#bad seeing a fic i spent months on up for more than a week have less than half the hits and a fraction of the kudos and comments of a fic

[junietuesday]

I WRITE FOR ME. I WRITE FOR ME. I DONT CARE ABT NUMBERS I WRITE FOR ME. *THROUGH GRITTED TEETH*

[houseofhyde]

last train home.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader mcu timeline. thunderbolts + tfatws flashbacks synopsis. hours after the void swallows half of new york city, bucky barnes finds himself breaking his #1 rule: don't show up at your door. click here for part 2 + here for part 3. warnings. no use of y/n, ex!reader, exes to ???, angst, suggestive, hurt with comfort that is proceeded by more hurt, pining, bucky is lowkey down bad and pathetic, descriptions of bruises, injuries, and choking (not the sexy kind, unfortunately), bucky is also kinda serving stalker realness (but its okay bc he's hot and in love), flashbacks via bucky's time in the void. thunderbolts spoilers!!! word count. 4k. hyde’s input. thunderbolts reawakened something dormant in me and threw me back into trenches i thought i'd clawed my way out of. idk if this can even be considered a serious fic because i wrote this like it was the ramblings of a madwoman, i can't even lie. no editing, we die like real (dumb) men. in true me fashion, i already have two more parts planned for this couple, including eventual sloppy sad smut bc why write about a man if i don't get to whore him out? read on ao3.

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be here.

Knows that his will not be a welcome face.

Knows that he’s around two years and a sincere apology too late.

The hour is late, the dials of his wristwatch already encroaching on midnight. The city’s starless sky is a darkness that pales in comparison to the heavy shadow he’d watched infect Manhattan earlier. A void of pain too many had vanished beneath, before he and his ragtag team of false heroes had no choice but to dive into it, one last ditched effort at bringing back the light. The madness truly began when the darkness spat them back out onto the chaos of the streets.

The relief of seeing the sun. The shamble of a press conference. The new Avengers. 

And all he could think about was making it to this street. This door. You.

Bucky wishes he could say that the last time he saw you was last week, struggling beneath the weight of grocery bags. But that’s no longer true, because the last time he saw you was merely a few hours ago, trapped inside a time loop of his own making, his own memories, his own pain.

The room was colder than he remembered as he stepped in through a balcony door, sheer curtains billowing around him as a storm gathered outside.

At first, he wasn’t sure what memory this was, what new room he’d stepped into. All Bucky knew was he had made his way through the hell of Hydra’s experimentations, picked himself up from those traintracks, let himself soak in the scene of fighting Steve. Whatever haunted him in this bedroom of silence and sin, he was sure he could move through it and make his way to the door on the opposite side. Until a figure stirred beneath the sheets and he found himself frozen at the end of the bed.

Because there you were, eyes closed and head buried in the warmth of his own chest, blissfully unaware of the waking nightmare that awaited you.

He’s not used to crossing this street.

Not anymore.

Nowadays, his place is somewhere just across from you, two steps behind and a head hung low in hopes that you don’t notice him. Because he knows that it’s wrong, and he knows there are boundaries that have been drawn, but he just can’t seem to fall asleep at night if he doesn’t hop off that train a few stops early just to watch you come home safe.

He hadn’t meant to make it a habit. At first, it was just routine, muscle memory. He spent months making his way home to you, he needed more than a few weeks to get used to his new commute. But then he got in his own head, found himself sat in a train cart, knee bouncing out his stress as his mind tortured him with all the what ifs and nonexistent threats you could encounter on your way home alone. Who else could he trust but his own eyes to watch over you? So he let himself indulge, wander out from the subway below just in time to watch you turn a corner. Told himself it was okay, so long as he kept his distance. So long as he only observed, even when it killed him. The days it would rain and he’d fight the urge to shelter you beneath his umbrella. The times he’d notice a smiling stranger getting too close for comfort and remind himself it was no longer his place to ward them off with an arm around your waist. The way he’d catch the polished shine of a necklace resting at the base of your neck and suddenly remember why he could no longer call you his.

He should have noticed sooner. How the room smelt of your delicate perfume. How remnants of your clothes lay strewn across carpeted floors. How the scene before him was plucked perfectly from that trip.

A getaway of his own doing, heart swollen with a little more pride than he’d care to admit over simply figuring out how to book a vacation online. There was no real rhyme or reason for it, no birthday to celebrate or anniversary to commemorate. Bucky had simply felt happy. Blissfully, wholly, perfectly happy, for the first time in too long. In retrospect, that should have been the first warning sign.

But those razor sharp senses of his seemed to go blunt with the brightness of your smile, the tenderness of your kiss, the warmth of your voice. He believed you made him good. Made him right. Made him whole. He’d never stopped to wonder what he made you.

Until he made you hurt.

He’s standing outside your door.

Time seems irrelevant when everything is the same as he remembers it.

The lopsided apartment number. The faded welcome mat outside the door. The chipping paint you insist you don’t mind, all in the hopes of stopping Bucky from chewing out your landlord about another thing that needs fixing. Suddenly, it’s like he can feel the weight of your key in his pocket, waiting for him to fish it out and welcome himself home to the smell of burning incense and the taste of your skin.

His heart’s beating a little faster now. Maybe he shouldn’t have come. Maybe he should start learning to leave well enough alone. Maybe he should be trying to move on. But how can he move on with a life you made him want to live?

He’s fought battles, drawn blood, turned to dust and come back again. Yet this is a bridge he cannot seem to cross: knocking on your door.

All Bucky had registered back then was the soul-crushing weight of waking up to find what he’d done. Standing at the edge of the bed, a voyeur to his own harm, The Void granted him a full perspective of the events.

It began with muttering, foreign words falling from his sleeping lips. Then his head tossed, his leg twitched, his voice raised. You, eyes blinking away sleep and limbs untangling from his, woken up suddenly to his heart racing beneath you. He watched you watch the other him, a few seconds of his nightmarish sleeping, before finally you did what you thought was best, what any caring person would do if their partner was being haunted in their sleep.

You whispered his name, soothed a palm over his cheek, coaxed him out of whatever hell he was trapped in. But when his eyelids snapped open, there was no summer sky or calming river living in the iris but a steely blue, winter cold.

Metal clutched at your throat.

“James?”

Echoes of a past life sing in his ears as he feels himself freeze. His gaze meets the ground, where he spots an open door and a familiar pair of fluffy slippers, looking a little worse for wear than he remembers them being on that Christmas morning, sitting across from you with a stiff jaw and nervous eyes, watching you pull apart layers of wrapping paper. Now time has left its mark on them and Bucky can’t help but wonder how much longer until you replace them with something newer, something softer, something that’ll bring more comfort to your aching feet as you slip into them after a long day at the firm.

The firm. Your workplace. Two blocks down from the building that once stood as a symbol for everything Steve and the rest of the Avengers — the real Avengers — had achieved, a home still haunted by its previous owners whose footsteps Valentina expected him to tread over. 

Bucky had stopped believing in God somewhere between the torture and the war against genocidal aliens but as that cloud of darkness rolled over the Manhattan skyline, vanishing people into shadows, he caught himself praying to someone, something, anything that you were okay. That you’d caught a stomach bug or the flu and had called in sick. That you’d been called out of state, sent to work elsewhere on a client’s case. That you’d been anywhere but trapped beneath the weight of The Void’s darkness; lonely, and scared, and reliving the cruelest memories your mind could conjure. 

But as he finally looks at you, your face says it all. The troubled eyes, the weary smile, the trembling hands. The Void may have spat you back out alongside the rest of the city — he may have been able to save you from the looping pain, at least — but it left its mark all over you, whispers of fear still clinging to your skin.

Like a wave meets the shore, he crashes over you.

At first, Bucky couldn’t watch.

Eyes squeezed shut, back turned on the scene taking place upon the bed, he tried to block it all out. But then a door slammed, his eyes reopened, and the memory had started all over again. Your head on his chest, his tossing and turning. You waking him up, his hand around your neck. With an ache in his bones, he forced himself to bear witness.

To the way he looked right at you like you were a stranger, a threat, a mission. To the way the metal twisted and screamed as he tightened his grip. To the way your hand found his face. Not to scratch, not to push, not to fight back. But to mollify, the warmth of your palm resting on his icy cheek, tender in your touch even as he robbed you of breath.

And then he snapped out of it. Came to his senses. Ripped himself away from you and stumbled out the bed, hands — metal and flesh — scrambling for the scattered pieces of the same clothes he’d let you peel off of him only hours before, your eyes alive with the buzz of too much wine and his cheeks burning from too much sun and you. Undressing like every layer was an offense, just one more obstacle getting in the way as you both tumbled back into the hotel bed.

You are hesitant.

Arms glued to your side, you stand frozen in the unexpected embrace. He can’t find it in himself to blame you, not when he thinks of how scared you must feel with a weapon wound around your body once more, holding you close to him. The action is not only protective but possessive, too. An antidote to an unwarranted need that took root in his chest the moment he returned to the mania of Manhattan, freshly haunted by a visceral unpresent presence, desperate to confirm with more than just a glance from across a street that you were home. That you were safe. That you were here, even if he shouldn’t be. 

