static silence.

Then your communicator exploded with laughter.

"NO WAY. HE SAW YOU?!"

You groaned, dropping to your knees. "This is all your fault!"

"His face—his reaction—oh my god, please tell me you got that on camera."

You whimpered. "I'm never recovering from this."

Meanwhile, somewhere down the hall of the spaceship, Caleb leaned against the cool metal wall of the corridor, pressing a hand over his mouth.

His datapad was forgotten in his grip.

The image of you, in that damn dress, was permanently burned into his brain.

"Stars help me," he muttered, exhaling sharply. "What did I just witness?"

[saetoshis]

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ LET'S PLAY A GAME | kny headcanons

⋆୨୧˚ WITH: sanemi ; giyuu ; tengen ; kyojuro ; obanai

⋆୨୧˚ SUMMARY: how much do they like to tease you?

⋆୨୧˚ MATURE CONTENT WARNINGS:

fem reader, teasing/begging, pet names [pretty girl, baby], orgasm control, mentions of dacryphilia, mentions of restraint/bondage, MDNI

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ SANEMI: 10/10

sanemi lives to see you yearning for his touch. he just can't get enough of your little whines and pleads for his hands on you, and the way you paw at the bulge in his pants so desperately makes his every muscle tense up in anticipation - but his favorite part is seeing just how far he can push you.

"what's that, pretty girl? you want what?" sanemi sneers, knowing fully well what you just said but he just can't help playing dumb to see how sexually frustrated you can get. he kneels over where you're laying, a hand palming the bulge in his pants nonchalantly. "this? this what you want? hm?"

"yes, please, seriously," you whine out between heaved breaths, your flushed aura making you hot and a bit irritated from how much he's withholding you. your fingers flit over your panties, finding your clit in an attempt to appease the high tension building in your body. "can't take it anymore... please, just give it to me."

"well, since you asked so nicely," sanemi jeers as he slips his pants just beyond his hips, his cock pressing against your twitching, achy clit. he lets out little grunted breaths as he rocks his hips, head catching against your sensitive nerves again and again. he can see the dissent on your face when you realize he's not slipping in anytime soon.

"what's that look, huh?" sanemi feigns innocence, adoring the way you pout and whine at him, begging so desperately to be filled up the way you want to. he sneers between a tantalizing smile, "beg me a few more times n' i'll think about it."

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ GIYUU: 3/10

giyuu doesn't instinctively lean towards withholding himself from you, and he's never really thought about the idea of seeing you beg for him. he's not too keen with the notion of beating around the bush, as it were - and yet, all it takes is your demeanor all needy and pliable in his lap with pleads falling from your lips for his mind to wander.

"can't help it, just so horny..." you mutter through little panted breaths, letting your hips grind and roll against his clothed cock in tandem with the rise and fall of your chest. you feel giyuu's fingers flit against your thighs as his eyes wander across your frame, all until he pulls away, unusually. your eyes flicker up at his expression, and all you can pronounce is a little, "huh?"

"wanna see you do it yourself," giyuu murmurs under his breath, his pants feeling stiffer underneath where you're sitting so prettily for him. he wants to fuck you - bad, but right now he wants to see how far he can take it before you fall apart into pieces. with a little push of his hips up against you, he leers, "i know you want to."

you feel a sliver of tingles down your spine at the change in his demeanor, and your hips almost start rutting on their own. every time you make eye contact with him, you're met with a stern gaze - who would've known this side of him could turn you on so much? your voice comes out in a whimper as you let your now-wet panties grind against his bulge, "i'll do anything if you just touch me, please. fuck me- hah, can't take it."

maybe it's the way you finally look so desperate, so messy, flushed, and shuddering on his lap that causes him to finally give in - and when he does, you're really in for it.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ TENGEN: 11/10

tengen lives to see you a whining, teary-eyed mess just for him. he'll do anything to see you shudder, to feel you getting wetter from just one look, to even hear your pleads become more and more broken and whimpered. he just can't help but enjoy it even when you hop on top of him in attempt to get back at him.

"what's this, huh?" tengen sneers as he watches the little determined look on your face as you sink down onto his cock, refusing to move in efforts to give him a taste of his own medicine. he lets out a little chuckle at the way you cross your arms all serious and tough-like. he lets his hands glide along your hips, "really...? is this a punishment or something?"

"mhm," you hum with a nod, trying to ignore the fact that the head of his cock is poking up right against that spot that makes your knees weaken. you keep your resolve, occasionally grinding your hips to see how he reacts - maybe he'll jolt, let out a little moan - but he doesn't, and you start to feel a little discouraged. you drag your hands along his chest and his abs, pressing kisses against his neck in a desperate attempt.

"feels good, doesn't it? my cock all pushed inside you like this," tengen murmurs against your ear, his voice sending a shudder down your spine and you tighten around him just enough for him to know he's affecting you. his hands caress your waist, your back, your hips - he knows it's working, and that's pissing you off even more. "you can lemme have just a little, can't you, baby?"

it only takes a few more sickly sweet whispers from tengen's lips for him to have you bouncing on his lap, mind boggled as slick smothers messily around his shaft. maybe next time you'll try something different to tease him with.

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ KYOJURO: 7/10

kyojuro oftentimes likes to give you what you want, as you properly deserve - although, the same can't always be said for him in bed. it's like a switch flips, and all he can desire and cultivate are those little whiny moans pleading for him to just 'keep going, don't stop.'

"don't stop what?" kyojuro murmurs with a little smirk on his face and slick covering his fingers and palm. his thumb nudges your clit ever so gently, his fingers finding their way to his tongue to clean off the mess that you've already made of them. he watches your hips jolt in desperation, and he chuckles softly in that innocent manner he always does. "need it that much, do you?"

you let out a little groan of dissent, rocking your hips in an attempt to get his thumb to circle your clit a little faster - just at least a little. he sees the way your muscles shudder in anticipation, and maybe he feels he's been a bit mean. with a little murmur of 'this what you want? here?' and his fist around his cock, he finally presses between your walls with a stifled grunt, "that's it, isn't it? right there..."

"yes, yes, fu- yes," you practically whimper, feeling elation coursing through your every nerve as he rocks his hips slowly, intentionally. each press of his cock fills the hilt of your cunt and you can feel your sanity draining each time he ruts forwards. faster, then faster, even faster still, your consciousness fades just as fast as your orgasm builds. "f-feels so good, fuck."

kyojuro lets out a chuckled sneer as he caresses your cheek, hips rocking hard against yours. "feels better after being patient, doesn't it? maybe i'll have to tease you more often."

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ OBANAI: 6/10

teasing manifests for obanai as more of a power play than anything else. his whims aren't always consistent; sometimes he'll make you touch yourself without his help at all, other times he'll keep your hands restrained so there's no way you could even help yourself if you wanted to. but this time, it's a bit different.

"shh, shh... what did i say? wait," obanai murmurs lowly as his fingers curl intentionally against that spot that makes you feel like you're falling apart at the seams. his other hand finds your clit, circling it in tandem with each press of his fingers inside of you. you shudder desperately beneath him, voice coming out in hitched mews. obanai repeats himself, "no cumming 'til i say so."

you nod your head in obedience weakly, finding it harder and harder to fight the jolts of pleasure wracking your limbs. each aching curl of his digits makes your whole spine tingle, and you use all of your strength to hold back. that is, until he swaps his fingers for the hard cock in his fist. "please..."

"please, what? i told you," obanai lets out a hitched breath as he slips himself between your walls, finding your saccharine, desperate pussy an immediate relief for the unforgiving throb in his cock. he pushes your thighs apart and watches you shiver, curling over you broodingly, "no cumming 'til i say so."

you hold onto your sanity for dear life, but the wet smacks and lewd moans filling the room are enough for you to teeter over the edge of oblivion. you're lucky that obanai is right there with you, gripping your waist and fucking into you with a wanton need - it seems this time you'll just barely make it in time.

SAETOSHIS 2024. do not copy/repost.

tagging: @suyacho

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 18) tw: minor character death, injuries, and misogynistic language

masterlist

-

He’s far off still, the smoking gun held tight in his hand and aimed up at the sky. A warning shot.  

At first, you don’t quite believe it. He appears like a mirage in the distance after wandering through the desert for days, on the brink of starvation. Like a trick of the eye. You squint against the light, sure that you’ve mistaken the familiar felt pinch front hat and the speckled Appaloosa he sits astride for someone else, a stranger come to save you instead of the man you’ve been desperately pining for since Graves stole you from your home. 

But the longer you stare at the man coming towards you, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face save for the grim set of his mouth, the harder it is to deny that it really is John. 

Your chest is fit to burst. Heart pumping wildly against your ribcage. The sight of him is revelatory—a burning bush, a stream of light through storm clouds, St Elmo’s fire. The euphoric high is almost overwhelming.

“Son of a bitch,” Graves hisses beneath his breath, hand reaching for the revolver on his belt. 

John is quicker though, firing off another round, this time at the ground between them, alarming Graves enough to make his arm jerk away from his side. Even you yelp. The gunfire cuts your swell of adulation short, bringing you back flush to the surface of the real world again. Graves’ horse scrambles back a few steps, nearly rearing up before Graves gets control of him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, now—” Graves booms, right in your ear, so loud that you wince, curling into yourself. 

The gelding chuffs at John’s approach, unsettled. Graves digs his spurs into the horse’s side when it takes a few nervous steps back, making it whinny in pain. You’d tell him off, but you’ve learned by now to hold your tongue around Graves. He only knows how to impose his authority through pain. 

“Easy, alright—” Graves calls out, holding out the hand not tangled in the reins to show that it’s empty, the revolver still sheathed in its holster. “No one’s gonna do anything stupid.”

The horse John sits astride is the one he never dared to train you on. The one you know would buck you straight off if you tried to hoist yourself up on its saddle. He’s bigger than Buttercup, all muscle and broodsome aura like its owner, and he doesn’t take kindly to strangers. 

When it breathes out, you imagine its breath should smell sulfuric. Fire and brimstone. 

Closer to you now, you can see his eyes under the brim of his hat. He glowers at Graves, the same look you’ve seen only once before, staring through the window of the general store at the scowl carved into his face when he dragged a man across town, but intensified. Not so much as a glimmer of sympathy or understanding in his eyes. Just cold rage. 

The lines in his face are deep from lack of sleep, dark troughs under his eyes. Shoulders stiff; every muscle of his tensed, poised to react. You wonder how long after Graves took you John realized and followed the two of you in pursuit. 

“I’m gonna say this once and you best not try my patience: let the lady go.”

The sound of his voice rumbles through you, making the hair on your arms raise. Seldom have you heard him use that tone of voice, more man than sheriff. 

Graves’ hand tightens on the reins, knuckles going white. You don’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he has the same obsequious look on his face as he did back in town, indignation relegated to his extremities. You can see it in the tensed muscle of his forearms.

“Now Sheriff, you may have the run of this county, but I’ve got the power of the law on my side. The state of New York has issued a warrant for this woman’s arrest.” Graves’ smarmy evocation to the legality of his actions rankles you. He acts like the whole situation is out of his control, that he takes no joy in your apprehension. Simply a matter of duty. 

Not that it seems to make a difference. Even you could tell Graves that. 

“I won’t ask again.” John’s voice is threaded with fury, angrier than you’ve ever heard him speak. 

And true to his words, he doesn’t. The silence stretches between the two men, fraught with tension. Graves is a rigid line at your back. 

He’s the first to break the silence; the first to give. “At least let me show you the warrant, Sheriff,” Graves implores. “I ain’t just some vagrant that’s come and taken the sheriff’s wife without cause—and I assure you, there is cause.”

John doesn’t say a word, blue eyes still severe. Colder than the waters of Cocytus. 

Graves must take his silence as permission because he reaches a hand into his pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He holds it out to John at first, perhaps expecting the man to come close enough to take it from his hand, but John doesn’t even glance at the hand offering him the arrest warrant, eyes still locked on Graves. 

“See now, I’ll even read it out—” he says, clearing his throat and half turning the paper back to him. “���Whereas it has been represented to Government that—’”

“Give the letter to my wife,” John cuts him off, gesturing towards the warrant in Graves’ hand with his gun. “She’ll deliver it to me once you’ve handed her over.”

The interruption stuns Graves into silence, the warrant still held in his outstretched arm. He must not be accustomed to men deferring to women instead of him, much less a criminal like you. Your stomach cramps with nerves. The blow to his ego worries you more than John getting his hands on the arrest warrant. His behavior up to this point has been predictable—violent, but unsurprising. You aren’t interested in finding out if losing his temper changes that. 

John’s eyes flick to yours. The first time he’s really looked at you since arriving unannounced, just a quick glance over you to ensure that you’re well. He must not like what he sees because the skin around his eyes tightens. 

The moment of inattention is all Graves needs, eyes trained on it like a hunting dog. John’s eyes barely twitch away to meet yours and Graves draws his gun, his aim wild when he shoots. 

You don’t see what he hits, but the gunfire drives John’s horse into a panic, throwing its head back and rearing up onto its hind legs. Graves fires again and the ground between you explodes, dirt and debris erupting into the air. The horse roars, the sound deep and throaty. 

Graves grabs you by the back of your dress, forcing your back to arch and shoulders to pull back, using you, for all intents and purposes, as a meat shield. You can hear John try to take control of his horse, but it’s near mindless with fear, braying and bucking when Graves fires again, white smoke billowing from the muzzle. Panic seizes you by the throat when John’s horse bucks him right off, bellowing a curse when his body slams to the ground. 

A scream bursts from your throat, but Graves holds you in place before you can slide off the saddle, spitting a tense shut the fuck up into your ear before digging his heel into his horse’s flank and steering him around, beating a hasty retreat. His horse moves in a wide arc until his body is turned back in the direction that Graves was originally heading. 

You struggle against him until the horse moves at a speed too dangerous to chance falling from its back. It covers ground fast, moving at a breakneck speed. 

“Stop—let me down!” you scream, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The howling wind carries your voice away. 

The violent toing and froing makes it impossible to cast a backward glance and see if John is in pursuit. All of your senses narrow down to what’s in front of you; from the saddle horn digging into your stomach and the air whipping past your face to the feeling of Graves’ breath wafting over the back of your neck as he pants. 

A booming crack fills the air and you scream, fear soaring to an unfathomable height. 

Graves grunts and tenses behind you, his hands spasming around the reins and letting go involuntarily. Then you feel the body behind you slump to the side, his weight almost unbalancing you until he falls off the horse altogether, feet slipping out of the stirrups. 

The blood in your ears masks the sound of his body hitting the ground. Your head whips around to follow the trajectory of Graves’ body, but a wave of vertigo slams into you, a head on collision that forces you to dig your fingers into the horse’s mane and turn your body back around. 

The horse barely notices the body slipping off its back though, tunnel vision on the road ahead. Legs pumping furiously beneath it, kicking up clouds of dust and dirt. You’d have thought the horse would’ve slowed up with the sudden unburdening of the other person astride it, but if anything, it picks up speed. 

You can’t calm down enough to catch your breath; it gallops ahead of you as well, your vision growing spotty with the short, jagged breaths you take in. Lungs collapsing under the weight of your chest. Eyes squinted against the piercing wind. Sunspots brighter than light itself. 

Your instinct is to make yourself small; shield yourself from the impending pain. That inescapable reality rushes towards you as quickly as you race towards it. You’re going to fall. It’s almost certain. You whimper when a particularly rough stride makes you slip an inch to the right, your fingers gripping into the horse’s mane ever tighter, desperate to keep yourself astride.

Someone’s voice breaks through the noise and you open your eyes. 

In your fearstruck state, you almost don’t recognize the man riding beside you and keeping pace until he says your name—your real name—and you snap back to yourself. No time to contemplate your name in his mouth though, no time for anything except keeping from slipping into total panic.

“Pull up on the reins!” John roars over the clamor of hooves. 

You peel your face from the horse’s mane to meet his eyes. The parallel of a memory from long ago. It flashes before your eyes and you remember yourself. Numb hands fisted in the horse’s mane unclench. 

“Pull up!” he shouts again, and this time you comprehend. It’s the same as the time before. 