Bucky just needs you to give him a moment. A second. To feel the slow rise of your chest against his, and to take in the fading scent of your perfume, and to caress his right hand over the back of your head. To hold you like he still has any right to your heart. Then he can go. Pull away, set you free, stagger back to his apartment. Collapse onto the familiar comforts of creaking floorboards, muster up the guts to return Sam’s fourteen missed calls and sink into a different layer of guilt to distract himself from the fact you’re not sleeping beside him, breathing beside him. That you haven’t been his for two years, no matter how much he’s still yours.

He pulls in a deep breath, tightens his arms around your frame, prepares himself for the inevitability of him pulling away and feeling the much deserved sting of your hand slapping his cheek and your voice spewing venomous words.

Any minute now, he’ll let go.

“Bucky…” it’s barely a whisper, but he hears it — feels it, as the ice in your bones thaws away and you melt into his embrace.

How could he possibly let go?

Bucky remembered struggling to breathe.

Ignoring your weak calls of his name, he dressed himself with so much haste half the buttons on his shirt remained undone. On the bed, you choked on heavy breaths of air, tears welling like the threat of an incoming downpour that was sure to drown him further beneath waves of guilt, shame, hatred. The vibranium virus attached to his left side seemed to mock him as he struggled to pull on his shoes, too blinded by panic to notice your approaching figure.

Bucky grabbed for the door and you grabbed for him, fingers almost curling around the wrist of his metal arm. He flinched out of your reach, head spinning round to take in the sight of you now at his side, shielded beneath bedsheets from the exposing light of the moon. His gaze flickered to your neck, replaying memories of where his mouth had laid claim over your skin and painted you in shades of his love. How many hours would it take for them to fade beneath the mold of his fingers, for the things Bucky hated most about himself to viscerally terrorise him as a bruise upon his most darling delicate?

You tried to reach for him, again. All he could manage was a quiet, “don’t.”

He never meant to slam the door as he left.

“Are you okay?”

He’s no stranger to late night fantasies, the inconsequential thoughts of an idealised life he’s free to play out when sleep eludes him, buds of anxious worry beginning to bloom within his chest. Before, all his what ifs and if onlys projected him back in time, where no draft came knocking at his door or any serum distorted his DNA. Then he met you and, gradually, his pining for the past morphed into dreaming of a future. All the possible firsts of your relationship: first date, first kiss, first holiday, first anniversary. He could relearn the world, reintroduce himself to the possibility of normality. He pondered moving, trading the city for a quieter life, where weekends would be reserved for exchanging body heat beneath the blankets of a bed he’d build for you, and Sunday gatherings with Sam and the rest of the Wilson’s.

Then, the dreams faded to grey, along with the rest of his world.

The past no longer enticed him, and a future seemed pointless without you. All that was left for him was to agonise, stare at his living room ceiling and watch the atrocities he’d committed play on repeat. The Starks’ car, Yori’s son, your neck. With therapy came amends, a booklet of names his conscience needed him to confront with an apology. Yours never made the cut. Because it wasn’t the Winter Soldier that had hurt you, it was him. No amount of therapised language intended to distance him from the harm would be a good enough excuse to lay at your feet, so he stayed away, kept his distance.

Not once had he fantasised he would be breaking no-contact like this.

“A little confused and contemplating why I’m still living in this city after years of it being a breeding ground for supernatural and extraterrestrial attacks, but I’m fine,” you reply at last, trailing off with a laugh that catches on your throat and breaks into a hiccup.

There’s a shake in your voice that nearly has him pulling back but your arms stop him, hold him closer. You shuffle your feet between his own and burrow your face away, out of sight, in the crook of his neck. A layer of ash still stains him, powder remnants of the rubble that had fallen during The Void's attack, but you don’t seem to care.

“I saw you on the news, Buck. Are you okay?”

The relationship was over in a matter of days.

You slept through the train ride home, leaving him with nothing but passing fields and troubled thoughts. Once back in the city, he carried your bags in his left hand while the fingers of his right one threaded with yours. You did most of the talking, comments of where you two could holiday next, if he’d spoken to Sam recently, and how your mother had mentioned in passing that you should bring Bucky with you next time you visit. The silence arrived as you both reached your front door, one glance at the bruise around your neck enough to let him know this was the end of the line.

An inbox of missed calls and unread texts later, he dropped your apartment key through the letterbox.

He blinked and suddenly the scene had reset, your lonesome frame crawling back onto the bed once more, fading away into two figures curled around one another beneath the sheets. Bucky watched it all unravel. And, when the door slammed and your tears fell, he watched it start again. Over and over, he watched himself poison the safe haven you made for him, pushing you away and rebuilding that wall around himself. Over and over, he watched you reach for him, a silent plea in your eyes begging him to stay.

He never did.

It was only when he joined you on the bed — after the other him had slammed the door — and pulled you into his longing embrace, mouth kissing apologies against your forehead as you drifted off to sleep, that the cycle came to a stop. One moment, he was holding some version of you for the first time in years, and, in the next, The Void sent him falling through the ceiling of an old Hydra lab.

He landed in the leather chair with a thud and, as a familiar device closed in around his head, he wished he was back in that hotel room, watching your heart break before his eyes, if only to see you a little longer.

With reluctance, he pulls back.

Not because he no longer needs to hold you, feel you breathing safely against him. But he needs to see you. Properly, as something more than a distant shape across the street. Inches apart now, the hole in his chest seems to scream it’s not close enough. When your eyes meet his and a tear slides down your face, not even Sentry could stop him from reaching up to catch it.

Comfort fills his soul as he feels your hand lay itself atop his own, holding it in place against your cheek. Your eyes slip shut and a sigh slips past your lips. Bucky can’t help but lean in, eyes shutting out the world around you. His forehead finds rest against yours, a gentle pressure against skin that feels more intimate than any kiss he could ever give. “Tell me you’re okay, Bucky,” a delicate whisper that possesses no threat to the quiet that surrounds you both.

For a moment, there is peace. Hope. Time has passed, his life has changed, and, while he’s no symbol of sanity, he saved people today — strangers. Bucky Barnes is officially a hero. An Avenger. So maybe things can be different. And maybe he can ask to take up space in your life again, to be part of your mornings and your evenings, your everyday. He can make amends and make you his.

Something meows and tears him out of his daydream.

A blur of white fur moves cautiously inside your apartment, weaving through a few house plants atop a shoe rack. But that isn’t what leaves him feeling foolish, feeling sick, feeling like he’s been sucker punched in the chest. It’s the pair of shoes carelessly discarded on the floor, shrugged off by someone too impatient to put them away if it means spending another moment away from you — Bucky would know, he used to do the same.

A pair of men’s shoes. “I should-” go, he can’t bring himself to say it. He doesn’t want to leave. “Don’t wanna miss the train.”

“James,” his name is a plea on your tongue, a question he’s forgotten how to answer.

“I’m sorry,” for hurting you, for not moving on, for showing up at your door. “I just needed to see you.”

The first step is still the hardest.

As the thought passes through him, a sense of deja vu comes over him. This hallway, your doorway. Turning his back on you, telling himself that it’s better this way. No matter how much it kills him, he can live with the pain of knowing you’ll be safer with someone else. Someone who was born at the right time, and has done all the right things in life that lead them to being rewarded with you. It’s best he goes, before that someone comes looking for you.

He can’t stomach the thought of seeing you with somebody else.

“For someone so good at the fight, you sure do love to choose flight,” your voice is soft yet he hears a bite of anger, a sprinkle of resentment. “Or is walking away a special trick you only use when it comes to me?”

“Don’t do that,” he turns back around to face you, and regrets it the moment he notices more tears threatening to spill. His hand itches to wipe them all away. “Don’t make it seem like leaving you was something I chose to do.”

“But you did!”

“Only because I had to!” Bucky never means to raise his voice, not at you. Things clearly haven’t changed enough for him to stop hurting you when he swears he won’t.  “You know what I did to you.”

With a challenge on your face, your arms cross over your chest and you pop your hip out, leaning your body against the doorframe. “What exactly did you do, James?”

“I…” torture of the tongue, he needs to compose himself before he can say it. “I hurt you. With the same hand they gave me when they made me a weapon.”

“Except you didn’t. The Wakandans gave you that arm when they needed another hero on the battlefield.”

A pause, where anything but silence passes between you. “And I hurt you with it all the same.”

“You leaving me like I meant nothing hurt far more than whatever happened in that hotel room.”

“Meant nothing? Me leaving was because I lov-”

“I’ve just taken on a big case, they’ll be expecting me early in the office,” you’ve already got the door in your hand, half closed as your body retreats back into the safety of your apartment, away from the danger of Bucky’s confession. “You should go, James. Catch that train.”

Unlike him, you don’t slam doors.

He doesn’t bother returning to the subway, the time on his phone tells him all he needs to know. He’s missed that last train, and he’s not in the mood to figure out which line will get him closest to his apartment. He’ll just walk, and listen to the voicemail his phone claims Alexei has left in his inbox.