Summoning every ounce of courage in your bones, you tighten your thighs and belly to lift yourself up, gathering and bridging the reins in your manacled hands. Half halt, release, and half halt again. 

“Good—now circle!” John’s voice booms in your ear and through your blood. 

You flinch when you try to steer your horse into a wide, sweeping turn and he resists at first, but on your second try, he follows your pull, his strides gradually slowing, easing up. When your horse finally comes to a standstill, walking its last few strides before coming to a stop, you sit with that bubble of tension until it bursts. Under your thighs, you can feel your horse’s ribs expand and contract with its labored breath. 

The world blurs for a moment. The adrenaline flooding your body dissipates more with every breath you take, but the crash is just as intense as the rise. You can feel the shakes that wrack your body in a way that your mind can’t quite yet take in, still outside of itself. The first thing you truly register is your husband suddenly at your side, coaxing you down from the horse, your handcuffed hands braced on his chest as he helps you down and then holding on to him when your knees nearly buckle under you.

“Thank Christ,” he growls, pulling you into his chest. 

The smell of tobacco and cloves is woven into the fabric of his shirt and you breathe it in zealously because it’s his. The reassurance that your husband has you, that he’s with you now, and the bad is over, nearly bowls you over. Makes you shake all the harder.

When you finally pull your face away from John’s chest, he cups your cheek with a gunpowder dusted hand, tilting your head up so he can press his lips to your forehead. Your gaze flits up and you stare at him with bleary eyes, wondering what he sees when he looks at you. Messy hair and a fleeting breath that quivers out, breaks to pieces, illuminates the sky when you glance over his head and it’s so blue that you could swim in it. 

John frowns when you accidentally roll your shoulder back and wince. “You’re hurt.” 

There’s no use in lying when he'll find out the truth soon enough, so you just nod. 

“His doing, was it?” he assumes more than asks, inspecting you closely now and noting all the fresh abrasions immediately visible to his eyes.  

Most of your injuries are surface level, more than apparent to him after a quick perusal. A split lip and plenty of scrapes just beginning to scab. You’re too tired to recount the events of the day before though, so you just shrug. Then hiss, the pain so intense that your bones go cold for a split second. 

His forehead pinches with his frown, ghosting his hand over your shoulder as if to hold it in place. “I’ll look at it later, okay, darlin’?”

Every inch of you aches. You wish it could just be over now and you could be back in your bed by sundown, but you know the way home will be just as long. No rest unless you want the journey to be twice as long. The exhaustion alone might have you keel over before night falls. 

Then someone coughs and drags you back into the real world. 

You follow the sound with your eyes until they land on its cause. The crumpled form of the bounty hunter that dragged you out of town lies a quarter mile back. It’s difficult to make out the state of him from so far away, but you can tell it isn’t pretty, mangled and bloody from the fall he took off the horse. 

“Oh God…” you murmur, eyes widening when the man twitches against the grass. 

John’s hand falls away from your cheek. His anger is so palpable that you can feel it fill him back up, blue eyes going steely and jaw tightening as he stares at the man that tried to take you from him. 

“Stay here,” your husband growls, hand reaching down to draw his pistol again.

John leaves you by the horses some distance away as he makes his way over to Graves’ prone form. Blood seeps from a gunshot wound in his shoulder, saturating his shirt and wetting the dirt beneath him, and even from where you stand, you can see the odd angle of his ankle from where he hit the ground. 

With no small amount of effort, Graves props himself up on his good arm, the other hanging limp against the ground. Even the sight makes you wince, bile churning in your stomach. He has to be in tremendous pain. Even John limps a little as he approaches the other man, hip likely sore from his own fall. 

Against your better judgment, and your husband’s command, you take a step towards them. And then another.

You have no reason other than the sinking feeling in your belly. If it were you with the gun, things would be different, you think. You’d do it again, without a second thought. Anything to keep Graves from opening his mouth. 

The gun in John’s hand makes clear his intentions in no uncertain terms. Out on the plains in the middle of nowhere, even taking pity on the man and bringing Graves to the nearest town might not be enough. It’s a rough world out there. Tougher still with a wounded shoulder and sprained ankle. 

More to the matter, John’s face says it all, jaw clenched and lips drawn into a tight line. 

“It doesn’t have to go this way, sheriff,” Graves wheezes when the other man draws close enough to hear. 

“You know I haven’t got a choice now,” John says, gazing up at the sky for a moment before looking back down at the man on the ground. “Not after you laid a hand on my wife.”

Despite the distance, Graves’ voice carries when he speaks. “You think you know that bitch? You don’t know this woman from Eve. What makes you think she won’t butcher you like she did that man back east?”

So casually he says it that you almost miss it. And then you don’t. The words pour over you like a sudden rain and you are back in that room, dread so potent that it chars the flesh, leaving cratered, necrotic holes wherever it touches. The worst moment of your life. 

And Graves says it like a sin of your own making, like it was something you wanted, not a moment in your life haunting you from beyond the grave. 

Your heart stops when your husband looks over at you assessingly. The truth lours over the two of you now, out in the open at last. All those months of hiding it, squandered in a moment by an injured man’s words. All you can do is stare helplessly at the man outlined by the blue sky, the horizon forever etching him into your memory. It’s the first time since you stumbled into the sheriff’s office all those months ago that you haven’t wanted him to think that you weren’t the woman that was supposed to be his wife.

“Shoulda listened to me, sheriff,” Graves laughs, his voice pained and raspy. “That Jezebel needs to answer for what she did.”

You can see it in his eyes that he believes Graves. And why wouldn’t he? The man has committed no crime; spoken not a lie to this point. 

John looks at you in such a strange way though. There’s no surprise there; just a glint in his eye meant only for you. A glint that says darlin’, this ain’t nothin’ new; you never could’ve fooled me. 

He knew your name after all. And you wonder how long he’s known. If he found out sometime in those first days or somewhere down the line or if the arrest warrant fell across his desk in recent days and he knew it would come to this, someone hunting you down across state lines to bring you back. If he knew he’d always have to come after you and rescue you from the jaws of death. 

Everything comes all at once, each moment flashing across your mind barely long enough to leave an impression. Everything is proven immaterial in seconds. 

There’s so much between the two of you. History, obligation, duty. Tenderness shouldn’t even be the half of it, and yet it bears down twice as hard. It’s the only thing that matters when you look at him—not the thought of being dragged back east and forced to stand trial, not the injustice of being made to atone for protecting yourself against a worse fate, but the thought of being taken away from him, of never seeing him again.

You can feel that worry evaporate the longer you hold his gaze. There’s something intentional there, something he is saying without words. 

These days, you do not think to tremble when his hands are on your lips. You tilt your head instead, wait for him to make his next move. Your trust, implicit, underlying everything. Knowing he’ll break the bread and feed you from his hands if need be.

Though you can’t unhinge your jaw enough to ask him to promise that he’ll keep you, his eyes say that it’s a foregone conclusion. How could he ever let you go? You’re everything he’s ever wanted, the only thing even duty could never take from him. 

John looks back down at the man lying at his feet. “Couldn’t help runnin’ your mouth, now could you?”

Graves opens his mouth, but John doesn’t wait for a response. He pulls the trigger.

[ghostgirl101]

Imagine if Paul Atreides claimed you as his destiny: PART Ⅰ of Ⅱ

|| Word Count: 1.5K || Angst → Fluff ||

A/N: I had this as a big idea that I had to get down before the basic headcanons and stuff, so here's my take on our Lisan al Gaib 😎 if you like this then hit me up for some relationship headcanons and the like, I'm up for it all. Enjoy reading or watching the movie if you haven't already - I'm going again lol, and screen X is the best way to experience it fr Also I feel like I should write a second part to this lmao, if you liked what you read?

You weren't one for dreams of destiny.

The dreams you had seemed meaningless, confusing, nothing to do with what ifs and what could. Not like his.

But you always seemed to feel some kind of atmosphere, an aura you couldn't quite shake off, even when you woke up from the darkness. There was no face to go with the voice, the voice in the dark that called to you in whispers that you didn't understand. Beautiful words that weren't yours, but sounded so soft and gentle and powerful, as they reached out to you from distant lands.

You could never place them, pin them down and study them, understand them, until the day the Emperor was challenged by a ghost of a lost House, thought to be dead, left to be forgotten. You stand near the Emperor and his guards and men, the Great Houses looming and listening from higher above, as the Fremen fill up the space to watch the confrontation in spirited anticipation.

The life debt was paid. The late Emperor was overthrown. The ascendancy of Paul Atreides rose and took from the throne to claim it.

His attention flicks from his eyes boring coldly into the Emperor's, to meet yours, his voice smooth and set, full of conviction and force.

"Our destiny is together. I'll take her."

Your eyes widen slightly as his words sink in, blinking through the shock and incredulity that rushes through you and makes your heart race in apprehension and wonder. Though his voice twins with your wandering dreams, you don't know whether to feel fascination and longing, or fear and cautiousness at some greater force beyond your understanding, playing out before your very eyes.

"I..." your voice falters in uncertainty and disbelief, and you try again. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me well," Paul responds with an undying, stoic certainty that's almost unnerving. "As I know you."

His eyes study you, his Spice-stained blue eyes bleeding into yours, scanning every freckle on your face and curve of your outfit. Assessing you, knowing you, ridiculous throngs of power filling his aura and projecting onto you with his intense stare. You have to fight not to shiver under it, ultimately failing.

"What of me?" is the wisest reply you can think of before the silence stretches into dangerous uncertainty.

"Everything," Paul says evenly, but there's no mistaking the challenge and determination in his tone, almost daring you to reject him, to disagree, a built-up desire of dreamt promises resolving his stand. "I choose you, as my Empress. We will rule together, over the Empire."

Scepticism and bewilderment washes over you and makes your blood heat and stir, retreating into silence as he takes a step closer to you, gazing at you as if you're the most curious, exotic being he's ever seen.

Desire threatens to override Paul Atreides' reason, clinging onto the hope and chance of a narrow way through to light, a light that could only be sought out with you by his side. Without you, there was nothing in sight but pools of blood replacing luscious marine life and oceans running through Arrakis, disarray and disillusion at every turn and infecting every heart.

You were absolutely perfect.

And you were already his, long before this moment, before you and he were born into the world and named. There was no manipulation needed, because everything was laid out for him to take, welcoming him to rule and grow higher and higher. Fate had bonded you and strung you along to here and now, and as you blink up into his bright eyes that narrow slightly at you, frowning softly as if you hadn't understood his demand.

"Do you know what I am?"

You pause for a moment, speaking slowly and cautiously, as the crowd of Fremen and the wary, late Emperor watch on in tense wordlessness. "You are Leto Atreides' son. Former Duke of Caladan."

"What I am," Paul repeats evenly, "not who I am." He stares at you in silence for another beat, before speaking up again. "Do you know of the Bene Gesserit?"

You stop yourself from glancing in Lady Jessica's direction just in time; the runes patterning her skin, her once soft eyes now spiked with an unfamiliar darkness of ages past. Anyone could get trapped in her watchful glare, and her son's holds almost as much intensity.

"No," you decide on hesitantly.

"Kwisatz Hederach," he adds, taking another step forward until you can feel his breath tickling your cheeks, standing above you with unspoken grace and vigor. "I see the future. A part of me is the future."

His hand is suddenly squeezing yours warmly and tightly, making you flinch slightly and glance down at them before looking back up at him.

"In this future, I am with you."

All you can do is stare at him in awe and wariness, not knowing whether to let your curiosity guide you, or distance yourself as far as possible from the boy who reigns over the dunes.

"Why?" you whisper, the crowds seeming to fade around you as you focus on the boy in front of you, his fingers tangling with yours boldly.

"I've seen it," Paul insists, his tone a touch softer in thought and wistfulness. "All of it. When I am with you..." His grip tightens over yours, the fire in his eyes returning. "We're unstoppable."

"And..." your words dry before you can speak them, and you will yourself to go on, unable to break away from the deep blue hues of his gaze. "And without?"

His jaw visibly clenches at your question, and his hand drops yours, shaking his head only answer as he glances away in slight frustration.

"You don't have the leisure of choice. It's all been made for you, written in the sands and stars, and what you need to do is walk in its path. I will show you the way. You have no other. Do you understand?"

The firmness is strong in his words and glare, making you look away from him too, still in a slight stun over the rush of events. In less than a day, your freedom has been stripped to this young man's desires and destiny, entwined with yours. You, who barely knew him until now, only familiar with his voice, his words, that echoed and rang in your head like a lullaby.

But this feels so harsh and strict. The eyes of the former Emporer linger between the two of you, and Paul's army of Fremen stand behind him attentively, some gazing at you in admiration and hope, of their messiah's promised bride. And she is beautiful.

"That's unfair."

"The future is unfair," Paul says calmly, his collected, cool tone wavering for a moment. "But it will be so much worse without you by my side, and I will not accept that. Not for my people... not for myself."

You stare at him in fascination and caution, lost for words. His fingers rise to brush against the skin of your cheek, sending tingles in their wake and making you fight back the automatic reaction, your eyes following his surprisingly gentle touch. Two fingers trace down the shape of your cheek down to your chin, tilting your head slightly upwards. Just one step closer, and your lips would be touching too.

"Name anything," he murmurs to you, the Fremen straining to hear his voice as it reaches you effortlessly, his expression earnest and determined. "Anything. And it is yours. Only if you willingly wed me in turn. Not as a concubine, nor a mistress."

You blink, then blink again, taken aback as a million thoughts and suggestions race through your mind and make your head spin for a split second. You glance at the elder Emperor, who gazes back at you and the infamous Lisan al Gaib wearily, his eyes clouded with sombreness and light spite.

"I... I don't," you shake your head, overwhelmed by an impossible choice. "I don't know..."

Paul's expression softens into a smile you haven't seen before, one that makes your cheeks flush with colour as you watch him; a gentle, amused smile that's somehow familiar and unfamiliar all at once, one meant just for you, as he disregards his surroundings.

"You will know," he replies quietly, "and I will have you, and protect you, rule with you. Love you. As I am meant to."

Paul suddenly brings you closer, pulling you into a searing kiss without warning. The exotic, earthy taste of the Spice on his tongue floods your senses and sends shudders of ecstasy and heat coursing under your skin and hushing the myriad of thoughts buzzing in your mind in an instant.

When he pulls away, all too soon, you find yourself chasing his lips before you catch yourself, and Paul gives you another soft smile, his forehead resting against yours as your eyes lock.

"And as I long to," he finishes against your lips, his words grounded with a look of protectiveness and desire that makes you instinctively relax further in his hold.

⊹⊹⊹

From beyond you both, his mother smiles slightly at the scene, a hand hovering over her rounded stomach.

The first step has been made.

══════════════⊹⊱≼ part two coming soon ≽⊰⊹══════════════

[entitled-fangirl]

Stubborn man.

Cregan Stark x wife!reader

Summary: Cregan returns from a hunt, eager to see his wife. But he's hiding something from her.

Warnings: blood, making out, pain, talks about sex, I think that's it?

A/n: Based on an ask!!! Also... I need more Tom Taylor gifs RIGHT NOW or I'll cry. So fancast Cregan might make a comeback in the gifs

Masterlist

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She felt herself flinch when strong hands gripped her waist from behind and a kiss was placed on the back of her neck. 

"Did you miss me, my heart?" A deep voice whispered in her ear.

She relaxed at the sound, her body instinctively giving in to the hands that held her, "Quite terribly."

He grinned and playfully nipped at her ear, "Good, because I have as well."

She spun in his hold, now facing him. She ran her hands over his clothed chest and fiddled with his cloak, "The hunt was successful, I assume?"

"Three elks and a boar," he said with a hint of pride, "Should last Winterfell a while enough."

"You're very brave, my lord," she smiled with a teasing tone. "Facing a boar is quite a formidable task."

"Aye," he agrees. "But so is facing the Warden of the North, wouldn't you agree?"

"You're right," She said as he tugged on his cloak to pull his face closer to hers. "The boar didn't stand a chance."

A confident aura overcame the lord and he leaned further down and connected their lips.

She let out a soft groan, savoring the feeling of him after such a long absence.

His arms moved up and around her back to pull her to him.

Her chest collided with his and only then did Cregan falter.

She pulled away, disconnecting their lips as she gave him a small frown. "Cregan?"