“Winter Soldier! Bucky! We all are drinking, to celebrate team’s first big win. You must join, we can talk more about being co-captains of The Thunderbolts-” “That is not our name, Alexei,” Yelena cuts him off faintly in the background.

Bucky shouldn’t have come home.

Back in the apartment, a sob is forced down.

The tears just keep coming, all you can do is surrender yourself to them, head leaned back against the door, some part of you hoping he’ll come back.

His hair is longer, new bruises mark his skin, yet the way he looks at you — like you are a sin he must atone for — is still the same.

“Was that Bucky I just heard? If yes, let me give him a piece of my mind and save ourselves a whole load of paperwork- Hey, you good?”

You pull in a breath and wipe both hands over your face before forcing a smile towards your guest.

“I’m fine, Sam,” you almost trip over his shoes in your haste to walk back into the living room. “Now come on, we have a lot of work to do if you’re serious about suing the Avengers.”

+ extra hyde !

· finished this instead of working on one of my final essays... priorities! · idk if it anyone wants it but i'm working on a part 2, and trust i intend to not uphold the sambucky divorce from the post-credit scene · if you're reading this and thinking "this doesn't look like the aemond fic update hyde's supposed to be posting" i'm sorry, i swear i'll be doing my best to post the next part soon! don't hate me!

[hyperfixiation-station]

Behind Enemy Lines Pt.1

CW: Torture, Canon-typical violence, talk of derealization, disassociation Summary: You were a friendly medic, captured years ago and held prisoner, forced to do do the bidding of your captors. Years later, a man by the name of Ghost is dragged in and changes the trajectory of your life. A/N: I had severe ADHD, and i am unmedicated rn, and it makes it really hard to work on things unless I get the hyperfocused drive for it, so I'm sorry I'm so bad at making the other parts to my fics. Know that I will never abandon them. it just might take me a while. idea part 2 Part 3

You fought back, at first. Way back when you first got captured, taken from your base camp and dragged through miles and miles of harsh terrain, blindfolded and bound. A medic you were, yes. But your team had trained you with the best of them. You spent the whole time trying to escape, kicking and screaming until they bound your legs and gagged you. You spent the first month of captivity refusing to talk to them, hissing and spitting and pretending their punches didn’t hurt. But it didn't take you long to realize it was better to cooperate, or to at least be civil. Civility got you less broken bones, less pain, more rations, more sleep. Cooperation didn’t come till later, when you finally realized your team wasn't coming for youthey were dead but you didn't know that.

Surprisingly, the whole mouth-getting-sewn-shut didn't happen till a couple years in... they were torturing someone, a man who said he had kids and a wife at home, whose only wish was that they left something recognizable of him so they could get some closure. You begged them to stop. Begged them to stop when his wounds became too numerous to count, too much for you to handle. Begged because you started to care for him as he told you about his son and daughter, how they want him home for Christmas(You didn't have the heart to tell him Christmas was 6 days ago) Told them that he would die no matter what you did if they continued. Well, they didn't stop, and he did die... and you found yourself ringing in the new year by being strapped to a table.

“We warned you to stop talking with him.” They said as they clamped the metal shut over your forehead and chin, holding you in place. “We told you to not get attached, but since you can’t seem to do it on your own, we’ll help you.” The feeding tube came 2 weeks later, shoved up your nose when they realized you were starving...they couldn't lose their favorite medic of course.

You stopped paying attention to the passage of time after that, spent most of your days drifting in and out of reality, moving through the motions with a practiced ease. And it would have remained that way, if it wasn’t for a man in a skull mask with a team- a family- looking for him. 

Your first introduction to him ended up with you getting a broken nose. Per usual, you were shoved into the cell, medical kit in hand, ready to fix up whatever damage your captors had done the their poor prisoner.

The mask he had been wearing when you saw him dragged in was gone, and he had a gash that went all the way through his cheek that would need stitching up. You pull out your equipment, moving slowly towards his bleeding face. 

he headbutted you the moment you got close enough for him to reach, and the crunch of bone and the gush of warm blood followed, not that you noticed. You were still in that dreamlike state, not quite tether to reality in the way you should be. You barely noticed when they tranqued him, and the only reason you didn't finish his stitches is because you passed out too(it’s hard to breathe through a bloody, broken nose)

The next time you approach more carefully, but he’s no trouble. Mostly because they left him completely strapped to the table this time. Today was a rare day, a time when you  could actually feel your feet on the ground rather than just see them. You feel bad as you wipe him down, your eyes flicking over the myriad of scars on his body. What’s one more you think to yourself as you get to work stitching a stab wound to his thigh. Just barely missed the artery here…that could have been bad news. Okay tie it off and- there we go. I think the only other thing that need to- oh, is he…talking to me? I should probably pay attention to that.

“-here?” His voice is gravely, though you suppose yours would be too after being tortured. He stares at you expectantly, and you shrug. You don’t know what he said, and even if you did, you couldn’t answer. You just move to his wrist, snapping the bone back in place. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t make an actual sound, which surprises you. But you don’t dwell on it, wrapping a bandage around his arm and moving to exit the room. 

“Y’ no’ g’nna lemme off?” His voice sounds, “they said y’ would.” You spin around, staring at him. You're not stupid. And even if your…bosses had said that, you still wouldn’t do it. Being trapped in a room with a man who is at least a foot taller than you and looks like he could kill a man with his glare? No thank you. 

You take a step back, heading towards the door. The man lets out a sound you would barely qualify as a laugh. “Sm’rt then.” He says to himself, “No’ gonna be that easy.” 

The next time you go in, you can't help but wonder what they want from this man. By now they usually would have killed him off. Oh well, not your job to wonder. You clean him up, splinting the fingers they had broke when he talks to you again.

"why don't y' let me die?" He says, voice just as gravely as before, "Put me outa m' misery?" You don't respond, just keep taping his hand. IT's something you ad asked yourself, right at the beginning. It would be kinder for you to just let your patients die. But you couldn't do it. Partially because you were punished anytime someone died before your captors wanted them to, but also because you were a medic. YOu were there to heal. You couldn't stomach letting someone die by your hand.

"Answer me!" The man snarls, bringing you back to the present, "For god's sake y' never talk, fuckin' mute." You don't respond, of course. Just finish your task and leave him to his thoughts.

He’s angrier after that time, you’ve noticed. The few times you're actually present, he’s fighting you. Usually not with words, but he bucks and doesn’t hold still. He’s tried to grab your medical supplies countless times, and one time you actually had to be pulled out because he jerked his arm while you were stitching him and somehow managed to drive the needle into your own hand. The few times he does actually yell at you, you’re usually not paying attention. You can catch words like “Dishonorable”  and “Disgraceful”. You aren’t entirely sure of the context of the words, but you can guess. You’ve treated enough prisoners who think that you are the world's worst human being, a blight to the medical field, to guess what he's trying to tell you. 

It's funny though, this man so full of hate. Because, for the first time in goodness knows how long, your feet are on the ground, and your head is level. Something about this man, his angry, uncrushed demeanor, even after weeks of torture, stirs emotion in you that you can’t quite identify. And maybe you should be grateful, thankful your head is on right, but you're not. You so desperately want to go back to that place of apathy and detachment, where your emotions weren’t so strong, were the pains of mishealed bones and poorly healed scars didn’t plague your waking moments. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the man- The Ghost, as you found out he was called. Maybe it was the fact that something in the air had changed. The air was electric, charged with tension so thick you could feel it even alone in your cot. They were watching you, you could tell. Could feel their eyes tracking your movements in a way they hadn’t since first giving you freedom to move around. 

You're not sure why. It’s not like you have anyone to go home to. You were an only child, and your parents had died long before you reached 18. All you had was your team, a team that had seemingly abandoned you. So why would you leave? There was nowhere to go. And yet they watched you. Was it because you were becoming more aware, more grounded then you had been in a long while? Was it the man, Ghost, who had them on edge? 

The answer came two days later. You were in Ghost's cell again, desperately packing gauze into a gaping hole on his side. You don’t know what had happened, but for the first time in years you were dragged from your cell, your captors muttering under their breath in a language you still didn’t understand as they thrust you into his cell. Blood was everywhere. Your best guess was that Ghost had been struggling and an instrument had slipped and gouged out a hole in his side. So here you are, packing gauze into the wound as you try to figure out what to do to keep him alive with your rudimentary supplies. 

You pack another piece of gauze in just as the door goes flying open. Men, dressed in black, wearing the same mask Ghost was, come bursting in. 

“Get back!” The one in the front yells at you, gun pointed in your face. You shake your head, hands pressed against Ghost’s wound. 

“Now!” You make a protesting noise, trying to gesture with your chin. The man looks down, eyes widening. 

“Aw shit- are you the medic?” You nod almost desperately. The man looks at you again, staring at your hands. They are shaking, pressed against the wound as you try to keep Ghost from bleeding out. 

“Fix him.” The man snaps. You shake your head and look up at the man, trying to communicate that you need more supplies. 