His breath had quickened and his face paled, but he was eagerly changing the subject, "I've only missed you is all." He leaned in again.

As his lips brushed hers, she pulled away again as her worry doubled, "Stop. Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Something is clearly bothering you," she pointed out. "Tell me."

His hands wandered up to her biceps, gripping her earnestly, as if trying to convince her, "I am just fine. I only wish to spend time with my wife. Is that a crime?"

"You and I both know it's not, but there's something you're not telling me."

They stared at one another, seeing who would break first. Finally, he did with a sigh. "It is nothing, I assure you."

"You're sure?" She asked in worry.

"I am." 

She stared at him for a while before nodding, deciding to believe him. "Very well. I dare say I would enjoy some time with my lord husband as well."

He grinned, "I can arrange that." 

She leaned forward and met his lips, hands beginning to wander. 

He led her backwards to the bed, careful to not lead her astray. She blindly let him, too caught him in his touch to care where he took her.

She fell onto the bed and Cregan leaned down and began to kiss down her clothed stomach.

"Will you let me indulge in what I've missed?" He asked softly.

She let out a breath at his admission. 

Watching her reaction closely, he pulled the skirt of her dress up.

As his fingers grazed her bare thigh, she moaned out, "I don't think I can wait. I need you."

He chuckled, "So eager for me."

She sat up to entice him to loom over her, but she noticed that the color still hadn't returned to his cheeks. "Are you cold?"

He frowned, clearly confused at the question, "What? No."

"You're pale. Cregan, please." She reached under his cloak to his chest. 

He reached out to grip her wrists, but it was too late.

Her hands pulled back with red staining her palms. Her eyes widened in horror. "W…What-"

"-Look at me." He grabbed her face with both hands. "I am fine."

"You're hardly-"

His eyes showed the purely determined tone to his voice, "I am fine."

Her breath began to become shorter and her voice softened, "You… you've seen the maester?"

"I don't need the maester. I just need you," he said as he leaned in again.

She turned her head as she denied his wishes. "You're injured."

He sighed and pulled away from her. "It… it is just a scratch."

She stared down at her hands that now had his blood on them. Her fingers were shaky, and her voice was soft, "…you're injured."

He panicked when she began to only repeat her worry. "Dear wife-"

She stood and smoothed her dress out in a rush, "I'll get the maester."

He reached out and grabbed her wrist. His face twisted in a wince when the movement caused pain to shoot through his body.

She paused. "Cregan."

He forced himself to overcome the pain. Determination ran through his eyes as he looked up at her. "I. Am Fine."

She looked at his hand on her wrist, then back to him. "Even wolves show weakness on occasion."

It was clear that he took her words to heart because his eyes softened and his grip on her loosened. 

She slowly pulled her hand away and moved to the cabinet, pulling out bandages and cloths

Cregan watched in silence.

She set them onto the bed softly before leaving the room. She returned with a small basin of water. "Undress."

His head tilted. "Alright."

He pulled his cloak off, and only then did she notice how badly he was injured. 

His tunic was soaked in blood across his chest. 

It felt as if she had been dunked in cold water. Panic settled into her gut.

Cregan reached down to the bottom of the tunic, beginning to slowly peel it away from the injury. It clearly hurt him. His jaw was clenched to the point she worried for his teeth.

"Let me," she offered, pulling it the rest of the way off of him and throwing it to the side. 

A long cut ran down his chest, blood staining his skin. Cregan didn't bother to look at it. He kept his eyes on her and her alone.

She forced him to sit on the bed and sat down as well, reaching down to the cut. Her fingers grazed it lightly, earning a hiss from him. "Sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head as he studied her face, "'s fine."

"Get comfortable, my love," she finally forced.

He grunted in acknowledgement and pushed himself against the headboard.

She stood and grabbed the basin, setting it on the nightstand. The woman got up on the bed, throwing her leg over him to straddle him. 

If he wasn't in such pain, the night would've went much differently.

She leaned over and wet a cloth, beginning to gently run it over the cut to clean it. 

Cregan rested his head back against the headboard. His gaze stayed on her face.

"I don't understand why you didn't say something sooner," she whispered as she focused on healing her husband.

His eyes moved down to her lips, "I've had worse."

"How did it happen?" She pressed down unintentionally, and he hissed again. She muttered an apology.

"The boar," was all he said. He tried to read her expression, but it was hard when she wasn't looking at him. One of his hands moved to her waist.

"Did you face it yourself?" She asked incredulously.

"It caught us off guard is all."

She hummed as she grabbed a new cloth and continued to clean him with gentle hands.

His thumb rubbed across her waist comfortingly. "You're angry."

"Not angry," she sighed. "Only worried." Once the cut was clean, she began to slowly rub the cloth across his shoulders and up his neck, cleaning the dirt from the rest of him. 

The feeling made him close his eyes, "I do hope you'll forgive me then."

She shook her head, "You haven't asked for it yet."

He reached up with his free hand and stopped her motions. "Forgive me." His eyes studied her intensely, his voice serious.

She finally let out a sigh and a hint of a smile came to her. "You're a foolish man."

"I am," he admitted.

She took the cloth with one hand and held his chin with the other, cleaning the dirt off of his face. Their proximity brought a soft blush to her cheeks. "I don't know what I would do without you."

His eyes moved to her lips again and he began to slowly lean in. "You don't have to."

"Promise me something," she whispered.

He nodded, "Anything."

"You'll not put your health aside to appear strong to me."

"I am the Warden of the North-"

She leaned away and held his chin in a tight grip. "Not here. You're my husband, Cregan."

A little grin came across his lips. "I promise."

She leaned forward and connected their lips. 

His hands found her waist, holding her in a vice grip as he pulled her as close as possible. She was careful to avoid the cut on his chest as her hands wandered over him. 

He pulled away and began to trail kisses down her neck, "I'm a blessed man."

She let out a content hum. "Are you? You have a gash in your chest. I hardly see-"

"-I have you." His teeth nipped at a sensitive spot, soothing it with his tongue. 

Her eyes began to close in bliss as she gave in to his touch. She caught herself, and forced her eyes open. "I haven't finished bandaging you."

He continued his movements, "You'll have time later."

"If you want anything from me, you must let me finish, you stubborn man."

He pulled away at that to look up and her. "Fierce girl."

She grinned and reached over to the bandages she had gathered. She wrapped them around him, "I forgive you."

His large hand came up to grab her jaw gently and force her to look him in the eye. "I will not take it for granted. Thank you."

"Do this again and I'll gut you myself."

A chuckle came from his throat. "I have no doubts of that." He pulled her face to his and his voice lowered, "I'll have to be extra cautious, won't I?"

"Or perhaps… don't leave at all," her soft voice suggested.

"Oh, my girl," he grinned. "When you finish this bandage, we are not leaving this room for a long while."

A bright red hue came to her cheeks.

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Taglist: @twinkletwinklenotastar, @kidd3ath,@yujyujj, @misswynters, @cosmosnkaz, @sithapprentice, @kaniromi, @lovemesomevesey, @its-jackie-bb, @8812-342, @thorins-queen-of-erebor, @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn, @callsignwidow, @a1lexh-blog, @alyssa-dayne, @ethereal-athalia, @ashovertheriver,

@cookielovesbook-akie

[ducksido]

I LOVE YOUR WORKS Practically going to tumblr to see it, I wanna request a houswardens having s/o who has unreal beauty? And has soft melodic laugh, I am just liking the trend of unreal beauty AHHHH I wanted to do myself the fic but you will do it better[sry just love you fics they look like canon]

(thank yew ❣️❣️)

Riddle Rosehearts Riddle was raised on rules, not daydreams. But when he looks at you? Logic flies out the window. You don’t just look beautiful—you’re unreal, like a fairytale vision spun from silk and moonlight. The first time he hears your laugh—soft, chiming, and full of genuine warmth—he forgets his entire sentence mid-way.

“I-I… you’re… no, I mean—ahem! You shouldn’t laugh like that in public—it’s… distracting…” His ears are as red as his hair. He gets flustered trying to enforce rules around you, but deep down? He loves that he’s powerless to your smile.

Leona Kingscholar Leona’s seen plenty of beautiful people, but you? You're on a whole other level. He calls you “Herbivore”, but the way he looks at you—like you’re some mythical creature who wandered into his den—is pure reverence.

“Tch. With a face like that, you’ll give the sun a complex.” He pretends to nap through your laughter, but his tail always flicks toward you when you laugh—like it’s trying to chase the sound. You're the only one who can make him willingly move from his nap spot… just to hear you laugh again.

Azul Ashengrotto You’re his Achilles’ heel. Azul, ever-calculated, tries to maintain composure around you—but when you walk in, glowing like ocean pearls with that melodic laugh that ripples like waves? He short-circuits.

“W-Would you mind… not laughing like that during meetings? It’s hard to think straight when you sound like a lullaby.” He fantasizes about bottling your laugh like a potion—something precious only he can hold. No business deal could ever compare to the way you smile just for him.

Kalim Al-Asim Kalim adores you. He's stunned every time he sees you—like he forgets you're real. Your laugh? It’s his favorite song. He claps, spins, and cheers when he hears it.

“You're like a genie’s wish come true!! Even your laugh sparkles!!” He shows you off like a precious jewel—not out of pride, but pure awe. He throws lavish parties just so others can see what he sees: someone too beautiful for words, with a voice soft enough to tame storms.

Vil Schoenheit Vil is the standard of beauty. And yet—even he can’t help but pause when you walk into a room. He studies you with a critical eye at first… but soon finds himself breathless.

“You’re… quite literally dazzling. And that laugh? It’s like perfume for the ears. How am I supposed to stay composed?” You’re the only one who could make the Queen himself stumble over words. Vil admires your grace, your softness, and the way your beauty is effortless. He won't admit it out loud, but you make him feel insecure—in the best way.

Idia Shroud He thought ethereal beauty only existed in RPGs. But then you appeared—with that glowy, surreal aura and a laugh so gentle it makes his chest ache.

“You… you’re not like a ghost or a simulation, right? B-Because you look like you phased in from another dimension or something…” His hair flares hot pink whenever you laugh. He replays your voice in his head like a cherished OST. He’s convinced you're some kind of mythical NPC that accidentally wandered into his world—and he's not letting you glitch away.

Malleus Draconia To Malleus, who has wandered centuries alone, you are a vision he never thought he’d witness outside a dream. Your beauty transcends mortal standards. He doesn't just admire you—he worships you.

“Your laughter… it soothes the thorns in my heart. You must be a forest spirit, come to enchant me.” He finds himself smiling whenever you’re near, your presence brighter than even his beloved gargoyles. You’re his lullaby. His light. His reason to want the company of others—for once.

[mandoalorian]

where you end, i begin [bucky barnes x f!reader]

pairing: new avenger!bucky x f!reader

synopsis: you didn’t expect sam wilson to be the one to pull you off the street, or to offer you a place to stay when you had nowhere else to go. but what you least expected was to come face-to-face with the leader of the new avengers — bucky barnes. you didn’t trust him. he didn’t trust you. but when sam sent you both on an errand together, something shifted. not enough to fix the past. just enough to start the fire.

word count: 7000

warnings: 18+ for eventual smut, enemies to lovers, thunderbolts* spoilers, sam/bucky are fighting, mention of family member death, details of physical and emotional abuse, grumpy!bucky, avengers tower fic

masterlist

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It had been fourteen months since the bar. Fourteen months since Shane broke a glass against your wrist, since a stranger in sunglasses asked if you were okay, and since the world met its new set of so-called heroes.

You still thought about that night sometimes—the way your heart raced not from fear, but from certainty. You’d seen it in Shane’s aura before it happened: the pressure rising, the colour deepening to that dangerous red you now knew too well. You’d seen it coming, just like you always did. And you still hadn’t stopped it.

Not really.

Now, you moved through your days like a ghost. A few bar shifts here, a couch to crash on there. Shane always came back around. He always had just enough charm, just enough regret, to get the door open again. And you always gave in—because it was either that or sleep in the cold.

What you didn’t know was that someone else had been watching, too.

Sam Wilson wasn’t a shadowy man by nature, but he had grown good at disappearing when he needed to. He didn’t make noise when he followed you out of the bar late at night, checking that you made it home. He didn’t flinch when he saw you stumble out of Shane’s apartment with a fresh bruise blooming along your collarbone.

He just kept notes. Kept watching.

He told himself it was because he saw something in you—something bright beneath the ache, something sharp. Power wrapped in grief, hidden behind cracked lips and tired eyes.

He told himself it wasn’t pity.

It wasn’t until the alley fight that he was sure.

You’d only meant to get your phone back. That was it. Shane had taken it—again—and you were done playing the patient game. But when you walked into that alley behind the bar, he was already drunk. Already yelling. Already grabbing for your wrist.

You felt it before he touched you: the spike in his chest, the tangle in his thoughts. His aura snapped like a live wire—violent, chaotic, erratic. You saw the shape of the blow before it came.

So you moved.

For once, you didn’t hesitate.

You caught his wrist, twisted, stepped into his chest with your palm flat over his heart. You didn’t know how you did it—but when you pushed, something surged from you. His body slammed into the dumpster with a crack loud enough to make the rats scatter.

You stared at your hands like they didn’t belong to you.

And Sam, across the street behind the windshield of his parked car, finally made the call he’d been putting off for over a year.

You didn’t go back to Shane after that. You didn’t have a choice. The door was slammed shut, your clothes thrown into the gutter. No phone, no money. You wandered all night. By morning, you were curled on the curb outside the bar, your hoodie soaked through from a burst of April rain.

That was where Sam found you again.

And this time, he didn’t keep walking.

You didn’t hear him approach.

Maybe it was the rain. Maybe it was the ache in your body or the way your hands were still shaking from everything you’d finally escaped. Or maybe it was because part of you had stopped expecting kindness. Kindness never walked up without a catch.

You hadn’t cried yet. Not since the fight.

Not when Shane shattered your phone against the apartment wall. Not when he screamed loud enough to wake your neighbours and you had to run barefoot with your backpack half-zipped and nothing but a crumpled twenty-dollar bill in your coat pocket. Not even when the woman at the shelter said there were no open beds, no space, no time.

You sat on the stoop of the corner store across from your old block, your coat soaked through at the shoulders and a plastic bag of your remaining things resting by your feet. You hadn't eaten since the night before. Maybe longer. The sky above had turned a familiar kind of gray—the kind that made the city feel quieter than it actually was. Like something was holding its breath.

Then, a voice.

“You always sit out here in the rain, or just when you’ve got nowhere else to go?”

You looked up sharply, instinct sparking under your skin. The man stood just out of reach, hands half-raised in a non-threatening gesture. Worn jacket. Scuffed boots. Cap pulled low over his eyes, sunglasses despite the storm clouds overhead. A paper bag dangled from one hand like a peace offering.

You narrowed your eyes. “You got a habit of bothering women who are clearly not in the mood?”

He cracked a faint smile. “Only when they look like they need a sandwich.”

Your stomach twisted at the word. A memory of warmth. Of feeling full. He stepped forward slowly and extended the bag.

“Double sausage, egg, extra cheese. They gave me two. You want it?”

You hesitated. But then the wind picked up, and you felt yourself flinch, thin fabric clinging to your soaked arms. Pride didn’t warm you. Hunger didn’t wait.

You reached out and took the bag without saying thank you. He sat down next to you, close enough to be companionable but not so close you’d mistake it for intimacy. Just a quiet presence.

You peeled the sandwich open and took a cautious bite.

He didn’t speak again until you were halfway through it.

“I’ve seen you fight.”

That stopped you cold.

You turned your head, chewing slowly. “Excuse me?”

He adjusted his sunglasses slightly but didn’t meet your eyes. “About a week ago. The alley behind McCready’s. That guy tried to grab your arm. You moved before he could. Like you felt it coming.”

You didn’t say anything. Just stared at him, tense and still.

“I’ve been keeping an eye on you. Not in a weird way,” he added quickly, as if realising how it sounded. “More like… a protective one.”

You snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause that doesn’t sound weird at all. And I don’t need protecting.”

“Yeah, I figured that much,” he muttered. “I saw you in that bar. Fourteen months ago.”

You blinked. “What?”

“The night that guy smashed the glass. Screamed at you like he wanted to break something more than the tumbler. You handled yourself. Scared him off before anyone else could even move.”

You stared at him. Memory unspooling. A man at the bar, alone in a booth. Cap, sunglasses. You hadn’t looked twice.

But how could you forget meeting Captain America.

“I thought you looked familiar,” you muttered.

“I wanted to check in that night. Say something. But I figured you didn’t need another man in your face. Especially not one you didn’t ask for.”

You frowned. “So why now?”

“Because I don’t think you’ve got anyone else.”

There it was. Brutal. True.

You looked down at your bag. Damp. Pathetic. Full of useless things like books and makeup and a single cracked hairbrush. The shelter turned you away. Your phone was in pieces. You had no money. No room to go back to. No friends.

No plan.

And yet still… “You could be a creep.”

“I could,” he said honestly. “But I’m not.”

You looked at him again. Studied his posture, the way he sat steady and relaxed, unthreatening. Something in your gut told you he was telling the truth. That soft, rare little voice that hadn’t failed you yet.

“…You’re really him?”

He smiled.

Then, he pulled off his sunglasses.

The recognition came in slow, like fog rolling off a lake.

Sam Wilson.

You’d seen his face on screens. Back when there were still screens in your life. The man who took the shield. The man who walked away from it. The one who didn’t ask for the spotlight but carried the weight anyway.

“Why would someone like you help someone like me?”

He shrugged. “Because someone once told me power doesn’t always look like flight suits and laser beams. Sometimes it’s the kind of power you can’t explain—but you feel it. When I saw you fight… I saw something real.”

You exhaled, long and slow.

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

“I know.”

You looked away, then back.

“…Couch or floor?”

He grinned. “Guest bedroom. I’ll even throw in a working shower and some clean towels.”

You smirked, even though your heart was racing. “That’s a bold offer.”

“I’m a bold guy.”

You stood, slowly, and gathered your bag. “So what are you now? A social worker?”

“Nope,” he said, standing beside you. “Just a guy trying to build something better. And maybe… recruit a few misfits along the way.”

You eyed him. “I didn’t know you were part of the Avengers again.”

He looked toward the clouds, thoughtful. “It’s a work in progress.”

────✪────

Sam’s apartment was warm. Too warm. Or maybe it just felt that way because you hadn’t been inside a home that didn’t scream danger in every corner.

The floors were wood, worn but clean. A stack of mail sat on the counter. The living room had a strange mix of modern and hand-me-down furniture. A dark leather couch. A navy throw blanket. The kind of space someone tried to make liveable without giving too much of themselves away.

You stood near the doorway with your damp bag clutched in both hands while Sam disappeared into the kitchen. You heard a fridge open, something fizz, and then his voice: “You want water, soda, beer?”

You hesitated. “…Water’s fine.”

He returned, handed you a bottle, then nodded for you to follow. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

You didn’t move right away. Not until he added, “It’s just us for now. My roommate’s out — his name’s Joaquin. Works late sometimes.”

You followed, wary but quiet. He pointed to a room down the hall. “That’ll be yours. The bed’s clean. Closet’s empty. You can stay as long as you need.”

You blinked at him. “Why are you being so… nice?”

He didn’t stop walking, but his voice lowered just a touch. “Because I’ve seen too many people fall through cracks no one’s willing to patch. If I can offer you a few bricks and some glue, I will.”

You didn’t have a response for that.

The bathroom was spotless. The cabinet had backup toothbrushes and unopened soaps. The bedroom wasn’t big, but it was safe. You stared at the freshly made bed like it might vanish if you blinked too hard.

“I can take you shopping tomorrow,” Sam said gently. “Clothes, food. You can make a list of what you like. We usually cook in, unless Joaquin tries to microwave fish again.”

A small laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Sam grinned.

“See? You’re already fitting in.”

You looked down, the smile fading. “I’m not used to people doing this. Being… decent.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

There was a knock at the door.

Sam’s entire energy shifted.

He gave you a quick glance — nothing panicked, just measured — and stepped toward the door.

“I’ve got it,” he said over his shoulder. “Sorry, he said he was coming later.”

You stood awkwardly in the hallway, unsure whether to retreat or wait. Then the door opened, and a voice drifted in.

Low. Familiar. Tightly controlled.

“You called.”

You couldn’t see him from where you stood, but something in your chest twisted anyway.

Sam sighed. “Come in, Barnes. Take your boots off. I just got this floor waxed.”

Boots thudded on the mat. Footsteps crossed the living room.

Then—he was there.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The Winter Soldier.

You knew his face. Had seen it splashed across news reports, dossiers, nightmares. His hair was longer now, thick and wavy. Honestly, he might have blow dried it. But the eyes were the same—steel blue, tired, sharp.

You froze.

He didn’t notice you at first. He was too busy handing Sam something—a file, maybe. Paper clipped, sealed tight.

“It’s a peace offering,” Bucky muttered. “Figured you’d want it before the next press conference.”

Sam looked unimpressed. “You mean the one where your girlfriend Val tries to trademark the term ‘heroic vigilante’?”

“I don’t even like her,” Bucky snapped. “You think I asked to be part of that PR stunt?”

Sam scoffed and turned away, muttering something under his breath about damage control.

And that’s when Bucky saw you.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak.

But his eyes locked on you like he’d sensed something.

Like your name was written in the air.

Sam noticed the shift and turned, his tone lighter now. “Right. Uh, Bucky, this is—”

You cut in. “You don’t have to.”

He raised a brow and introduced you anyway.

Sam stepped between you slightly. “She’s staying here. Guest room.”

Bucky tilted his head. “She your new protégé or something?”

Sam smiled, calm but pointed. “Let’s just say she’s got potential.”

There was silence, thick as oil.

Then Bucky gave a slow, almost imperceptible nod.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, voice unreadable.

You didn’t say it back.

You barely heard them after that. Something buzzed in your ears—sharp and thick like static. You felt Bucky’s presence in the room even after he stepped out of it, like the imprint of something heavy and permanent.

You didn’t remember walking to the guest room. Didn’t remember closing the door.

But suddenly you were inside it, alone, your fingers clutching the edge of the desk like it might anchor you to the floor. Your breath came in short, shallow bursts.

He’s here. He’s here. He’s in this house.

Your skin felt too tight, like your body wasn’t built to contain what was happening inside it. You closed your eyes, trying to will your powers still, but it was no use.

The room lit up in invisible colours—his aura had followed you.

It was like burnt silver wrapped in thunderclouds. Regret. Guilt. A pressure that scraped like glass beneath the ribs.

You couldn’t tell if it was his or yours.

The memories flooded in too quickly—your brother’s laugh, your mother’s scream, the news report, the blood. You couldn’t catch your breath. You couldn’t see without seeing him. That metal arm. That gun. That empty stare.

Your knees gave out.

You sank to the floor, hands over your ears as your powers bloomed wild and brutal. The light behind your eyes fractured like mirrors breaking underfoot. You felt the energy of the house—Sam’s steadiness, Bucky’s conflict, your own panic—a cacophony of emotion clawing to be named.

You bit your tongue hard enough to taste metal.

Then you screamed into your palms. Not loudly. Just enough to bleed something out of yourself.

And then—you shut it down.

You focused on the floor beneath you, the air in your lungs, the silence between heartbeats. You counted.

One. Two. Three.

Again.

One. Two. Three.

Eventually, the trembling stopped. Your aura dimmed. You forced yourself to crawl onto the bed, blanket pulled up to your chin like a child trying to disappear.

Outside the room, muffled voices.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway of the apartment, the air thick with unspoken things. He hadn’t seen Sam in over a year, and somehow this hallway—this ordinary patch of tile and light—felt heavier than any battlefield.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” Bucky said first, voice low, rough with dust and memory.

Sam gave a quiet laugh, though there was no humour in it. He leaned a shoulder against the kitchen doorway, arms crossed. “That so? Funny. Last I heard, you were naming teams after yourself and making a mess of the cleanup.”

Bucky frowned. “You think I wanted this?”

“I think you wanted control.” Sam’s tone was measured, but the bite beneath it was sharp. “Wanted to be something that didn’t belong to Steve.”

That landed like a punch, and they both felt it.

Bucky didn’t flinch, but he looked away.

Sam pressed on. “You disappeared, man. Fourteen months. No calls. No check-ins. Just… vanished.”

Bucky’s jaw ticked. “You think I had the luxury of checking in? I was doing damage control. You don’t know the shit Valentina’s been pulling—”

“You were my friend, Bucky,” Sam snapped, stepping forward now, heat rising in his voice. “I’ve been here. On the ground. Watching what’s happening, watching people get twisted into weapons again—”

“I was one of those weapons,” Bucky shot back. “Don’t preach to me about it.”

The room held its breath.

Bucky exhaled, ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t come to dig all this up. I came to talk.”

“About what?” Sam asked, voice flatter now. “About making peace? Mending fences? About maybe being on the same side again?”

“Something like that.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed, gaze cutting straight through him. “You show up with your tail tucked, looking to ‘talk,’ and you don’t even know what kind of shitstorm you walked into.”

Bucky raised a brow. “What storm?”

Sam hesitated. Just for a moment.

“…Never mind,” he said finally, pushing away from the doorframe. “Doesn’t matter. You want peace, you’ll have to earn it.”

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” Bucky muttered.

“Good,” Sam said, turning toward the fridge. “Because I’m not giving it.”

The silence between them lingered even after the heat of the argument cooled. Sam busied himself with pouring water, the clink of glass the only sound for a long stretch. Bucky just stood there—arms crossed, steel-eyed, jaw tight. But something about his stillness looked more like guilt than anger.

Finally, Bucky exhaled. “What can I do to make things better?”

Sam didn’t look at him right away. Instead, he turned to the window, watching the late afternoon sun stretch shadows across the floor.

“You can start by showing up when it matters,” Sam said quietly. “Start by taking responsibility without hiding behind guilt.”

“I am taking responsibility.”

“No, you’re doing what you’ve always done, Buck. You’re trying to fix everything without facing it.”

Bucky shifted his weight, clearly bristling. But before he could fire back, Sam cut in again—calmer this time.

“She needs clothes. Shoes. A damn toothbrush.” He glanced back at Bucky. “Take her to the mall. Walk beside someone again. Start there.”

Bucky groaned under his breath. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not. You want a way back in? You earn it.” Sam gestured toward the hallway. “Start with her.”

Bucky muttered something under his breath, then reluctantly trudged down the hall. Sam followed, but it was he who knocked—twice, gently—on your door.

Inside, you were curled under your blanket, aura flickering dimly like a bruise trying to fade. Your eyes were puffy, but alert, scanning the shape of Sam’s shadow beneath the door.

“Hey,” he said, soft but clear. “I know today’s been… a lot. But I was thinking maybe you could get out for a bit. There’s someone here who can take you shopping. Just for essentials.”

You stiffened. “I don’t want to go. You said you’d take me tomorrow.”

“He’s not—he’s not Shane,” Sam said gently, misunderstanding the tightness in your voice. “I wouldn’t let anyone near you if I thought they’d hurt you. This guy… I trust him with my life. I mean that.”

You didn’t answer. The silence grew teeth.

Eventually, Sam added in a hush, “He’s not a monster.”

But he was.

You stood slowly, your hand grazing the wood of the door. Through the thin barrier, you could sense it: the man standing just behind Sam. The storm in his aura, the tension in his breath. His presence buzzed against your nerves like static before lightning.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The man who killed your brother.

You pressed your forehead gently to the door. Sam thought you were scared of men. That you'd been broken by Shane, fragile and flinching.

But that wasn’t it.

You were finally close. Closer than you ever expected. You’d seen the headlines, watched the broadcasts—but nothing could compare to the sheer proximity of him. His heartbeat, his shadow.

You took a slow breath and opened the door.

Bucky was standing there, arms crossed, leaning on one hip like this was the last place he wanted to be.

His eyes flicked over you and then away, like you were another problem to solve. Maybe you were.

Sam smiled, clearly relieved. “Good. Just a quick trip. Get what you need.”

You gave the former Winter Soldier a long, measured look.

This was where your plan began.

“Fine,” you said.

And you stepped past the threshold.

────✪────

You hadn’t spoken since leaving Sam’s apartment. The silence in the car was thick, choked with unsaid things. Bucky drove like he wanted it over with—hands tight on the wheel, jaw clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead.

You didn’t thank him. He didn’t offer small talk.

By the time you stepped into the fluorescent haze of the mall, the air between you was already crackling.

“So,” Bucky muttered, holding the door open with the flat of his vibranium hand, “what exactly do you need?”

You stepped past him without looking. “I dunno. Soap. Clothes. Dignity.”

He huffed a quiet laugh under his breath. “That last one might be out of stock.”

You paused, turned, arms folded across your chest. “Was that supposed to be funny?”

He gave a shrug that might’ve meant anything. “You’re the one who said it.”

You narrowed your eyes, studying him—his posture, his expression, his aura. That storm inside him hadn’t lessened. If anything, it swirled darker now. A tension in his gut. Something like guilt. Or resentment. Maybe both.

You turned and walked faster, weaving into the crowd of shoppers.

“You always this pleasant?” he asked, trailing behind.

“Only when I’m with charming company.”

His voice stayed low, a little amused despite himself. “Is this because you don’t like me, or because you don’t like anyone?”

“I don’t know you,” you said sharply. “And let’s keep it that way.”

“Sure,” he said, falling into step beside you, “except I’m the guy stuck helping you pick out deodorant.”

You stopped abruptly in front of a store.

“Let’s get one thing straight.” You turned toward him. “I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t want this. I had a life. I was getting by. And now I’m stuck here—with you.”

“You were getting by?” Bucky quirked an eyebrow. You froze, unsure of how much Sam had told him about your situation. Never the less, it wasn’t his business.

“I was getting by.” you lied through your teeth.

His brow furrowed slightly, annoyed but... curious. “And… Stuck?”

“Yes. Stuck. With some half-retired war hero babysitting me like I’m some charity case.”

Bucky crossed his arms. “You think Sam’s doing this out of pity?”

“I think you don’t want to be here.”

“That’s true,” he said without missing a beat.

You scoffed and turned toward the nearest clothing rack, shoving through the hangers harder than necessary.

“Then why come?” you asked after a beat, your voice quieter now. “Why agree?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was flat and honest. “Because I owe Sam.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him. “That’s all this is?”

He held your gaze for just a second too long. “What else would it be?”

You didn’t have an answer.

So you grabbed a few shirts off the rack and stormed toward the fitting rooms. When you emerged ten minutes later, arms full of items, Bucky was exactly where you’d left him—leaning on a bench, arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be in a war zone.

“I need sneakers,” you muttered, brushing past him.

“Lead the way,” he said with a sigh.

The shoe store was quieter. You sat down on the little bench, trying on a pair of black high-tops, when Bucky finally said something that caught you off guard.

“So what do you like to do? When you’re not yelling at me, I mean.”

You glanced up at him with a sharp look. “You’re joking like you’re part of the circus— Not an Avenger. Although…”

He was too unbothered. “You’ve got a lot of sharp words for someone who can’t decide between a pair of shoes.”

You shifted on the bench, adjusting your stance as you reached down for the other shoe. But before you could slip it on, a cry pierced the air.

You froze. The sound of a baby wailing echoed through the store, followed by frantic footsteps as a mother rushed to comfort the child.

Bucky’s head snapped toward the noise. He raised an eyebrow, glancing at you.

You didn’t move. You barely breathed, your pulse quickening as the panic in the child’s aura swirled like an impending storm. The baby was in distress—too much of it, too quickly.

“Everything okay?” Bucky’s voice broke through your concentration, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t, not yet.

The crying grew louder, escalating, and before you knew it, you were standing, your body tight with an involuntary urge to do something about it.

You took a deep breath, eyes squeezed shut. You felt the pressure in your chest. The emotions of the baby bleeding into the atmosphere. You reached out, not physically, but with your senses, and tried to calm the child.

It was only for a second, but in that moment, the energy shifted. The crying stopped abruptly, as if the child’s distress had been soothed. The air seemed to calm with it.

When you opened your eyes, you saw Bucky watching you, expression unreadable.