“Use your words.” The man gabs the gun at you, indicating he wants you to get on with it. You stomp your foot, shaking your head again. 

“What, what's that supposed..…you can’t speak, can you?” You nod, glad he finally got it. The man groans, lowering his gun.

“You’re coming with us, but you make one wrong move, and I mean one, I will put a bullet through your brain before you can even speak. Got it?” He gestures to the other two men with him, and together you lift Ghost up, carrying him out to safety.

A/N- anyways, here's part one. Sorry if it disappoints anyone

tags, sorry if i missed any:

@redzluvvesage @just-a-harmless-potato-05  @vesna-the-spring @princess312 @norsehorseofcourse-blog @bonniperinktrance @soggywafflezz  @littlebunie @sirbonesly @havoc973 @mommymilkers0526 @thegreyjoyed @pinkiliciousgunp0int @poopoobuttsy @darcellethedreamer @kamote-kuneho

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[messenger-of-babel]

Home is Where the Heart is

Summary: You could never tell what Jason was thinking, and this particular night he has a lot on his mind. (Jason Todd x reader)

Word Count: 2.0K

Notes: Mini vent- had a bad day and this week has been really tough so I’m changing up the layout of today as well so I could put out a fic that was a little easier on my mind (I always need to have more pep in my step when I write for my lanterns idk why haha. So sorry Kyle my baby I want to do you justice so you're on backburner). It was indeed written to Ed Sheeran on loop cause I needed to lock in fr. ❤️❤️

Enjoy Lovelies~! xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

When Jason looked at you, you often wondered what he was thinking.

What was passing through his mind that made his irises gleam that brilliant shade of emerald or let the natural curve of his smile adored his face. However, every time that you asked he just blew his hair from his eyes gruffly, but let the smile stay. "That's a secret," he'd say before his hand would pull you to kiss side and he'd press a soft kiss on your forehead.

It was a little known fact that the Red Hood was in fact Jason Todd, but it was known to even less that Jason Todd was actually a romantic at heart. Sure, he had a mouth on him, and he was on the receiving end of your hand up the back of his head more often than he wasn't. But he was also the quiet kind of clingy, the kind that would never ask to hug you or initiate contact, but would stay up so he could have your back pressed against his chest the second you slipped into bed. He'd laugh when you brushed the hair out of his eyes, the scar on the corner of his mouth unable to stop his boyish grin. It was those moments in your kitchen that made you think that maybe, just maybe, your life was all normal.

You knew it wasn't.

When your fingers brush against his forehead you know that the white tuft in his hair was a painful reminder of his death, the scar on his lips you so lovingly kissed caused by the very man who had killed him. His hands were littered with small scars from blocking knives and protecting his head from glass instead of childhood memories of climbing trees. His back was a canvas of white slashes that intersected in a map-like pattern, a surface already so touched that the symmetrical red lines you left seemed less stunning in comparison. Legs sporting burn marks, bruises permanent along his ribs; that was the Jason that you knew. So even if some days you pretended that he was some ordinary civilian like yourself, you still loved Jason with all your heart.

On this particular night he had come home from patrol, sitting on the kitchen counter while you patched him up. You had been a pretty awful field doctor the first time you offered, but he braved through your prods and pokes with a wince. He didn't say anything about the way you wrapped the bandages too loosely or that you had forgotten some antiseptic and had given the wrong type of topical painkiller. Jason could see the worry on your face, so he leant forward and kissed your forehead tiredly, thanking you with a soft murmur.

You didn't need to know when he slunk off the bathroom to rewrap the bandages, or when he reapplied ointment in the right area. He picked glass out of his own skin when you missed some, letting the shards clatter down the sink. All that consumed him was the thought of how soft you were when you handled him, when you passed the bandage around his middle, or when you tried to clean the wound with as little antiseptic as possible to try and prevent the stinging. He normally hated having to doctor himself up, meaning that even the smallest of injuries tended to scar under his negligence. Yet with you he had been ashamed of the scars, hyper aware of how your eyes lingered on them. More so, how other people stared at them when you were out together. So, for months he spent nights in the bathroom redoing the handiwork you insisted so passionately on learning, just so that there wouldn't be a scar you could blame yourself for later.

You were absolutely perfect, so there was no reason that he couldn't be for you too.

You had become better though, and that was through the help of Alfred. Now you had patched him up efficiently and tightly, patting his hip affectionately when you pull the bandage tight. "Almost done," you smile up at him, fingers pulling the end of the bandage tight and reaching for a bandage clip. "Just got to secure it and you'll be good to go."

He smiles and drops a tired kiss to your skin as usual, pulling your fingers away when you’re done so he can raise them to his lips. "Thanks, darl." he grins, eyes tired but grin still lively as ever. He slides off the counter to wrap his hands around your waist, kissing your nose. You just huff and give him a side glance, arms circling his neck without hesitation.

"What's got you all worked up?" you ask with a light laugh when he’s overly affectionate with you, making Jason groan and drop his head into your hair.

"Just tired." he mumbles. "Bruce pissed me off again today, started lecturing me on the way home."

"Bruce pisses you off most days." you chide. "How did you ever escape the lecture?" you chuckle, moving with him as he begins to sway.

"I turned the commlink off and came up through Southside Gotham so he couldn't follow me." he grins.

There it was.

"There's always something with you, isn't there?" you shake your head, beginning to spin around with him softly in the candlelight. He laughs, and you imagine it’s the sound of a young boy finally getting to live life normally again.

"Always is, babe. you know me." he chuckles, and his eyes flutter over to the candles you have on the counter. It was always dark when he came home normally, and in his tired state he hadn't questioned it. After all, his family worked best in the dark.

"Power outage at the moment?" he asks.

"Power got cut off." you murmur back with a sigh. "We missed last payment. Only a few days, but you know how quick they jump on those these in Gotham. It's all paid up now, but it'll take a day or two to get back. Cold things from the freezer are in the washing machine with the ice blocks."

He hums, stroking a hand up and down your back. "You're well prepared. Sorry for making you deal with them, I'll handle it next time, I promise."

Jason hated using Bruce's money.

Not only was it something that sat bitter in his mouth ever since he had come back, but he didn’t need it. Dick had also rejected it and moved to Bludhaven, and even though he'd never admit it, Jason respected the way he managed to build a home for himself there. He wanted to do that too, and he could do it damn well by himself. He still took some money, but it was no more than a wage from Bruce. He considered protecting Gotham his job, and he wasn't stupid. He wasn’t going to let his pride get in the way of helping you both live. He hated to see you stress about finances, but you never asked him. You never asked him to reach out to Bruce for more or reach out to Bruce yourself.

The first time rent had gone up it had nearly priced the both of you out of the cozy apartment you lived in, and you had been in tears for days trying to find a second job to cover the expenses. Yet you didn’t come begging for Bruce's assistance, no. You looked at him with those teary eyes and asked him to help make a budget with you so you could figure a way out, and you did. You were the most resilient person he knew, the most resilient person he loved.

He held you closer as he spun you softly around the kitchen.

You were going to need to be resilient.

He inhaled the scent of your shampoo and let his arms bask in the warmth of you. Your skin against his made the thrumming in his side ease and the headache blistering behind his eyes subside. As you relaxed against him, his head raced of all the ways that he could tell you. Tell the most perfect being that had ever walked into your life that he was leaving, and not only that, he was going to have to break your heart on the way out.

He cursed Bruce. He cursed Bruce for making enemies that had cunning greater than his own, for dragging him into the mess he had created. He had yelled and spat and screamed at the older man until his voice resonated off the cave walls, storming from the cave after tonight's fight. Bruce had asked the impossible of him, after they both got their asses handed to them in a surprise attack. They had taunted Bruce, not the Batman, and had enough evidence to bring Bruce's world and carefully hidden persona crumbling down around him. It just so happened that they had enough to bring Jason's down as well.

They knew about you.

Pictures of you had fluttered down towards him, filling him with an indescribable sense of fear. As hard as they fought, they had let the new visitor of Gotham's nightlife slip through their fingers and Bruce had asked him to break up with you not a second later. There was no empathy, there was no kindness or waiting for it to sink in for him.

But there never was.

In that moment Bruce was Batman, but Red Hood had been the scared Jason Todd.

How did he tell you that he wanted to break up when that was the furthest thing from the truth? That he would walk through hell barefoot and dunk himself in the Lazarus pit again if that mean that you were still there to warm his bed at night? How could he tell you that he didn't love you when his heart ached to tell you it every time he got the courage? He could play the tears, play the part of a sad breakup. That part was easy, considering how this was shaping to be one of the hardest things he'd ever had to do. It was the rage that he couldn't muster, for once. Rage was something that he saved for the streets, a place already so crime ridden and scummy that his bitterness and anger were practically masked under the filth. It wasn't a place for your home, the little shelter the both of you had carved out of Gotham with your own two hands.