“You... you felt that, didn’t you?” His voice was low, quiet. “Before it even happened.”

You didn’t answer right away, lowering your gaze to the shoes in your hands. “Black or blue?”

Bucky stared at you for a long beat, his gaze flickering over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He could tell there was more to you than what met the eye. And though he didn’t fully understand it, the way you had handled that... there was something almost unnatural about it.

But he didn’t press. He was still trying to understand everything about you—the quiet walls you put up, the sharpness in your words. And yet, he could see past all of it.

“Black,” he said after a moment, his tone less tense than before.

You shrugged, deliberately ignoring his suggestion and putting the black sneakers back on the shelf. You took the blue pair to pay at the cashier.

Bucky didn’t say anything else for a while. He just kept walking beside you through the store, quiet, observant.

Finally, after a few more minutes, you turned to him with a look that could’ve cut glass.

“You can’t always just fix everything.”

He looked down at you, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Who says I’m trying to fix anything?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but instead just let out a frustrated huff.

He watched you with a growing curiosity.

And for the first time since you’d gotten in the car, you both felt like maybe—just maybe—the quiet was starting to break.

The drive back to Sam’s was nearly as awkward as the drive to the mall.

Rain drizzled against the windshield, thin and cold, painting the world outside in gray streaks. You sat pressed against the passenger door, your eyes on the window but your senses—your aura—locked on him.

Bucky didn’t speak. Not at first. He just gripped the steering wheel like it might splinter in his hands if he eased up.

“You moved before that kid even started crying.”

His voice broke the silence like a stone in still water.

You blinked, feigning confusion. “What?”

“At the shoe store,” he said, glancing sideways. “The baby. You stood up before it happened. Like you knew.”

Your pulse ticked in your throat. “Lucky guess.”

He didn’t buy it. Of course he didn’t. You could feel the flicker of his suspicion—quiet but sharp, like a blade being unsheathed slowly.

“You’re not normal,” he said.

Your head snapped toward him, heart pounding. “That’s rude.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’m not normal either. Neither’s Sam. Or anyone trying to do what we’re doing now.”

“What you’re doing?” You laughed, bitter and sharp. “Please don’t lump me in with your little project.”

He arched a brow. “It’s not my project.”

“Right. You’re just the face of it.”

“Val’s the one in charge,” Bucky said carefully, testing the waters. “And Sam? He’s just as much part of it as anyone else. He just doesn’t realise it yet. He brought you in. Hey, maybe you can get him to sign—“

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you snapped. “Sam gave me a place to sleep, that’s all. I’m not here to be anyone’s weapon.”

The word hung between you, heavy and unspoken.

Weapon.

Bucky stiffened. You felt it. A ripple in his aura—like regret twisted with something darker. Guilt, maybe.

“The Avenger’s aren’t weapons.” Bucky said straightforwardly but solemnly.

“That’s all you are.” you bit back, narrowing your eyes.

“We’re peacekeepers.” Bucky mellowed.

“You’re liars.”

“Sam been putting those thoughts in your head?” he asked, too calm.

You scoffed. “No. Sam’s the only one who hasn’t lied to me.”

A tense silence passed.

Then you said, quietly, “The only Avengers that ever mattered were the first six. Bruce Banner. Natasha Romanoff. Clint Barton. Thor. Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. That’s what my brother used to say.”

You didn’t know why you told him that. Maybe because the car felt too quiet again. Maybe because your throat ached with words that never got said.

“Steve Rogers was his hero,” you murmured. “Wanted to be just like him. Told everyone he’d join the Avengers one day, even when the world stopped believing in them.”

Bucky’s grip tightened on the wheel. But he said nothing.

You glanced at him. “So no offence, but you don’t get to walk around calling yourself an Avenger like it means something.”

You didn’t mean to cut so deep.

But you meant every word.

When he finally pulled up to the curb outside Sam’s apartment, he turned off the engine, but didn’t move.

“You know,” he said slowly, “Your brother wasn’t wrong. About Steve.”

Your breath caught.

“But Steve believed in people. He believed in me. Doesn’t that count for something?”

You didn’t answer.

Not because you had nothing to say—but because you didn’t trust your voice.

If Bucky hadn’t murdered your brother in cold blood, you figured your brother might have actually liked the man.

Bucky opened the door without looking at you. “Let’s go. You’ve got clothes to unpack.”

You didn’t speak when you walked in. Just kicked off your shoes, dropped the shopping bags by the door, and beelined for the hallway without glancing back.

“Hey—” Sam started from the kitchen, but your footsteps were already retreating down the hall.

Your bedroom door shut with a soft click. Not a slam.

You didn’t have the strength to slam it.

The lights were off. That was good. You needed quiet. Dark. Stillness.

But it didn’t help.

Not really.

You pressed your back to the door, sinking slowly down until you were sitting on the floor, knees pulled to your chest. Your breathing was shallow, erratic. That thing in your chest—the one that always knew more than you wanted it to—was pounding like a second heartbeat.

Your skin pulsed with it. Like a wave just beneath your flesh.

Aura sensitivity.

You couldn’t switch it off. Couldn’t silence the pull of emotions around you. Couldn’t stop your body from picking up on the tension bleeding from the living room, the faint echo of Bucky’s anger still clinging to the hallway like smoke.

The mention of Steve clearly struck a chord. Good.

The room dimmed at the edges. Or maybe it was just your vision faltering, warping with the tremble that started in your fingers.

He knew.

Not everything. Not why you hated him. Not who he’d taken from you.

But he’d seen something.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

Your hands curled into fists, fingers trembling. You tried to regulate your breath, slow it down. In for four. Hold. Out for six.

But your lungs didn’t want to listen. They fluttered, panicked.

And then it started.

Soft at first. The glow beneath your skin. Pale and golden and sickly-sweet like syrup. It traced your veins, pulsing like fireflies trapped just beneath the surface.

You were spilling.

No one could see it. Not yet.

But if they did—

You scrambled off the floor and into the en suite bathroom, flicked the cold water on and splashed your face, hands, neck. Anything to shock your body back into focus. The chill bit at your skin. You welcomed it.

And behind you, barely audible through the wall, you heard the low hum of voices.

Sam.

And Bucky.

“She slammed the door?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

Bucky shrugged, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge and twisting the cap. “Didn’t slam it. Just… walked off.”

Sam watched him.

“She said something about the OG Avengers,” Bucky added quietly, gaze fixed on the bottle label. “Her brother was one of those kids. Worshipped Steve. Thought he’d wear the suit one day.”

A long pause.

“She told you that?” Sam asked, eyes narrowing.

Bucky nodded once. “Slipped out. Didn’t mean to.”

Sam’s brow furrowed.

“You do realise,” Sam said slowly, “she doesn’t trust you. At all.”

Bucky looked up. “I figured that out around the part where she said I don’t get to call myself an Avenger.”

Sam didn’t laugh.

He just exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. “Then earn it. Show her she’s safe here. That this isn’t just some recruitment stunt.”

Bucky leaned back against the counter, jaw flexing. “What if I can’t?”

Sam looked toward the hallway, where your door stayed closed and the air felt just a little too heavy.

“You can. You just need to start being better.”

────✪────

The apartment was quiet, but you couldn’t sleep.

Too much noise in your head. Too much you didn’t understand.

You found Sam on the balcony, sitting in one of the cheap plastic chairs, staring out at the skyline like it owed him answers.

You hesitated in the doorway.

He glanced back once and patted the chair beside him. “Can’t sleep?”

You shook your head and stepped out.

It was cooler out here. Wind in your hair, city alive beneath you, but far enough away that it felt like someone else’s problem.

You sat. Pulled your knees up to your chest, arms wrapped around them. “Thanks. For earlier.”

Sam just nodded. “You did fine. Held your own.”

“I mean for letting me stay.”

He shrugged, eyes still on the horizon. “You needed a place. I had one.”

You glanced sideways at him. “You always do that? Help strays off the street?”

His lips twitched at that. “Only the special ones.”

That earned a quiet laugh from you. Barely.

Then came the pause.

The one you weren’t sure how to fill, until the words came out before you could pull them back.

“What’s his deal?”

Sam turned to you. “Who?”

You didn’t answer. Just gave him a look.

Sam sighed and leaned back, rubbing a hand over his face. “You don’t wanna get into that.”

“I kind of do.”

He was quiet a long moment, considering.

“Bucky’s… complicated,” Sam said eventually. “He’s trying. Has been. But he’s got a long shadow behind him. Not everyone sees past that.”

“Do you?”

“I try,” Sam said softly. “We’ve been through a lot together. Doesn’t mean I excuse everything. But I know what it’s like to be rewritten.”

You nodded slowly, heart twisting.

“I’m not afraid of him,” you murmured.

Sam gave you a long look. “Good. But you should know—he’s not like the man you see in headlines.”

You considered his words only briefly.

Your throat tightened. “Why me?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted honestly. “But when I saw what you could do, I knew you didn’t belong where you were. And I don’t think you want to be there again.”

You swallowed hard.

“I don’t.”

The apartment was dim and still. Only the occasional whir of the refrigerator broke the silence, but it wasn’t enough to quiet your thoughts.

Trying to go back to sleep had been impossible.

You’d really tried to go back to bed when Sam did, after your conversation on the balcony. You figured you might sleep better knowing that everyone else was sleeping too. But none of this felt right.

Too much noise behind your eyelids. Too much weight on your chest. The bed felt foreign, like if you stayed in it too long, you’d vanish into the sheets and never come back.

So, again, you padded quietly through the apartment, wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big and thick socks that muted your steps.

You didn’t expect anyone else to be awake.

But there he was.

Barnes.

Sitting at the kitchen table, elbows on the wood, long fingers curled around the neck of a bottle. He looked like he’d been carved out of the dark itself — broad shoulders hunched, tired eyes fixed on the manila folder splayed open in front of him. His jaw tensed as he read something over again, and again, like the words were mocking him.

The soft creak of the floor made him glance up.

You froze.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

Finally, you shifted your weight. “Do you live here or something?”

His brow lifted faintly. “No.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He sighed. Rubbed a hand over his jaw and looked back at the papers. “Just overstaying my welcome.”

You hesitated in the doorway before stepping inside. Opened the cupboard for a glass, filled it with water from the tap. His eyes tracked you once before settling back on the folder.

Your curiosity gnawed at you.

“What is that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at it like it personally offended him.

“A file,” he said at last. “A peace offering.”

You leaned against the counter, arms folded. “For Sam?”

Bucky nodded once. “Proposal. Co-leadership. New Avengers. Shared responsibility.”

Your brows rose. “That sounds… mature.”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “Apparently not mature enough to be taken seriously.”

You watched him for a long beat.

“So instead of signing it, Sam sends you shopping with me.”

He didn’t laugh at that. Just let his head tip back, eyes on the ceiling like he was praying for patience. “He’s testing me,” Bucky muttered. “Seeing if I’ll break. If I’ve changed. I don’t blame him.”

“Why not?”

“Because I did a lot of things,” he said. “Things that don’t go away just because I want to do better now. Sam thinks I betrayed him.”

Your fingers curled tighter around the glass. You didn’t know what to say to that.

Then he looked at you.

“I just want to fix things.”

Something in his voice made your chest pull tight. It wasn’t desperation. Not quite. It was quieter than that. Lonelier.

You crossed the space and sat at the edge of the table, far from him, but close enough to feel the tremor in the air.

“Maybe,” you said carefully, “you should stop trying to be a hero.”

That caught him off guard. His eyes narrowed, a frown tugging at his lips. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you murmured. “You’re just not very good at it.”

He blinked. “Wow. Thanks.”

But you weren’t teasing.

You were looking at him too closely now, and he could feel it.

You didn’t see the Winter Soldier.

You saw something else. Something broken.

“I see sadness,” you said softly. “Big, heavy grief. Not loud. But deep. You carry it like it belongs to you.”

He tensed. “You reading my energy?”

This time, you tensed. Oh, he knew.

“No. Just your face.”

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away.

You held his gaze, and something passed between you. Unspoken. Uneasy. Familiar.

You looked down. Swirled your glass.

“Heroes don’t always look like the people we loved,” you said, almost to yourself.

Then you pushed back your chair and stood.

Bucky didn’t stop you. But he watched you go, with something tired and heavy etched into every line of his face.

And when you glanced back before disappearing down the hallway, he was still staring at that folder, like if he read it enough times, the words might finally save him.

────✪────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world

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[shire-ivy]

Kinda hilarious that Penelope said "if I secure a proposal, it would be thanks to you" to Colin, only for him to ruin the only proposal Penelope thought she'd ever have, and then propose to her himself 20 minutes later.

[jarofstyles]

Migraine

Hello!! I've got part one of a two parter here for you. It was originally a one shot but it’s close to 18k... so I decided to split it up. Next part will be posted in a week or so!

Check out our Patreon for early access and 260+ exclusive writings and series

DISCLAIMER- People with migraines get different auras, have different triggers, etc. I tried to represent them as I am familiar with, it may not be the same for you or a loved one who deals with them!

WC- 6.1k

Warnings- descriptions of migraines, asshole H, angst, pining, mention of nausea and pain, mention of bullying

The office was filled with the usual hum of keyboards and muffled phone conversations, but unfortunately, Y/N could always pick out Harry's voice above the rest. He was always laughing too loudly, always arguing with the printer, always finding some reason to be annoying. She sat at her desk, trying to focus on her task list, but Harry's constant chatter was grating on her nerves. "Y/N!" Harry called out, wandering over to her desk.

“What?” She sighed, the persistent rising of the headache throbbing at her temples as she didn’t bother looking in his direction. Feeding into his antics never ended up going the way she wanted. And yet, it always happened. 

"I need you to print out this report for me." Harry said as he strolled into her office like he owned the place, dropping a stack of papers onto her desk.  Her body jerked as the paper was plopped haphazardly, as usual, almost knocking over the far too expensive iced latte she’d picked up on her way in. Reflexes caught it in time, but a few condensation droplets wet the papers she had currently been working on.  Ever since he’d been assigned as the lead on the project he’d been rubbing it in her face, acting like her boss even though he wasn’t… and she was tired. 

“I’ll also need you to make some copies of these contracts. Oh, and while you're at it, could you grab me a coffee from the break room?" He leaned against her desk, his eyes tinged with amusement as he waited for her to respond. Like this was some sort of game.

“I’m not your assistant Harry. I’m working on my own stuff. Find someone else to do it- or better yet, do it yourself.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up in surprise at her sudden defiance. He really hadn't expected that level of backbone from her. Usually it took a little more to make her get snappy, but she was playing into it today even if she thought she wasn’t. A slow grin spread across his face as he leaned in closer, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, Y/N, aren't you just adorable when you're mad at me." He tapped the stack of papers with his fingers. "And here I thought we were a team. Is it too much to ask for a little teamwork?"

She could see her vision waver- and unfortunately, it wasn’t just from the annoyance his presence tended to naturally bring. It wasn’t uncommon for ocular migraines to get her, but her headache had been bad all day. The warning signs had been there when she woke up, even more so an hour ago when the metallic taste had entered her mouth, but she’s decided to go to work regardless. Dedicated to the job, Y/N didn’t take time off unless absolutely necessary. 

Harry really didn’t understand how brutal migraines could be and she knew that, but he chose the worst times he possibly could to mess with her. Like he had some sort of monitor on her to tell him exactly when the worst time was to bother her. “Yes. I need to be left alone, please.” She took a sip of her watered down coffee to get caffeine in her, but it was taking a bit to work on her.

He knew she got headaches sometimes, but he also knew she hated it when anyone really brought it up because she didn't want anyone to 'baby' her. So… he decided to push a little more. Watching Y/N's hand as she brought her light colored coffee with condensation dripping down the side to her lips again, he got momentarily distracted by her lips wrapped around the straw before snapping out of it. Simply staring wasn’t going to get her to respond. Leaning in closer, his voice lowered to a conspiratorial tone. "You know, there are studies that show that loud noises can actually trigger headaches t’get worse." He tapped his fingers on her desk, the sound deliberately loud and irritating. "And some people say that stress makes it even worse too."

“Yeah, it can. So can you go away?” She snapped, glowering down at the desk in front of her. What she really meant was Fuck Off, but she didn’t really use that langauge too often. Usually, she didn’t want to give in to whatever antics the stupidly stubborn man tried to bring to get her to break- but the throb at her temples made it hard to have any tolerance at all. Harry liked to push buttons but especially liked to get under her skin. “Go get your own coffee and give me some silence.”

Harry chuckled, the sound grating on Y/N's already frayed nerves. "Aww, come on Y/N," he said, his voice dripping with fake sympathy- like this was a game. "I just want to make sure Y’know that, so you can get your job done. Maybe I should just sit here with you until your headache goes away. Make sure you’re not slacking off, hm?" He reached out and turned her computer monitor up to maximum brightness, the sudden blast of light making her wince. Harry was messing with her. He had no actual clue on how bad headaches could mess with her. It was fun to poke and prod to see her snarl back. “There. That should wake you up, since the coffee isn’t doing its job.”

Y/N had barely slept, her head was throbbing, her eyes blurry and her nerves completely fried. At some times he was a mere nuisance, like a fly buzzing in her ear that she could ignore if she tried to tune him out. Harry was a bit of a clown around the office, liked to make people laugh, but he especially liked to mess with Y/N. Perhaps it was because she was quiet and not as outwardly receptive, but she really didn’t like how obnoxious he could get. 9 times out of 10, she could deal with it. 

Apparently, he caught her on the one day she couldn’t. 

Ignoring him, she shut her monitor off and buried her face in her hands, wincing as the pain radiated through her temples to the back of her eye. If you’d never experienced it you’d never know how blinding the pain could be. Literally and metaphorically.

Apparently, he was missing the memo, thinking she was playing along. He reached out and grabbed a nearby stapler, tapping it loudly on her desk. "Y/N?" He called out, his voice deliberately cheerful. "C’mon, enough with the headache excuse. Why are you ignoring me again?" He tapped the stapler faster, the noise grating and irritating. "I’ll stop once you tell me why you’ve got t’keep being such a killjoy. We’ve got work to do and ignoring me isn’t good for team building.”

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes against her will. The last thing she wanted was to have him see her cry. It was embarrassing, and she didn’t want him to know he had any power over her at all- even if this probably wasn’t the desired outcome- but it was hard not to react. She wanted her room, she wanted her blackout curtains and complete silence except the low sound of her fan. The last place she wanted to be was stuck in a room with someone who loved to make her insane, fucking with her and making her headache worse. Curling into herself, she let out a shuddering breath- and the tapping stopped.

He wasn’t quite sure what had happened as he let the silence take over, hearing her shaky breath. Harry hadn’t realized it before how her usual put-together appearance was completely disheveled- but he sure as fuck did now. 

Y/N wasn’t the type to come in with a hair out of place. Sometimes it pissed him off. Smart, put together, pretty Y/N not even looking his way. Thought she was too good to be his friend or something… but through his teasing he wanted to get her attention. Wanted her to talk to him since she didn’t on her own. The last thing he wanted was to actually piss her off… Let alone hurt her. "Shit..." he muttered, his voice losing its usual mocking tone. "Y/N?" Reaching out hesitantly, his hand hovering near her shoulder. It probably wasn’t appropriate to touch her but he felt a slight lick of panic run through his stomach. "Hey, are you alright? I was just messing around…" He trailed off, genuinely concerned. Harry could be annoying, he’d been told that plenty of times before- but purposefully inflicting pain wasn’t something he’d meant to do. That wasn’t something he’d ever want to truly do to someone. 

The girl sniffled, shaking her head. “No.” The break in her voice was enough to display that. “My head hurts and you couldn’t just leave me alone. I was trying to prevent this and now I feel like I’m going to throw up.” She wanted to be angrier, sound meaner, but her voice was shaky. Pathetic. She hated every bit of this. “Please, can you get out of my office? Let me turn my lights off.”

Harry's hand froze in mid-air as he’d gone to touch her again, her words hitting him like a physical blow. He hadn't meant to make her feel this way, to push her to the point of tears and nausea. His face fell, genuine remorse etched into his features even if she couldn’t see it. "Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry." He whispered, his usual bravado gone. "M’so sorry. I didn't realize... I thought you were just being stubborn, like always." He pulled his hand back, standing up slowly. "I'll go."

On his way out, he was especially gentle turning the lights out and closing the door. Guilt swam in his gut as he ran his hand over his face, going towards the break room. All he’d wanted was to play around. See if she’d shoot back and if their little dynamic of her being slightly irritated at his presence had changed to something more fond. He’d been trying to gain some sort of joke with her, make her spat back and forth with him until it would make her laugh. In the weird way he tried to show it, he had wanted to be her friend. 

No chance at that now. He’d properly blown it. 

Harry poured himself a cup of coffee, staring at the steaming liquid without really seeing it. The sound of Y/N's shaky breath echoed in his mind, making him feel like absolute shit. Running his hands through his hair, the frustration with himself built at the lack of cues he had really taken from her. Of course he’d known he could be oblivious, but he hadn’t anticipated a joke going wrong. The joke was on him - he’d broken her. For once, he wasn’t in control of the situation, and he didn’t know how to fix it.

Sitting at the break room table, his coffee say untouched as he stared off into space. He kept thinking about Y/N's tears, the way her usually perfect hair was messy and stuck to her face. He kept replaying the way she'd asked him to leave her alone, her voice shaking with frustration and pain. He'd never seen her like that before, and it was hitting him hard. He felt like an asshole for pushing her so far, for not realizing how bad her headaches really were. 

“Hey. Do you know if Y/N having a headache? Her door is closed and the lights are off but I thought that she came in today.” Niall asked as he popped into the break room, taking the seat across from Harry.

Harry looked up, wincing slightly as he was broken from thought. "Yeah, she's got a bad one. Think I accidentally made it worse." The admission was spoken quietly, hand rubbing his face. "I was trying to be a dick and mess with her, but... I didn't realize how bad it was until she started crying." He sighed heavily. It was his own fault, but he couldn’t stop feeling like a complete idiot. "I just left her alone, but now I feel like shit for making her feel that way." He glanced up at Niall. "You know how she is with her headaches, right?" Much to his annoyance, Niall and Y/N had seemingly become friends much easier than he had been able to.

“Harry…” His disapproval was already on his face. “It’s not just a headache. Migraines can get really bad. My sister gets them. Been to the hospital multiple times just for relief because regular paracetamol doesn’t cut it. If Y/N ever misses a day, it’s because of them- and you know she hates missing anything. It’s like… a throbbing in your brain, sharp pain. Like the worst hangover you’ve had times a thousand. That’s how she said they were to me. They’re different types but…” Niall sighed. “You’re not a cruel guy, mate. Why were you messing with her if you knew she didn’t feel well?”

Harry's face fell in succession as he listened to Niall, realizing just how little he actually knew about migraines. He'd always just thought of them as a minor annoyance, something she could brush off- pop a pain relief and keep it going. But hearing Niall describe them as a "throbbing in her brain" made him feel sick to his stomach. He'd been so caught up in his own stupid game that he hadn't considered any of that. All he had wanted as her reaction. He’d gotten what he’d wished for, but it didn’t end up being the result he wanted. 

"I just... I don't know, Niall. I thought I was being funny, you know? Poking at her a little to get a reaction. But then she started crying and I... fuck, I feel like the biggest dickhead." Harry ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "I didn't mean to hurt her- I’d never want that and you know that. I just wanted her to talk to me, to acknowledge me since she never does on her own. But now I've probably just pushed her away even more."

“She’s not actively not trying to talk to you. I mean, after a bit yeah she probably is, cause you keep fucking with her, but she’s just a quiet person. Enjoys being behind the scenes. You’re always the center of attention. You probably intimidate her a bit.” Niall mused, taking a bit of his candy he’d pulled from his bag. “She’s not ridiculous. If you apologize and really feel bad, she’ll probably see it. But you keep acting like a prick trying to get the attention of the girls at school in front of her. You’ve got to cool it.”

"You think so?" Harry asked, his brow furrowing as he considered Niall's words. He'd never really thought about the fact that he might be intimidating to Y/N. He always just assumed she was ignoring him on purpose, like she was too good to talk to him- and besides, he didn’t considering himself intimidating in the slightest! Sure he was tall, a little loud and had some interesting tattoo choices but he was nice…. Wasn’t he? 

"So, you're saying I should apologize genuinely and lay off the jokes for a bit? That’s it?" He took Niall's advice seriously, seeing as Niall seemed to understand Y/N better than he did. It didn’t seem like enough to properly apologize but he would take his advice.

“Yeah. I’ve told you for a bit to lay off of her but you kept going at it.” He said with his mouth full, sending him a look.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face again. "I know, I know. I just... I was just joking with her, Niall. She's always been so quiet and reserved around me, it's like she's not even there half the time. And then when she does speak up, it's always to tell me to shut up or leave her alone. It's like she's just tolerating my presence or something." He shook his head, frustrated with himself. "I guess I just want her to notice me, you know?"

“Well, can’t say ya went about it the right way.” Niall snorted, shaking his head at the dumbass attempt. “But you can start when she’s done hurting. Make her a gift or get her a coffee, sit with her and genuinely apologize. She’ll hear you out, even if you probably don’t deserve it.”

——-

Hopefully, Niall hadn’t been full of shit. 

Harry watched nervously from his office across the hall as Y/N arrived, noticing the gift basket on her desk. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't just throw it away without looking at the card. Annoyingly enough, her door had closed behind her. Letting out a breath of his own nerves, he leaned back in his seat- there had been the hope of at least seeing if she smiled.

Putting together a gift basket was much more difficult than he had anticipated, especially for Y/N. It was then that he realized he didn’t know much about her, and especially about migraines as a whole. He'd spent a long time picking out things he thought she might like - dark chocolates, a fancy journal, some cozy tea blends, migraine medication, some essential oils google said could help with headaches. And of course, a heartfelt apology note tucked away inside, scribbled in his messy handwriting.

Y/N, I'm an idiot. I realize that now more than ever. I'm sorry for pushing your buttons and making your headaches worse. I'm sorry for being a jerk and not realizing how much pain you were actually in. That isn’t an excuse, though. I know it isn’t going to make it better and I promise this isn’t an attempt to buy your forgiveness, but I made you a little… basket thing? There are some things that might help - chocolate for the sugar crashes, tea for relaxation, oil for your temples, and medicine to keep at your desk. I googled it, it’s the best rated one. Please forgive me for being a complete dickhead.

 - Harry

As the day wore on, Harry found himself constantly glancing over at Y/N's office, hoping to catch her attention when her door propped back open but he wasn’t having much luck. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding him, her head down and focused on her work. By the time 5 o'clock rolled around, he was starting to get frustrated- he had been buried in his own work as well, not able to get up and ask her much at all. He hadn't even had a chance to talk to her about the gift basket or his apology- or hear if she was telling him to fuck off The not knowing was killing him. 

Harry slumped in his chair, a deep frown etched onto his face as he watched Y/N gather her things to leave. His shoulders were tense, his stomach twisted in knots. Rejection clung to him like a damp sweater, uncomfortable and constricting. He felt foolish for thinking a gift basket would somehow magically fix everything, erase all the hurt he'd caused with his foolish teasing. It wasn’t like he thought she would just instantly accept his apology or something- but it had been a hope. His pride was stung, but more than that, he felt genuine regret and a tugging worry that he'd damaged their working relationship beyond repair- let alone any chance of actually being friends.

It had been obvious to him now more than ever, his flirting style needed work. His mother would absolutely smack him upside the head if she ever caught wind of any of what he’d done. This wasn’t the playground. The excuse of men being mean to women because they liked them was bullshit. In his defense, he wasn’t trying to be cruel on purpose. He was trying to tease her, get her to think he was funny, and start banter with her. Get her to react to him because she stayed to herself. She didn’t react to any of his jokes he’d told in the break room, scurrying off, barely interacting with him unless it was 100% necessary- it stung his ego but also motivated him to try and get her to laugh. To react in any way he could because he wanted her attention. 

Y/N was beautiful. He’d noticed that the first day she started. They’d been introduced by their boss, Harry nearly stumbling over his words as he greeted her. She’d let a little shy smile on her face as she waved at him and he’d felt his heart flip flop in his chest. She wasn’t his usual type, but she’d taken up a lot of his mind since that day. It had led to frustration, albeit immature, that she wasn’t paying him any mind unless he was bugging her and it became their norm. It wasn’t what he had wanted, no, but it was the only way he’d seen results. So he kept at it until he’d nearly fatally fucked up.

But finally, knocking him out of his train of thought, he heard her door close and the rattle of keys as she emerged from her office. Much more put together than yesterday, the only sign of anything being off being slight darkness under her eyes, she looked perfectly pieced in every place. 

As Y/N headed for the elevator, Harry finally gathered his courage and jogged to catch up with her. "Y/N, wait!" he called out, slightly out of breath. She paused, turning to face him with a guarded expression as he pulled to a stop outside the elevator. Rubbing the back of his neck nervously, unsure of where to begin, he just let his mouth take over. "I just... I wanted to make sure you got the gift basket. And the note." He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "Did you... did you read it?"

“Not yet.” She said quietly, shifting slightly on her feet. “I didn’t get a chance. I left early yesterday and couldn’t get all my work done yesterday so I had to immediately jump into things.”

"Oh, I see..." Harry nodded, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest at her admission. At least she hadn't dismissed his apology outright. He took a deep breath, deciding to lay it all out there. "Well, I put my heart into that note. I meant every word, Y/N. M’truly sorry for being such an inconsiderate dick. Your migraines aren't a joke, and I should have respected that. I truly didn’t know." He looked down at his shoes before meeting her gaze again, his expression earnest.

“Thank you for the apology. I’ll read it when I’m home.” It had been a curiosity for her all day. She had a feeling it was from him considering she saw his sloppy handwriting in the envelope resting on top, but she truly hadn’t had the time to read anything.  This was more than she had expected from him, that was for sure. He apologized in person and in the note she had yet to read and looked like he had been reprimanded but who knew? As genuine as his nerves seemed to be, it could have been another part of a joke. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Harry managed a small smile, relief washing over him knowing she hadn't thrown his apology away unread. "Okay. Yeah- yeah, no problem. Take care of yourself tonight." he said, his voice warm with sincerity that had been missing in most of their prior interactions. He’d always gone with the joking route, but it was apparent now that he had read her completely wrong. As Y/N stepped into the elevator, Harry watched the doors close, a plan forming in his mind. He would continue to show her through his actions that he was serious about changing. Maybe tomorrow he'd bring her favorite coffee as another peace offering. Baby steps, he thought. It was a start.

—

When Y/N got home she could properly inspect the small basket, but more importantly- the note.

Y/N blinked in surprise as she unfolded the note, her eyebrows raising slightly at the raw sincerity of Harry's words- and his slightly sloppy handwriting. A small, incredulous smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she read about the idiocy he confessed to. She couldn't help but chuckle softly at the mention of chocolate for sugar crashes - a detail that showed he had actually looked some things up. The mention of the oils and medicine touched her unexpectedly, realizing the actual thought he'd put into items that could genuinely help her.

The more Y/N read the note, the more she wondered why Harry would go through all this trouble. He'd never shown this level of consideration before, always preferring to tease and joke around instead. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this apology than met the eye. As she set the note down, she couldn't help but wonder what Harry's endgame was.

As Y/N looked through the gift basket, she found herself softening towards Harry. The chocolates, the tea, the journal - it was all thoughtful and considerate. He'd clearly put a lot of effort into selecting things that might actually help her. And the note... the note was something else entirely. It was heartfelt and apologetic, with a hint of humor that made her smile. For the first time, she started to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Harry was genuinely sorry for his actions. If so, that would be a first.

It was quickly decided that she needed to talk to Harry in person to get a better read on his intentions. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to his apology than met the eye, and she wanted to know what was behind his sudden change of heart. To go from constant irritation to this? Maybe he really had learned his lesson and was genuinely trying to be a better colleague. Or maybe there was something else at play. Either way, she needed to have a conversation with him to clear the air. She just hoped he would listen.