So, he spun you around the room, eyes watering with tears yet to shed as he thought about how to let you go. He knew you wanted to stay, and that made his heart ache in return. It was like losing a part of him that hadn't even been lost yet, a void already forming in his chest. He sniffled lightly and thankfully you didn’t hear or notice his arms squeezing tighter, as if to imprint the feeling of you against his body. He tried to tell himself it was only a temporary thing, that he could explain it all to you later when the threat was done. That thought often lost against the conjured image of your heartbroken eyes his mind created to torture him, and the persistent thought that you'd probably never want to see him again when he was about to break your heart so violently.

You don't notice something is wrong until the first tear hits your hair, silently giving way to more. You notice the slight shake in his arms and the tension still wound in his body. Normally the stiffness in his muscles flowed out of him like water when he stepped over the threshold of the house, but not tonight.

"What are you thinking about?" you ask softly, pressing into him to try and comfort him, your heart panging in confusion at his strange behaviour.

Jason would never tell you, but when he looked at you he wondered what the rest of your life together would look like, and if you'd ever considering changing your name to 'Todd'.

[menyuui]

JUST A LITTLE LONGER

༉‧₊˚. synopsis. you and remus break up because neither of you knows how to be honest about their feelings #flops

༉‧₊˚. tags. remus lupin, remus lupin x reader, angst with a happy ending, hurt to comfort, inaccurate hogwarts layouts, ooc maruaders era characters, lowkey rich!remus lupin, headcanoning him as coming from money i dont give a gaf, plot holes asf

༉‧₊˚. notes. this is my first ever fic and also i wrote it at 3 am and it took me 5 hours i literally have not slept so i apologize for inconsistencies and inaccuracies and also my poor unedited grammar and spelling pls forgive me also the ending and kind of the whole this is so rushed sorry i literally wrote this on my phone while bed rotting pls forgive me

REMUS LUPIN, had asked you out in the winter of sixth year, minutes before you boarded separate trains to go home for the holidays. he'd come running down your platform, coat buttoned to the top, hair a mess, juggling three different suitcases, how could you possibly say no to such a display?

to be entirely honest at that point you had been waiting weeks for remus to gain the courage to ask you out and you said 'yes!' faster than you'd like to admit but you'd live the embarrassment a billion times over if it meant you got to end up with remus in the end.

he had spent months courting you, planning dates and activities and introducing you to his tight knit group of friends, not to mention the years he had already spent pining after you (not that he'd ever confess that truth to you). with all the effort he had put in to getting you to date him you're not sure how you ended up here, like this. seventh year had started off so well, fresh off the train after spending the last week of summer at the lupin estate while remus's parents conducted business overseas. it seemed like you two were more in love than ever before, if that was even possible, so why wouldn't remus just tell you he was a werewolf?

it's nearing the end of november and remus and his friends were off on a 4 day "study group field trip", an excursion that they somehow convinced professor mcgonagall to go along with. you knew what that meant though, it meant that the full moon was coming up and remus would be spending the next couple of days in the hospital wing with only the company of madame pompfrey his aching body. last month it had been an impromptu trip to james's childhood home, the month before the four of them had all conveniently caught the flu and could not see you under any circumstances out of fear of spreading their infection. every month before that since you had begun dating was excuse after excuse, and you weren't sure how much more you could take.

you had become privy to remus's secret two months after your relationship began. you were never stupid, far from it, in fact you were always quite perceptive so it shouldn't have come as a surprise to anyone when you figured out what your boyfriend was trying to hide. it was easy to figure out the remaining players in the game after you uncovered the secret. obviously james, sirius, and peter had known, but it seems along with the three of his closest friends, lily evans was also let in on the confidential matter.

nothing changed for you after you had found out. you loved remus, you still love remus, nothing would ever change that.

so why won't he just be honest with you?

for as long as you could you staved off thinking about it any further than the surface level. you pushed the thoughts and doubts deep inside your mind, never letting yourself steep on it long enough to actually feel bad about it. until now, the christmas holiday was rapidly approaching, just mere weeks away, which also meant that your one year anniversary was just around the corner. your parents had been begging you to bring him home for the holiday, even if just one day could be spared, they just wanted to meet him. all of sudden, all the thoughts you had been avoiding had been pushed to the forefront of your mind.

despite your best efforts, your endless sleepless nights of attempted rationalization, and your undying love for your boyfriend, you could only come up with one answer as to why your boyfriend wouldn't let you in on his inner-inner circle:

he was going to break up with you.

to practical anyone else who knew the two of you, this would never even be thought possible.

but to you? it was the only possible reason.

it all made sense, obviously the marauders would know, they were his lifelong friends, practically his brothers. and of course lily would know, she was james's soulmate. all these people who knew he had let in on his secret were guaranteed to be in his life forever, which could only mean that you weren't.

so that's where you find yourself, on the last day of your boyfriend's montly disappearing act, worn down from the lack of sleep and the excess of worry, dreading the end of your relationship.

if you could have it your way the relationship would never end. you were completely sure that remus lupin was the only man you were ever going to love, but where you saw a future, remus only saw an opportunity to have one last school romance before he got started on his real life.

meanwhile in the hospital wing . . .

"i simply don't understand why you can't just tell her moony?!" sirius was fed up with his friend, the events of the previous full moon fueling his annoyance.

remus rolled his eyes and turned over in the creaky hospital bed, groaning at the added pressure on his bruised ribbed but grateful to be hidden away from sirius's glare.

sirius could just strangle remus right now.

"ughhhh!!! you're so-" remus wasn't looking at him but he knew that sirius was shaking his fists in anger while james and peter looked on amusedly.

james attempted to ease the situation, "alright come off him padfoot, the poor lad's just been through the wringer." his efforts not in vain as sirius mumbled a quick "whatever." before turning away from the trio of his friends.

"he's right though." james added with a tight lip.

this caused remus to roll his eyes once more, "get out." he groaned, clamping his pillow over his ears in frustration.

james lowly chuckled at his distressed friend, while attempting to soothe sirius who had just let out a scoff. peter looked at the pair as if to say 'let me try', before scooting onto the edge of remus's bed.

"remus...as annoying as sirius is," he started, giving sirius a pointed glare, "i think it would help us understand better, if you just told us why you don't want her to know."

when remus remained unmoving and silent under the protection of the pillow over his face, peter shrugged. james and sirius let out a quiet sigh, nearly giving up on an explanation when remus's mumbling cut them off. from beneath his pillow he spoke a brief and muffled statement, unintelligible to even his best friends.

"what?" sirius demanded with a judgemental eyebrow raised.

remus lifted the pillow off his face, tucking it under his head once more. still with his head turned away from the group he sighed deeply, "if i tell her...she's going to leave me."

a silence overtook the quartet. they all knew this had long been remus's greatest fear. flashbacks to nights post-full moons comforting a sobbing and broken remus as he begged for someone to just end the misery that was his existence. he'd long known he was destined for a life alone, bouncing between the couches of his best friends and their future partners and eventual children. this was the way it had to be. until you said yes, your mere presence made remus feel like he was being pulled out of the pits of hell.

but remus wasn't an idiot, he was on the verge of graduating and he had to be honest with his reality. you weren't meant for this life, this darkness, not when you were so kind, so pure. it was never going to last.

"you don't know that remus." peter stated as-a-matter-a-factly. and he meant it too, peter liked you, he really liked you. you had always been nice to him, and funny, and you made a real effort to get along with them, which he knows can be hard. he had faith in you.

remus cut off his mental praise with a cynical laugh, "yes i do."

peter didn't know what to say, he didn't know how to comfort his friend. james thought that he did.

"then she's not the one for you!" james encouraged. it did little to soothe remus's aching heart. somewhere deep inside him remus knew you were, the one for him. he loved you so dearly and he knew you loved him the same, he just couldn't stand the thought of you looking at him differently.

he knew it had to end. but was it so selfish of him to just want a little bit more time with you. seventh year was nearly half way through, remus would let you go after hogwarts, free to live and love like you deserved. he had come to terms with the fact that 10 years down the line when he was long gone that there would be some lucky fella who got you to fall for him bent over a crib carrying a baby with the eyes of the girl he had once loved, so can't he just have you for a little bit longer?

remus had already begun to see the signs. you were pulling away, being more distant. you were never in your dorm, always tucked away in the potions classroom during your free time or checking out books from the restricted section of the library. he knew the end was near.

all of sudden remus had forgotten about the pain of his injuries and could only focus on the pit forming in his chest. he didn't want to talk about this anymore.

his friends had taken note of his sullen face and ceased their talking. he pulled the blanket over his shoulders and tucked his face into the stiff pillow, they got the message.

as they left the room sirius offered a, "we'll check in on you after dinner moony." his promise was left unacknowledged.

three weeks later . . .

less than a month later your worst nightmare came true. six days before holiday break began, six days before your one year anniversary, remus lupin broke up with you.

he had approached you while you were sitting by the great lake, unassuming and oblivious to your impending doom and shattered your entire world without so much as a hint of despair on his beautiful face.

in all your pain and anguish you didn't know what to say, you offered a meek "okay." scared to say more out of fear of bursting into tears.

remus took your lack of words as a clear sign of your impassiveness about the situation. a indicator of your relief to be rid of the burden that was his existence, and he turned away and left you there, sitting on the stont bench, silent tears streaming down your face.