———

The next morning, Y/N arrived at the office looking composed and put together, despite the lingering fatigue from her slightly sleepless night. The whole scenario had been hard to read and she knew there wouldn’t be much understanding until she actually got to speak to him. Walking in with her head held high, her eyes scanned the doors until they landed on Harry's office- thankfully with the light on and the door cracked open. She hesitated for a moment, gathering her thoughts before pushing open the door and stepping inside. Harry looked up from his computer, his face lighting up in surprise as he saw her standing there. "Hey- hi," he said, setting his pen down. "What brings you here so early?"

“I read your note.” She said softly. “Weirdly enough, I believe you… about being sorry, and not knowing how bad my headaches got. I know I haven’t talked to you about them so I don’t expect you to fully understand it.” Rocking on her heels, she took another step into his office and closed the door behind her. “I just… I had a few questions that I don’t really understand. Why do you keep messing with me? Do you not like me or something? Did I do something?”

Harry's eyebrows furrowed as he processed Y/N's questions, leaning back in his chair and studying her intently. "You read the note?" He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to find the right words to explain his behavior. "Look, Y/N, I haven’t been messing with you to piss you off. I was… I was trying to joke with you. You said you didn’t like people babying you over your headaches and stuff, so I didn’t think it was that serious. I was hoping you’d push back a bit and we could banter. I’d never purposely want you in actual pain." He promised. It felt a bit surreal to be talking to her like this, but she was giving him a generous opportunity to apologize. He’d been a real prick, and the least he owed her was the truth- even if it made him feel anxiety like never before. "I do like you, which might be the problem..." That lingered in the air before he continued.

"You're so quiet and always focused on your work that I thought you didn’t like me." Harry continued, his voice lowering as he admitted it. The concept felt a bit silly now saying it out loud. "I thought you were ignoring me on purpose because you were like… I don’t know. Not convinced I was cool enough. Or it was something personal about me that you disliked, and I don’t like being disliked. One of my many flaws.” He sent her a half smile before continuing. “So, I kept pushing your buttons to get a reaction out of you. But then I started realizing that you weren't ignoring me because you hated me, you were just... ignoring me.  I felt frustrated because you seemed to get on with everyone else well enough, but you never laughed at my jokes or really interacted with me when I tried to make you laugh... And then I figured out you’d snap back at me or talk to me if I irritated you a bit. It’s not my finest work, and I do regret it. Believe me." He paused, his mind reeling as he tried to put his thoughts into words. Being in front of her, even if he was the one behind the desk, was anxiety inducing. “I just didn’t know what to do to get you to like me.”

Harry couldn’t exactly read her face. It was hard to tell how she felt about it, so he continued on. "I know it sounds stupid now, but I really thought if I could just make you react to me, even if it was anger, it would be a start. But then you started crying and I felt like the worst prick alive. I never wanted you to actually be in pain. I thought we were just continuing on, you’d tell me to fuck off or something. Seeing you cry and be in pain made me feel like shit." Harry's voice cracked slightly as he relived the memory, his eyes dropping to the mess he’d made in his desk. "I've never seen you that upset before, and it scared me. I realized that I've been going about this all wrong and that I need to change my approach." That was an understatement. He shouldn’t have gone at it like that to begin with.

"So, to answer your question directly - no, I don’t dislike you. In fact, I think I might like you too much, which is why I've been acting like an idiot..." He trailed off, his cheeks flushing slightly as he admitted these things out loud. Thankfully Y/N had more sense than he did, not lingering on that confession.

“I never disliked you or anything. Not until you started picking on me.” She admitted with a furrowed brow. Had he really thought that? “I’m just not a super extroverted person. I don’t talk a lot to most people. It isn’t a reflection of you. Yeah, you were obnoxious sometimes.” The statement was blunt but it needed to be. “But only because I felt like you were singling me out to fuck with me. I dealt with that in school. People picking on me because I’m quiet and they don’t know much about me. In reality it would be easier to come up and ask me about things, try and talk without making it a joke. But there was never this… preconceived hatred of you or anything” That made her feel a lot of things. People always used to assume a lot about her feelings without talking to her first. It was human nature, she knew, being uncomfortable with the unknown- but that didn’t mean she liked people assuming stuff about her. Projection at its finest. “You know being rude to the girl you think is cool isn’t going to get you anywhere, right?”

He'd never stopped to consider that his teasing might be triggering past experiences for her. Honestly, he hadn’t considered that her being bullied at all was even an option. She was beautiful and sweet, definitely one of the most intelligent people on the floor. What would they have to tease her for? The idea that he'd inadvertently hurt her by projecting his own insecurities onto her made his stomach churn. "Fuck, I never even thought of it like that. M’sorry.” He murmured, running his hand through his hair sheepishly. "I guess I just assumed everyone reacted to jokes the same way. But being rude... yeah, I get it."

Y/N sighed, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked at him. She could see the full realization dawning, the way his face fell as he understood the harm he might have caused- and that was hard to fake. It was a small comfort, but it was something at the very least. "It's okay." She said gently. "We all make mistakes. The important thing is that you're recognizing it and apologizing sincerely. That means a lot to me." In all actuality, it’s the most sincere apology she had received in a long time. “Your gift basket was very sweet, by the way. Well researched. I appreciated it a lot.”

"I'm glad you liked it." His shoulders fell a little at her response, a hint of relief coloring his tone. Sitting up a little straighter in his chair, he felt the reassurance he had needed too. Not that he was owed any, but it was nice to get regardless. He'd spent a considerable amount of time picking out items that he thought would help her, not knowing if she'd appreciate the gesture or throw it all away- but he had had to try at the very least. Y/N deserved it.  "I really did put thought into it. I know google has to be sick of me."

“You did a good job. I brought some of the stuff back here to keep in my desk in case of another headache.” It was beyond thoughtful. It hadn’t been lost on her that Harry had alluded to having a crush on her, but that wasn’t a subject she was going to broach with him today. 

It was something she was going to silently obsess over in the comfort of her own office.

 “We can be friends, Harry. Just remember that if I’m not over the top reactive to your jokes or anything, it isn’t because I don’t think you’re funny, or that I don’t like you. I’m just… like that. You know?” The hope was that he would get it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings at all. “I’m only really somewhat loud around people I know exceptionally well. My behavior at work isn’t personal.”

Harry nodded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at her words. Friends. That was a start, right? That was something he could work with. He'd been so caught up in his own feelings and insecurities that he hadn't stopped to consider that maybe she just wasn't the type to be that way. He was used to women laughing at his jokes, leaning into him. It was no secret that his humor was half of what got him into people’s beds. Everyone had loved funny man- but Y/N was different. It made sense, really. She was always so calm and collected, even when he was being a dick. Even when she snapped, it took her a bit to get there and she never yelled, only used that sharp tone with him. It was something that he wouldn’t admit aroused him a little bit.

 "Yeah, I get it," he said, smiling softly. "Friends.”

[the-fiction-witch]

Scream

Media - EPIC The Musical Saga Character - Prince Telemachus Of Ithaca Couple - Telemachus X Reader Reader - Princess Y/n (Betrothal) Rating - 18+ (Princess / Masturbation/ fingering/ lap sitting/ nudity) Word Count - 1621

Telemachus Art - Gigi

Telemachus wandered through the grand halls of the palace, his footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors as he sought to evade the boisterous suitors who had taken over his home. The golden rays of the setting sun spilt through the ornate windows, casting a warm, amber glow that bathed the rooms in a tranquil twilight. Shadows danced along the walls, creating an almost ethereal aura. Suddenly, he paused, his senses heightened as a sound broke the serenity, drawing his attention and igniting his curiosity.

“Telemachus!”

At first, he feared his mother needed his help because of the suitors, but he knew that wasn’t her voice. He knew that voice. That was the voice of the princess Y/n! Telemachus’ own betrothal. So of course, when he heard her voice shout for him he dropped any hesitation and began to run toward her chambers.

He reached the door, his heart pounding in his chest, and instead of knocking, he flung it open with a swift motion. In one fluid gesture, he drew his sword, as his gaze swiftly scanned the room for any signs of danger.

Y/n was sitting against the headboard of her bed, her wide eyes shimmering with fear. The clutter of her bags and trunks lay strewn across the room, remnants of her hasty arrival, untouched and waiting to be unpacked. The heavy curtains were drawn shut, casting shadows. She had curled her legs tightly against her chest, trying to shield herself, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

Seeing her like this panicked Telemachus even more and he made a quick dash to the windows to check the printer. But then he turned to her, his face showing how worried he truly was for her safety, "Y/n! What happened? Are you hurt?"

"no… No ughh it ughh it's nothing…" She blushed,

His eyes softened, as he set his sword away and came to her bedside, "It wasn’t a nightmare, was it?"

"No. I - I promise it was nothing Telemachus … You - you didn't need to come and-"

Telemachus shook his head quickly, "Of course I came! I heard you scream and-"

"no! No I- I didn't… I didn't think you'd hear me." She nervously admitted,

Telemachus gave a long sigh, equal parts relief and frustration, and rubbed his hand across his brow before looking at her again, "Why did you scream then…?"

"…ughhh …." She blushed hard unsure if she should admit it,

A small smirk spread across Telemachus’ face. He scooted further onto the bed and moved so that he was sitting right next to her, “Come on. Just tell me.”

Y/n tried to put some space between them bundling her sheets around her waist tightly,

Telemachus noticed and leaned over, a playful smile on his face, "Don't tell me you're embarrassed. All you did was call out my name.”

Y/n met his eyes and her cheeks red. Her gaze gave more than words ever could.

His gaze pierced right through her. "Were you…saying my name…in pleasure?"

Y/n scoffed, "What? No no no of course i-" She tried to lie but his gaze meant he knew and she couldn't hide it anymore. "…yes."

Hearing her admit it, Telemachus leaned in even closer, "And what were you doing while you said my name, my Princess?"

"… I feel I don't need to answer that." She sighed,

Telemachus laughed softly and pulled her onto his lap.

She squealed at the sudden lift. Her face went red. She settled her hands onto his shoulders looking into his eyes,

He wrapped one arm around her waist and tilted her chin up with his free hand, "You're right. I do know what you were doing…" He leaned in, his lips just a whisper away from her ear "You were…imagining it was me touching you…" Telemachus’ hands ran up and down her body, as he held her tight. "You couldn’t help but imagine how it would feel to have my hands all over your body, could you…?"

She gulped and nodded,

Telemachus chuckled softly, a wicked gleam in his eye, "You imagined that it was me making you feel all sorts of things, didn't you…?"

She nodded again her face bright red,

Telemachus leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the side of her neck, his hands still roaming across her body, "And those little noises you were making…you were imagining me making you moan…"

“Yes…”

Telemachus hummed in satisfaction. She looked so sweet, sitting there in his lap in just her dress, face red and blushing. Telemachus’ hand moved to her thigh, sliding up under the fabric to her bare skin. "You were just having your fun by yourself, but you want it to be my hands on your body, don't you?"

"Yes …" Y/n blushed,

He traced circles on her inner thigh, inching higher and higher, "If you'd just told me, I could've been the one to make you feel good." He nipped her neck gently, "Instead of imagining it was me, you could've just taken the real thing."

"We- we shouldn't…" She said holding his wrist still before he went any higher, "We- we aren't wed yet…"

Telemachus chuckled, "Is that all? You let me inside your bedchambers, you let me onto your bed, you let me pull you into my lap…and suddenly you're concerned with what is proper?" He gripped her thigh, his fingers digging into her skin.

She gasped her eyes widening as she felt Telemachus move his hand higher regardless of her grip on his wrist. And begin to touch as she had. Almost immediately Y/n melted Into his arms her body slumping so perfectly into his,

Telemachus laughed in satisfaction as he felt her give herself to him. His hand moved ever higher under her dress and began to tease her in all the most sensitive places, stroking her lips and clit, "See, that’s a good girl…" He bit her shoulder, his other hand moving to push aside the fabric of her dress

She hummed and laid her head on his shoulder biting and sucking on his neck to muffle her moans,

His grip on her tightened and Telemachus let out a moan of his own. Her teeth on his neck, the feeling of her body in his arms, the sound of his name on her lips…it all felt so right to him. His hand moved even higher, rubbing hard on her clit continuing to pleasure her. He shifted, lifting her up with him so that she was fully straddling his lap, "You need to be quiet now. We wouldn't want any of those suitors to come and investigate all that noise coming from these chambers, do we, princess?"

She shook her head nervously,

"Good girl." His free hand went to the laces of her dress, tugging at them to loosen the fabric and expose more of her body to him,

She whined softly as quietly as she could trying not to make too much noise,

Telemachus smirked and continued to loosen her dress until it fell apart, leaving her naked. He took a moment to admire the sight before him, his hand pausing until he was satisfied, "You're so beautiful…I've wanted to see you like this for so so long…" He pushed her down onto the bed, straddling her. His hands pinned her wrists above her head as he leaned over her, his body pressing down onto hers. "You need to be quiet, remember? All these suitors around and you'd let them hear the sounds you make for me?"

She whined softly squirming in her bed kicking her feet a little as she danced on the very edge of pleasure,

His gaze was hungry as he looked down at her. The sounds she was making, the way she squirmed, it was doing all sorts of things to him. His face was so close to hers, that he could feel her heavy breathing on his skin. He leaned down and bit her neck, wanting to hear more as he increased his ministrations with his hand, "Hush now princess…you don't want the suitors outside wondering why you're making those noises, do you?"

She whined, her eyes rolling back as she whispered his name, "Telemachus…"

His name on her lips was like heaven to him. He nipped her neck again, his teeth just barely biting into her skin, "Good girl…say my name again princess…"

"Telemachus…" She whined a little louder,

His hand moved a little bit faster as if to reward her. He pressed his body down against hers to keep her quiet. "Shhh…not so loud princess…if the suitors hear you they'll know how good I make you feel…how much you're enjoying this…"

Before she could say another word it happened. She grabbed Telemachus by the hair and pulled his lips to hers, kissing him hard to muffle her moans as she came. Y/n then pulled back and collapsed down on the bed, her body falling on the sheets concealing nothing of her body. Her skin flushed, her breaths jagged and a dark wet spot on the sheets below her.

Telemachus groaned, He knelt, staring down at her with clear desire in his gaze. A sly smirk appeared on his face, his voice teasing, "Careful princess, now the sheets are all wet."

"I- I- I'm… sorry…"

Telemachus chuckled, "Don't apologize princess. You gave me a wonderful show. You're so beautiful, all laid out on your bed for me…" He traced his hand along her bare flesh, his touch trailing from her waist, up her stomach, to her chest. His gaze wandered, admiring the way the candlelight danced across the curves of her body, the way her skin looked flawless in the light. He leaned down and planted kisses along her neck.

She blushed and giggled a little, "Could you stay? For a little while my prince?"

Telemachus hummed in satisfaction at her words "Of course princess, I'm not done with you yet anyway." he growled before pulling her into an intense kiss,

[unknownsvoid]

THAT GIRL IS POISON!!!

♬⋆.˚ | now playing: posion - Bell Biv DeVoe

✮⋆˙ | summary: as a succubus, you find this boy with pent-up energy and decide to take it upon yourself to make him your next victim - turns out he's a lot stronger than you anticipated.

✮⋆˙ | featuring: ticci toby/toby rogers.

✮⋆˙ | cw: smut content. succubus reader. reader has red skin, wings, a tail, horns and powers. switch reader and toby. somnophilia content. mentions of blood, scratching, spanking, breeding, aphrodisiacs aka drugging, rapists, incels, abusers, (not reader nor toby). loads of degrading, praise, etc. reader gets called whore, slut, etc. nipple play for toby's part. oral (giving).

✮⋆˙ | author's note: i love writing and sometimes it's good, but today, this is NAWT good. dear lord. word count: 2.5k+

divider cred: @cafekitsune

Toby. That was his name. Your next victim.

You have had your eye on him for ages. He piqued your interest when you were wandering one night in a forest after having fed on some insignificant man. He didn't last long and was, honestly, quite useless, coming undone all too quickly.

You didn't want to kill anyone that day, but it was either that, or ending up powerless and lazy. So, you consumed his blood, allowing the excess to trickle down your pretty, pink lips. Carelessly, you left his carcass there to decompose in the near future. Apparently, this forest had its dangerous perks, so you doubted any human would venture around anytime soon, unless they were down-right stupid.