that was five days ago. remus had departed from the school early, to get home to prepare for the arrival of his friends and his next transformation.

you, on the other hand, had retreated to the safety of your dorm room shortly after the incident at the lake and had solemnly left your room since. with practically the entire school soon to be gone home for christmas and a letter sent to your parents explaining that you'd be spending the holiday season at a "friend's" (hiding away in the safety of your bed in the walls of hogwarts) you were looking forward to getting a moment alone.

but then you heard the voices of lily and alice pass by your door, "aren't you just in such despair that your beloved james is going to be away from you for the entire holiday?" alice teased lily who laughed in embarrassment in response.

you suddenly remembered the anniversary slash christmas present you had been preparing for remus for nearly a year.

pratically flying out of bed you dropped to your knees and began digging through the trunk at the foot of your bed. when your eyes locked in on the small and neatly wrapped box at the bottom of the trunk, you hesitated for a moment. pushing down any feelings of doubt and resentment you made your way to the great hall.

you stood outside the great hall, fingers curled around the neatly wrapped gift, your pulse drumming against your ribcage. it felt heavier than it should—more than just paper and ribbon, it held pieces of what could’ve been.

the moment you stepped through the doors, the familiar laughter of james, sirius, and peter met your ears. they were huddled together at their usual spot, carefree as ever. for a brief second, you wondered if remus was already missing them.

james spotted you first, his grin faltering just slightly before he called out, "fancy seeing you here."

sirius turned, one brow arching in curiosity. "i half expected you to hex one of us on sight."

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t quite muster a comeback. instead, you held the small box out towards them. "i—" your throat tightened. "i was hoping one of you could give this to remus."

sirius exchanged a glance with james, his expression unreadable. peter just looked between you all, silent as ever.

james took the box carefully, turning it in his hands. "is this—"

"a gift," you cut in. "it was supposed to be for him before we—well. before everything."

the silence stretched, lingering in the air between you. "you don't have to say it's from me, in fact you probably shouldn't, just say it's from one of you, it doesn't matter to me anyways. just make sure he gets it before christmas." then sirius sighed, shaking his head. "you can pretend it doesn’t matter," he said, his voice softer than you’d expected. "but it does."

you swallowed hard, looking away. "i just want him to have it."

james studied you for a moment before his grin returned—lighter now, but somehow more genuine. "consider it delivered."

relief, bittersweet as it was, spread through you. you met his gaze, offering a small, grateful smile. "thanks, james."

you turned to go, and before you could take a step, sirius called out, "you know, we’re not just his friends."

you glanced back.

"you can talk to us too," he said, a little gentler now. "if you ever want to."

you hesitated before nodding and walking away.

the next day the trio left on the train along with the rest of the school, save for a frw lonely students like yourself, and so began your holiday isolation.

christmas eve day . . .

the fireplace crackled, casting flickering light over the modest living room. outside, a fresh layer of snow blanketed the ground, muffling the sounds of the world beyond the lupins' home.

remus sat cross-legged on the floor, the warmth from the fire settling into his bones. across from him, james wrestled with a particularly stubborn ribbon on a present, while sirius lounged back against the couch, shaking a small box near his ear as if trying to decipher its contents by sound alone. peter had already unwrapped a tin of biscuits and was halfway through his second one.

remus's parents watched them with quiet amusement. hope lupin, ever the gracious host, had insisted on feeding them first, hot cocoa and freshly baked mince pies, before they even touched the presents. lyall, standing near the doorway, looked content just observing, though remus didn't miss the way his father's eyes lingered on him longer than usual, as if already steeling himself for what was to come.

"this one’s yours, moony." james nudged a parcel toward him, his grin wide and eager.

remus hesitated, then peeled the paper back, revealing a thick woolen jumper, the kind you’d expect from an old but loving grandmother, except this one was navy blue with a golden moon stitched into the chest.

sirius leaned over, inspecting it. "practical. warm. a little on the nose, if you ask me."

remus huffed a laugh, running his fingers over the embroidery. "you all planned this, didn’t you?"

peter shoved another biscuit into his mouth and shrugged. "you need it. full moon’s always brutal in winter."

hope’s smile faltered for just a moment, but she recovered quickly, reaching for another gift to pass to james. remy saw the quiet worry in her eyes, no matter how many times they did this, she’d never truly get used to it.

but tonight, for now, they could pretend.

"open mine next," sirius said, tossing a wrapped box at remus. "and don’t be gentle about it."

remus rolled his eyes but did as he was told, tearing through the paper to find—

"merlin," he breathed. "how did you even—"

sirius smirked. "you really think i’d let you go through another transformation without something decent to listen to after? it’s all the best records, charmed to play however you want. figured music would help, even if you’re too out of it to remember much."

remus swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat.

james, clearly sensing the shift in mood, clapped a hand on remus's shoulder. "we know tomorrow won’t be easy," he said. "but we’re here now. and we’ll be there then too—same as always."

the fire had burned lower now, flickering embers casting shadows along the walls as the night stretched on. gift wrappings lay in scattered piles, forgotten in the excitement of the evening, but remus hadn’t moved from his spot on the floor. something about nights like these, the quiet and warmth of shared laughter, made the inevitability of tomorrow feel just a little easier to carry.

until james cleared his throat, reaching into the pile of gifts they’d yet to hand out.

"almost forgot," he said, a little too casual, passing a small, carefully wrapped box into remus's hands. "got this for you."

remus blinked down at it, frowning. he hadn’t seen that package among the others earlier, but he tore at the wrapping anyway, uncovering a small glass vial—midnight blue liquid shifting within, thick yet unnervingly smooth.

silence settled over the room.

lyall had gone stiff.

remus stared at the potion, "what is this supposed to—"

"wolfsbane." his father was staring at the potion like it might explode. "where did you get that." lyall muttered, stepping forward, studying the liquid as though willing it to reveal some flaw. "i’ve been trying for years, and every time it’s come with unbearable side effects. this—this isn’t easy to come by, let alone brew properly."

james shifted hesitant for a moment, considering telling the truth, scratching the back of his neck. "oh you know, connections."

remus narrowed his eyes, but sirius kicked at his ankle, distracting him with a smirk. "does it matter? it’s for you. besides what even is it? like some wicked liquor or what?"

lyall shook his head, grabbing the vial and turning it slightly in his palm. "it’s meant to lessen the effects of the transformation. nearly impossible to get right. but this—" he turned the bottle again, watching the way the liquid clung smoothly to the glass. "this is perfect."

sirius opened his mouth, closed it again, then exchanged a glance with james. james stared at the potion, then at remus. then back at the potion.

peter’s eyes widened slightly.

not a single one of them spoke, but the realization settled in like a stone dropped into still water.

but remus didn’t have a clue. neither did his family.

james cleared his throat, easing his grin back into place, as if shaking off the weight of the moment. "well. guess you got lucky, moony. and i totally got jipped, thought i was getting a bargain on some extra concentrated firewhiskey."

remus rolled his eyes, cradling the vial in his palm, looking it over himself now. "yeah. guess so."

hope glanced between them all but didn’t press further.

lyall was still frowning slightly, as if running through the possibilities in his mind.

sirius nudged james sharply. james barely acknowledged it. peter just blinked, staring at the bottle again. the fire crackled, filling the quiet as remus tucked the potion carefully into his pocket, blissfully unaware of the revelation hanging in the air.

outside, the snow continued to fall. inside, the warmth remained, but it carried something heavier now. something unspoken.

the morning after the full moon was quiet, the kind of quiet that settled into the bones of the house. the fire in the hearth had burned low, and upstairs, remus was still resting, recovering.

james, sirius, and peter trudged downstairs, sluggish but grateful for the scent of breakfast wafting through the air. lyall was already at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of tea, looking like he hadn’t gotten much sleep.

sirius was the first to drop into a chair, stretching his arms above his head. "rough night?"

lyall huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "you lot know all too well that every full moon is. hope and i can't tell you how grateful we are for you guys."

james shrugged, remus was their friend, their best friend, taking care of him was a given, no sweat about it. grabbing a piece of toast, chewing absentmindedly he glanced at lyall. "about that potion—the wolfsbane—"

peter, still half-asleep, perked up at the mention of it.

sirius leaned forward. "you said it was nearly impossible to get right. but you've tried?"

lyall exhaled, setting his cup down. "for years," he admitted. "every time i thought i was close, it turned out worse than before. the headaches were unbearable, the nosebleeds frequent. cramps so bad i couldn’t stand some days. seizures." he paused, shaking his head slightly. "it never worked, no matter how many adjustments i made."

peter swallowed hard. "and you had to stop?"

lyall nodded. "for months. sometimes years. the toll it took, for all my love i couldn't continue."

silence fell over the kitchen only the sound of breakfast being cooked could be heard.

james stared at his toast, unmoving. sirius glanced between them all, brows knitting together. peter looked like he wanted to disappear into his seat.

the realization settled in, slow and heavy.

whoever had brewed that potion hadn’t had years to figure it out. they’d done it recently. quickly.

which meant—

sirius sat up straighter, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. james pressed his lips together, tapping his fingers against the table. peter’s expression tightened, eyes flicking toward the staircase, as if looking up toward where remus was still asleep.

you had gone through hell to make that potion.

the three of them sat with the thought, none of them daring to say it aloud.

lyall sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "whatever miracle brewed that vial, i hope it was worth it."

james forced a chuckle. "yeah," he said, voice quieter than usual. "me too." sirius reached for his tea, taking a slow sip, gaze unfocused. peter didn’t say anything at all.

outside, the frost clung to the windows, the world cold and still.

meanwhile at hogwarts . . .

the hospital wing was quiet, save for the soft clinking of vials and the occasional rustle of parchment as madame pomfrey jotted down notes. you sat perched on the edge of a bed, your posture stiff and hands trembling slightly as you clutched the edge of the blanket.