You were about to leave when you sensed something. Interested, you decided to investigate the cause – perhaps even identify a culprit. That's when you saw him, Toby, leaning against a tree with hatchets in hand. You concealed yourself behind a nearby tree, careful not to get too close and risk him seeing you. His aura was powerful, causing your legs tremble.

Sheesh. just how pent-up was this human? Sexual energy emanated from him intensely, enough to make one's head spin. Could he be a virgin? No, virgins don't typically exude such energy. Unless he was an unusually pent-up one? Your eyes dipped down to look at his hatchets, dried blood coating them. Animal blood? Is he a hunter? No, the scent was too close to human blood. This human couldn't potentially be a murderer could he? Not that you cared of course. You've encounter many disgusting humans, rapists, abusers, incels, etc. Of course, you were happy enough to kill them if it meant they weren't going to hurt anymore people. He just didn't seem quite the type to... murder someone, not even a bug quite frankly.

Then again, you necessarily can't judge a book by it's cover now, can you? You snap out of your thoughts when he suddenly twitches, repeatedly. You assumed it was due to the cold air. It was a chilly night anyway. Then he twitched again and let out a quick curse. Tourettes? Perhaps. It was rather cute to witness. He let out another sharp curse accompanied by a shaky head movement. You couldn't help but snicker at the slight gesture, which caused him to jolt his head up and stop leaning against the tree. His grip tightened on his hatchets as he glanced around to locate the source of the noise. You immediately jump into action and teleport away from the scene to avoid being caught. You didn't from stop there. His aura had you captivated, obsessed even. After months of research, you discovered that he belonged to a bizarre group of deranged individuals, monsters, or whatever were. He was a procey? prokey? Something along those lines. It turned out your inference was correct; he was a murderer. It was his job. A strange job, but then again, who were you to judge? You fuck people to survive. And another inference of yours was correct, he is a virgin. Perfect, right? And blah, blah, blah. Now you are here. Outside his window, peering in at his sleeping face. He look charming right now. His messy, chestnut-coloured hair in all different positions on his pillow. His lips slightly dry and open to certain degree, letting out soft snores here and there, drool dripping from his mouth because of the gash. His chest heaving.

You use your powers to unlock the window from the inside. Once you hear the click, you push the window open and sneak inside, being as silent as humanly possible (pun intended). You stroll up to his bed and take in his sleeping features once more before letting your powers ensure he remains in a deep sleep. You climb up onto his bed and straddle his hips. You cup his cheek and lean down to crash your lips against his sleeping ones. He tasted so sweet and then aroma of his sexual energy made you feel dizzy already. Your tongue explores his mouth, trying to slip as much saliva into his mouth as possible. You knew how much of an affect it had on people. Your saliva is a exactly like an aphrodisiac, pulling out as much arousal form your victims as much as possible. You pull your lips away from his, watching as your mixed saliva drips from his lips. You look down, a smirk etching onto your lips as you notice that a bulge was forming in his boxers, pushing up against your thong from under your skirt. One kiss and he was already hard? Cute. You feel your arousal also picking up after his so you slowly rocking your hips against his bulge, feeling it pulse and throb against you. Moans slip from your lips. You can practically feel the slick pooling in your panties. You don't stop, instead picking up your speed, rocking your hips against his clothed dick. Your eyes follow back up to look at Toby. His eyebrows crinkled and mouth opened wider than before. Moans leaving his lips as well. You could tell he was close so you stop your ministrations, chuckling softly when a whine slips from him in his sleep.

You shift your position lower until your mouth was right over his clothed dick. You hook your fingers on the band of his boxers and push them down. You gasp at his size of his cock. You were expecting it to be a little smaller. He was girthy and long, very long actually. Seven inches - bare minimum. Your shock swiftly turns into lust and greed. You lift your hand to push the uncircumcised skin covering his tip down. You peel it down until his pretty, bubble gum-tinted tip was in show. A fat blob of pre-cum drips from it, but you don't let it go to waste. Using your finger to scoop up the fluid and then moving it to your lips, sucking it off of your finger. Salty. You move your head down to sink your wet mouth onto his sensitive cock, looking up at him, observing him as he twitches and emits more groans and moans. You sink your mouth down onto him further, letting your jaw rest when his tip comes in contact with the back your throat. Your lips stretched around the girth of his cock before you tighten your lips and bop your head up and down briskly, swirling your tongue around his tip, letting more of his pre-cum drip onto your smooth tongue. You hear his breaths quicken, along with his heart rate. Your tail wags, enjoying the taste of him. After a couple more bops of your head, you peel your mouth off of him to wrap your hand around his sensitive dick. You give his cock slow pumps while flicking your tongue against his tip. You begin to move your tongue a little lower to tease the underside of his tip, pausing when he jolts a tad in his sleep. "Sensitive there, hm?" You say, a rhetorical question he wouldn't be able to answer anyway. You wrap lips back around his tip and keep abusing that g-spot of his. You notice the way his hands lazily grip onto the sheets. Close, aren't you? My mouth feel that good....

You think to yourself before speeding up your hand and tongue, watching his breath hitch and teeth clench slightly before unclenching again and his jaw goes limp. Soon enough, thick ropes of cum bursts into your mouth. You waste no time to lap it all up, swallowing it in multiple gulps, before popping your mouth off his tip and pulling your hand away from the base of his cock. "Still hard? You don't give up do ya', huh, Toby?"

You don't mind honestly, sucking his cock made you soaked. Some of your pussy juices dripping out of your flimsy thong and onto your thighs. You lift yourself up to hover over his cock. The heat coming from your pussy causing his cock pulsate in response. You slip you slip the wet fabric of your thong to the side and you push your pussy down on his cock. A moan comes out of your mouth as you start to glide your cunt up and down his cock, you and Toby sharing a shiver every time your swollen clit comes in contact with his sensitive tip. You lubricate his cock with your juices, slipping your hand down to grip onto his cock to make it easier as you push your hole down onto Toby's cock. A shaky breath falls out falls from your lips when your cunt sucks his tip in ever so easily and then you go down ever further, giving yourself a break when you make it halfway. He gives a nice stretch, you'll give him that, and you haven't even got all of him in yet. You changed that in an instant and give yourself a final push until your pussy slams down onto his cock, taking his cock in its full glory. Your thighs tremble and you adjust to the stretch - drawing your hips up nice and slow before slamming yourself back onto his cock. Pathetic whines leaving Toby's mouth, but you swallow them up with your mouth. Your aphrodisiac-like spit dripping into his mouth. You keep going, but then something peculiar happens. Something that never happened before. You halt your movements and your heart drops to see that his eyes are beginning to flutter open. His eyes stop fluttering and gape open. "Wuh-what the fuck?!" He says, glaring up at you before groaning. He looks down and his face churns in confusion, "Who are you?!" He looks you up and down, drinking up the sight of you. You were pretty, red skin glistering in sweat, horns pointy, wings complimenting your body, and your tail, with a heart at the tip of it, wagging. He gulps down his own spit to deal with his dry throat, a tint of yours still in it, causing his head to go all loopy. You smile nervously down at him and he speaks up again, "What are you?"

"Um... a succubus?" He paused at your answer, looking down again to stare at your pussy gripping onto his cock for dear life. He shrugged, if his virginity was going to be taken by you, a succubus (whatever the fuck that is). He may as well make it worth his time, right? He glared at you once more, clearly not trusting you quite yet, "continue then... slut."

A smirk formed back onto your lips and you oblige, bouncing up and down his cock without warning. His eyes roll to the back of his head and he winces from the sudden pleasure. His mouth falling agape and letting out series of pleasured noises. His tics trigger a bit from the pleasure he was receiving, which makes him to thrust upwards a couple of times, causing his tip to slam up against you. You grip onto chest, running your hands upwards until you reach up to his nipples. You tug and tease at them, while sliding up and down his cock which makes him whimper from the sudden attention. He was close and you could tell. You could feel his sexual energy growing stronger. You move your hands down to scrape your nails across his chest. But then Toby decides to throw you off guard while you weren't paying attention. You didn't even notice when his hands gripped onto your hips. He flips you over so you're both in the missionary position. He wastes no time to fuck his cock in out of your sopping pussy, a white ring forming around the base. His pace was slow, annoyingly so. You wanted him - no need him to go faster. You need his cum; his cum; you need him.

"H-hah... you can- fuck - go faster than that. D-don't be - shit - so shy!" You say with smug grin. His face perked in surprise at your words but he let out a snigger. He clasped down onto your hips, having firm hold on them, "Such a whore."

He sneers once more, "You like that, slut? Being called a whore?"

He takes note to your words and hastens his past, beginning to drive his cock in and out of your cunt. Your sloppy arousal acting as an lube as his hefty cock slams in and out of you, leaving you stunned. His thrusts were extraordinarily hard for a virgin. Speaking of that, how the fuck is this guy a virgin?!

His movements were unexpectedly accurate for a virgin, almost like he isn't a virgin at all. Your arms wrap around him as his menacing cock tormenting your pitiful pussy. His tip was no better, abusing your unfortunate pussy. You weren't thinking straight. Your eyes whirl to the back of your head. God, you were close already. That's a first.

The more his hips move, the more your orgasm reaches closer. You didn't notice he was muttering, probably something about you or him. Your eyes spin back to look up at him, sweat from his forehead dribbles from his forehead and onto your tits, leaving musty droplets on your skin. Brown eyes enjoying the sight of his cock drilling in and out of your sweet, sweet pussy.

"F-fuck! fuh-feel... so guh-good." He manged to get out with many stutters and bemoans. Wails, sighs, grumbles and whimpers of pleasure shared from the both of you fill the room. You were both completely drunk from each other's pleasure. You feel the similar feeling like always when you were about to cum. The tense feel of how how your stomach squeezes. He cries out in pleasure when he feels your pussy compresses around him like a fastened rope.

His flow began to falter and his grip on you was wobbly, delving his nails into your skin, or it feels like that at least. You know that's gonna leave a gnarly bruise on your hips, but totally worth it. The more he moves the more you got closer, but he was leaving you teetering on the edge. You whine and grasp onto his hands that was clenching onto your hip, pulling it away with ease. You guide it towards your clit, guiding his inexperienced fingers to draw slow circles on your clit, "ya close, slu-slut? Each plunge of his hips and soft tweaks against your hardened nub causes you to orgasm. He follows you as well, cumming with you. The intense feeling of your orgasm making your brain go numb and your nails into his back, raking downwards. That's bound to make him bleed. He wasn't paying attention - his head rolled up so you can see his adam's apple. His cock spurting his thick, ward seed deep into your gummy walls. As you both gradually come down from your high, he drags his cock out of your pussy with a pop!

He was about to say something but weakly collapsed onto you - tired. Probably from the energy you drained from him. "Cute..." Was the only thing you could reply with. You could stay for an extra thirty minutes. He deserves it after all. Plus, you could use this as an advantage. Apparently there's more people like him in this shitty mansion...

part two? -> here ya go!

[el4ise]

bittersweet﹐

feat. ⤷ snowcrow x reader (seperate)

genre ⤷ angst, fluff, hurt/comfort

contains ⤷ mentions of insecurities & jealousy

✦ the night was supposed to go by well with a nice dinner. how will the lads li consult you when something seems to trouble you?

𝘀𝘆𝗹𝘂𝘀

as usual, sylus took you to one of the fanciest 5-star restaurants in linkon. it was the night that you both celebrated your first anniversary.

the restaurant was filled with people wearing white-fluff coats, suits, expensive dresses. you looked around and saw ladies who looked like they spoke money. and the only reason why you can afford to be here is because of sylus.

you felt a flush of insecurity wash over you, seemingly feeling poor and unworthy amongst the people inside. you only wore a red silk dress— that was bought by sylus. the two of you waited for the orders, sylus sipped his red wine while you played with the rim of the glass with your fingertips. your mind absolutely gone.

sylus was way out of your league. he screams money, he could choose any girl he wanted to, yet he chose you? someone who wants to go on picnics instead of going on high-end bars?

“what’s going on in that pretty mind of yours, kitten?” you were snapped out of your daze when he speaks. “oh! it’s nothing.. just, hungry.” you brush it off. not wanting to ruin the mood. but as sylus saw the way your other hand covered your body, your eyes darting to the other people in the restaurant, biting your lip as you heard their conversations— he knew. ‘cause he knows you.

“sweetie, do you not feel comfortable here?” he breaks the silence once again, his hand laying on the table, waiting for you. you place your hand on top of his. he holds it softly. “I.. well..” sylus gives you a look, one that always made you feel safe to be honest. “..I just don’t feel like I belong here, sy. this is for riches and class and I’m none of that. I couldn’t even pay to be here if it weren’t for you.. and I just.. I feel so little because you’re all this and I wonder why you chose me. I’m way out of your league and I’m not even all tha—” sylus listened, tending to your complains. but when he heard you downgrade yourself? no.

“sweetheart,” he squeezed your hand lightly. “look at me, please?” you slowly lifted your head, meeting his soft crimson eyes. “I understand if you don’t want to be here. but you know the type of person I am and I don’t put people in places where I think they aren’t meant for, no? you are everything and so much more in my eyes. It pains me you’re belittling yourself into filth. have you forgotten how dashing of a woman you are? you’re the greatest hunter in linkon, turning your face into the fields of wanderers, and I bet these people would cave and run when they see one. and you? I fell inlove with you because you’re so perfect in my eyes. and I’ve seen hundreds if not thousands of things in this world. okay, kitten?” he presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “we can go back home and i’ll cook your favorite meals or we can eat at your favorite instead, hm?” you smiled. “the first one please?” he chuckles, standing up and dragging you with him.

“I love you, sylus.”

“I love you most, sweetie.”

𝘇𝗮𝘆𝗻𝗲

zayne took you as his plus one to a party for workers in akso hospital, celebrating it’s success throughout the years. the halls were filled with chatters between doctors and nurses, most of them sharing the same aura as zayne.

you were clinging onto his arm as he spoke to other surgeons. everyone spoke off high matters, sometimes you couldn’t even keep up even if you wanted to.

zayne proudly showed you off, but you we’re still feeling unworthy. “zayne? I’ll just go to the bathroom real quick.” zayne gave you a slight nod and you went off.

you splashed water in your face, it drips off to your cheek then your chin. you felt stupid amongst these people. doctors and surgeons were incredibly smart. and you barely made it pass highschool. grades fluctuating and mostly going down. you knew these people were insanely smart— including zayne. you felt dumb, knowing that you were only praised by bravery and not wits. you envied his co-worker, lily. she was calm and composed, just like him. you overthought, did zayne prefer someone similar to him instead of a childish, giddy person like you?

you hear a soft knock on the bathroom door. “darling? are you alright in there? you’ve spent quite a while.” you quickly pat your face with a towel. “yeah.. I’m goin’ out.”

you turn the knob and step out, seeing zayne with the ‘tell-me-before-I-make-you-tell-me’ look. you hastily laugh. “what’s with the look?” he silently grabs your hand and drags you to a much less crowded spot. “I know something’s wrong. what is it? we can leave right now if you’re uneasy.” you quickly shook your head. “no! it’s fine.. I just.. I feel so dumb compared to all of you, I’m just a hunter and I can barely compete with the knowledge you guys have..” your arms trailed down to your neck, embarrassed. “.. and I don’t know!.. I thought maybe you didn’t like me being all goofy and smiley. maybe you wanted someone more.. calm. someone who’s nonchalant.” zayne listened intently, but his heart ached at the thought of you thinking he’d choose someone else over you.

“darling? will you look at me please?” he held both of your hands in his, and you slowly look up. “you are not unintelligent. one of the main reasons why I even adored you was because you were well-educated. your wits outgrew in the battlefield, thinking precisely even when death is just on your palm. I love your bubbly personality. it lights up my day especially after I finish a tiring shift. I would not even consider aomeone else,”

his hand then cupped your cheeks and gave you a kiss. “do you want to leave?” you nod. and he smiles. saying goodbye to his colleagues and guiding you back to the car. already searching nearest restaurants with a drive-through.

© el4ise ✦ do not repost or translate.

# taglist ──── @nishikio, @jeondyy, @ruenaie