"you should’ve come to me sooner," pomfrey said, her tone stern but not unkind. she set a steaming goblet on the bedside table, the potion within swirling a pale green. "you’ve been pushing yourself far beyond the limits of a witch your age."

you swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. "i needed to finish it."

pomfrey sighed, pulling up a chair and sitting across from you. "y/n you’ve been receiving treatment for nearly a year now. headaches, nosebleeds, muscle cramps, they could've seriously harmed you."

you nodded, gaze fixed on the floor. "i—i couldn’t stop. not when i was so close."

pomfrey’s expression softened, though her worry was evident. "but darling the appearance spells? hiding the toll it’s taken on you? on your body?"

you hesitated, thinking about the months of cast appearance spells to hide your frail body littered with signs of wear, then nodded again. "no one could know. it was easier to pretend everything was fine."

pomfrey reached out, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "you’ve done something extraordinary, but at what cost? your body needs time to recover. you can’t keep hiding this."

pomfrey studied your face for a long moment, then sighed again, standing to retrieve another vial from the cabinet. "rest. no more spells, no more pushing yourself. if you don’t take care of yourself now, there won’t be anything left to give."

you nodded, your resolve unwavering despite the exhaustion etched into your features. as pomfrey handed you the next potion, you took it without hesitation, the weight of your choices settling heavily in the quiet room.

you’re halfway through choking down the bitter potion when the door creaks open.

"thought i’d find you here."

the voice is unmistakable: smooth, lazy, edged with something sharp beneath its usual confidence.

sirius.

you freeze, setting the goblet down carefully before looking up. he stands at the entrance, arms crossed, gaze locked on you.

madame pomfrey straightens, clearly unimpressed. "mr. black, if you’re ill, i suggest you come back at a reasonable hour."

he barely acknowledges her, his focus never shifting from you.

"i’m fine," he says, but it’s directed at you, not her.

she lingers, exhaling through her nose. "five minutes. then she needs to rest."

once she disappears into her office, sirius steps forward, hands shoved into his coat pockets.

"so," he says, tilting his head, "you look like shit."

you roll your wyes, leaning back against the pillows. "i’m just...tired."

he scoffs. "right. sure. maybe that'd work on another idiot. try again."

you don’t answer.

sirius exhales sharply, pacing at the foot of your bed. "wolfsbane," he mutters. "you brewed it."

your throat tightens. "you already knew that."

he shakes his head. "we didn’t. not until lyall told us how impossible it is to brew."

the weight of his words settles deep in your chest.

sirius watches you for a long moment before he speaks again. "you’ve been practically killing yourself for nearly a year."

you don’t deny it.

"why did you even do all of that—all of this," he gestures to your ailing body, "if you were just gonna let him dump you in the end?"

you jump on the defensive, "you think i wanted to get dumped?" you quip back, angrily.

"well you didn't try very hard not to." sirius accused with a glare.

"oh fuck off sirius." you scoff.

sirius relents, "why didn't you tell him you knew? why didn't you fight for him?" he asked genuinely.

you hesitate for a moment, why didn't you fight for him? "he didn't want me anymore sirius. i can't fix that."

sirius's face flashed in bewilderment. remus lupin? not wanting you? impossible. before he could oppose you continued, "i wanted to give him the chance to tell me on his own time, like he told you and james and peter and even lily for godsake. i wanted him to come to me when he was ready, i didn't want to confront him with it, like it was some kind of accusation. i wanted him to trust me." your voice broke at the end and sirius immediately felt horrible for even slightly raising his voice at you.

"i thought that if i just gave him time, he would, but where he saw forever with you guys, he just saw for now with me. i figured that's why he never told me, what's the point in going through all the agony for some girl he never planned on keeping around anyways."

sirius couldn't believe what he was hearing. how could you be so wrong. he wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you till you understood, he wanted to scream in your face that it wasn't true, that your mind was playing tricks on you, planting seeds of doubt about a man who loved you so wholeheartedly that it could kill him, but he didn't. because that wasn't his place, it was remus's.

so instead he grabbed your hand, and sat with you in the silence of the castle for as long as he could before he had to make his was back to his friends.

back at lupin manor . . .

the house is quiet when sirius returns, the cold pressing against his back as he steps through the front door. the fire in the living room crackles softly, illuminating the space with a warm glow.

remus is exactly where he left him, curled up on the couch, blanket draped over his shoulders, looking tired but better than he did last night. his head lifts slightly at the sound of the door closing.

"didn’t think you’d be back so soon," remus murmurs, voice rough with lingering exhaustion.

sirius lets out a short laugh, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. "yeah, well. didn’t feel like dragging it out."

remus shifts, turning his full attention toward him now. "how was hogsmeade?"

sirius scoffs, pulling off his coat and tossing it onto the armchair. "didn’t go."

remus frowns slightly. "thought you said you had a date."

sirius hesitates for a fraction of a second, then shrugs, like it’s nothing. "went to hogwarts instead."

remus’s brows knit together. "why?"

sirius exhales, dragging a hand through his hair before moving toward the couch, dropping onto the seat opposite remus. "to see y/n."

remus blinks, surprised. "she didn't go home for the holiday?"

sirius shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. "nope. found her in the hospital wing."

remus sits up a little straighter, something unreadable flickering in his expression. "what happened?"

sirius studies him for a long moment before speaking. "she’s been getting treated for almost a year."

remus’s lips part slightly, confusion settling in, in the year that they had dated remus never noticed her even looking vaguely ill let alone getting treated for something. "treated for what?"

sirius sighs, his voice quieter now. "the wolfsbane."

realization dawns slowly over remus’s face, his grip tightening on the blanket draped over his shoulders.

sirius continues, pomfrey said she’s been coming in with all kinds of shit. headaches, nosebleeds, muscle cramps. even seizures."

remus’s throat works, eyes darkening. "she knows?"

sirius watches him carefully. “she's known moony, since nearly the beginning. she did it for you.”

remus exhales sharply, looking away, staring into the fire. "that doesn't make any sense, there's no way she knew and she stayed with me."

sirius can't help but roll his eyes at his stubborn friend, "is that actually true or did you just make yourself believe that? i mean did she actually ever say anything indicative of her being this horrible twisted person you've made her out to be?"

remus is silent.

"you don't get it moony. it's not her. it's me. i'm the dark and twisted one, she doesn't want this sirius. she doesn't deserve this." remus cried out.

sirius was in despair over his friend's anguish, he looked around desperately for something, anything to prove that what he was saying was true, his eyes landed on the vial. he grabbed it, harshly shoving it in remus's shaking hands, "she does want it. and that right there is hard evidence. it works doesn't it? we all know it did, you've never been able to stand the day after a full-moon before let alone walk down the stairs by yourself." he rips the blanket of remus's lap, "she did that for you, without being asked, without being rewarded, and the expense of her own health."

remus looks down at his body, he's felt it all morning, the lessened ache of his bones and the surprising lack of deep cuts in his skin.

"you have got to stop this moony, this wallowing this–this hatred. it's going to kill you. she doesn't deserve this? well neither do you."

outside, the wind howls softly against the windows. inside, something unspoken lingers in the spaces between words, settling deep in the quiet.

one week later . . .

the black lake is still, the surface glass-like under the dull winter sky. the cold bites at your skin, but you don’t move, not yet. you just sit there, staring out at the water, letting the silence stretch.

you hear his footsteps before you hear his voice. the scene is all tok familiar.

“you look well.”

you tense, fingers curling slightly in the fabric of your cloak.

“so do you,” you reply, voice even, measured. you don’t turn to face him. instead, you push yourself to stand, brushing off your robes, ready to leave.

“i got it wrong.” his voice is wavering.

you pause mid-step. slowly, you turn your head just enough to glance at him. remus looks tired. not in the way he did after his monthly ritual, not just physically, but something else lingers in his expression. something heavier.

you don’t ask.

you grip the edges of your cloak tighter, keeping your face unreadable. “about what?”

he exhales, shaking his head slightly, like he’s still sorting through the thoughts tangled up inside him. “about you,” he says. “about—about what you were trying to do.”

you shift, drawing your arms closer to yourself, bracing against the cold.

remus steps forward, just barely, his breath visible in the air between you.

“i didn’t see it,” he admits, his voice low. “not until sirius told me.” he looks at you then, steady and unguarded. “i got it wrong,” he repeats, softer this time.

the words settle between you, raw and honest. you don’t move for a long moment, your pulse drumming against your ribs, your breath short against the crisp air.

then, finally, you speak. "i don't know what you want me to say remus."

"just listen?" he offers.

you don't move, you still don't look at him. he takes it as indication to continue, "i’ve loved you for so long. longer than i even knew what love meant, longer than i ever thought i deserved to feel it. and for so much of that time, i did nothing about it. not because i didn’t want to, but because i didn’t know how much time i had." your face flashes in concern at this.

"with everything i am, this condition, this mind that turns against itself more often than not, i didn’t know how long i was going to last. i didn’t let myself imagine a future, because what would be the point? then seventh year came, and suddenly there was a deadline. graduation. the end of everything familiar. and i figured, why not, right? why not make the most of the time i had left with you? i love you so much, and i wanted to tell you. i wanted to tell you my secret so badly, but you are so pure, so kind, so good, and i was afraid. afraid that if i told you, you’d see me differently. you’d see the monster in me, you'd see what i see in myself, and you would leave. and i know that was selfish—i know. but i just wanted more time. i just wanted a little longer with you before you had to go." tears are streaming down his face at this point, down yours too, you can't bear to look at him, you remaining resolve would crumble, you know it.

"then you started to pull away after november, and i couldn’t–i couldn’t watch you leave. i wouldn’t have survived it. so i had to do it first. i had to hurt you before you could hurt me. because if i broke you, at least i’d know the ending was mine." he stopped, you didn't move, you didn't say anything.

"y/n please. i'm sorry." more silence. and then,

"i'm going to be late for class." and with that you walked off, leaving remus standing there under the cover of a wilted tree, next to the stone bench he had abandoned you on just a few weeks ago.

. . .

two days. it had been two days since remus's display at the lake and he had been moping ever since, much to his roommates dismays.

no one had seen or heard from you since then either. you weren't in your room when james had sent lily to check and you weren't in the hospital wing when sirius had gone to check, and it had remus in absolute shambles.

"she hates me. she hates me so much she transferred schools." he's face down in his pillow, his body limp against the mattress as he groans out his words.

peter scrunches his eyebrows, "we graduate in five months?"

still muffled by his pillow remus replies, "yeah so she must really hate me."

"oh come on you ole sap. don't tell me you're giving up so easily." sirius barked from across the room, peaking his head out from his post-shower routine.

"no i am. i'm giving up. the love of my life hates me and now i'm going to die." remus flips over onto his back and states plainly.

sirius frowns, "what did i say about all this self-anguish bull?"

"i'm only joking mom. kind of." remus replies sarcastically.

he's happy to have his friends in his time of despair, their senseless bickering and blind encouragement gives him hope in his dark and stormy time.

that is until a knock at their dormitory door causes them to all freeze. the four of them look between each other, confused. lily was still in class and sirius's various flings know better than to show up here, so who was at the door?

peter makes the first move, towards the door, hand slowly turning the handle. as the heavy wooden door swings open it reveals, you.

sirius let's out a dramatic gasp and remus nearly burns holes into his head, if only his gaze wasn't so locked in on you.

you brush past peter and make a bee line for where remus is now sat up on the edge of his bed. he holds his breath as you approach him, expecting you to slap him clean across the face.

but you don't, instead, you stop just mere inches in front of him with your hand outstretched.

"my name is y/n y/l/n. i'm a seventh year y/h/n and i'm incredibly talented in potion making." you state.

everyone is confused. remus is confused, but mostly remus is grateful you're even speaking to him. he's frozen in place and when you don't see him moving you shake your outstretched hand and raise your eyebrows.

in a moment of rare intellect from the idiotic boy he snaps back into reality, firm grasping your hand for a shake.

"remus. lupin. seventh year, gryffindor." he finishes, still grasping your hand. you raise your eyebrows again, he tilts his head like a lost and confused puppy.

you decide to throw him a bone and prompt him, "and...?"

it all clicks for him, he knows what you want.

"and i'm a werewolf."

you smile, he smiles.

you turn over the hand of his that has a firm grip on you and apparate a pen into your hand. opening his palm you bend over and write down a number on his open hand.

(+** - *** - ******)

and then you turn to leave, but not before throwing a quick "call me." over your shoulder.

as soon as peter closes the door behind you remus jump up out of his bed. he's pumping his fists in the air while sirius and peter cheer him on.

from his bed, james pipes up, "call me? we're wizards? who the bloody hell is using a mobile phone?"

he's promptly hit square in the face by remus's pillow, knocking the glasses frames clean off his face, "shut up prongs." and peter pats him on the back.

he's absolutely elated. as he falls asleep that night he thanks every single higher being out there for allowing him back into your life. he promises to never grimace at his dad's bad jokes, or make fun of sirius's gala outfits ever again, he swears on everything he has that he will never do another remotely unkind thing again for the rest of his life as long as you are in it.

he knows the two of you have a lot to talk about, and he knows he has a lot to work on himself, but for tonight, he's just happy you gave him a second chance.

�� menyuui do not copy, repost, or plagiarize the contents of this blog

[wendichester]

Hey Hun. I'm sorry for being a greedy little lady and asking for another request. I know I say it a lot but I love your drabbles and fics so so much.

I was wondering if maybe you could write a little drabble thing where the reader and Sam are super close and clearly have it so bad for each other, like really really bad. But they're both too shy to confront one another about how they feel, even though deep down they know how the others feels. And Dean's watching it all from the outside, seeing how they dance around each other's feelings. I like to think Dean would tease them relentlessly. Calling them an "old married couple" and just telling them to get on with it and do something about their feelings basically lol.

Sorry again for asking, as always there's absolutely no pressure if you're filled up with requests or don't feel up to it. Hope you have an amazing day my sweet 💗

⋆˚✿˖° when it's real, it's real,

summary. it's painfully obvious how you and sam are so into each other

pairing. sam winchester x reader ft. dean genre. extra fluff

wordcount. 877

notes / warnings. thank you so much for requesting this sweets! love you 🩷

Dean Winchester has had enough.

He’s spent the last few weeks watching you and Sam, watching the way you both practically glow when you’re near each other. The way your eyes follow him around the room, the way you both share little inside jokes that leave the other person just a little bit lost. Dean can see it. Hell, anyone can.

But neither of you can seem to make a move.

“Alright, seriously. I can’t take it anymore.” Dean slams a beer down on the table in front of you two, his voice too loud and too amused, and you both freeze like a couple of deer caught in the headlights.

You try to ignore him, but your cheeks betray you, flushing the exact shade of embarrassment that’s been simmering between you and Sam for months now. You glance at Sam—who’s equally flustered, his hands fumbling with his drink like he’s trying to figure out how to hold it without making it obvious he’s shaking.

“Dean, knock it off,” Sam mutters, but there’s no heat behind it.

Dean smirks, sitting down on the other side of the table, practically leaning across it. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just concerned about my little brother here. You two are acting like a damn old married couple and neither one of you’s doing anything about it.”

You choke on your sip of water, coughing awkwardly, and Sam’s eyes widen for a second before his face turns an impressive shade of red. Dean notices it, of course, and raises an eyebrow.

“I mean, really,” Dean continues, giving you both a pointed look, “you guys can’t even sit in the same room without basically smoldering at each other. It’s like watching two people who are already in love but are too shy to do anything about it.”

Sam slouches in his seat, his hand running over his face in frustration. “Dean, we’re not—”

“Oh please,” Dean interrupts, cutting him off with a mocking tone, “Not in love, huh? Tell that to the way you both stare at each other when you think the other one isn’t looking. Tell me again how you ‘don’t feel anything’ when you can’t stop smiling when they’re around. I mean, come on, guys. The only thing more obvious than you two is the fact that you’re both too damn shy to admit it.”

You feel like your heart is about to beat right out of your chest. You shift in your seat, looking down at your hands, trying not to make eye contact with either of them. You’re not sure who you’re more embarrassed for—yourself or Sam. But the tension in the room is so thick now that it’s almost suffocating.

“I mean, damn,” Dean says with a theatrical sigh, “I’m not one for love advice, but if you two don’t figure it out soon, I swear I’m gonna start writing you love letters myself.”

Your eyes dart to Sam, catching him already staring at you, his gaze soft but heavy. You swear your heart stumbles in your chest, and your stomach flutters like it always does when he looks at you like that.

“You really think that?” you whisper, unable to help the curiosity in your voice. It’s the first time you’ve actually said something directly related to how you feel.

Sam looks at you, and in that moment, everything shifts. His gaze softens even more, his hand reaching across the table to rest gently on yours.

“Yeah,” he says, voice a little hoarse. “I’ve… been thinking about it a lot, actually. I think about you all the time, and I—”

Dean’s dramatic cough interrupts him, and you both turn, startled, to find him with his hands dramatically over his eyes, faking a gag.

“Good lord, you two,” he mutters. “It’s like watching a soap opera. Just kiss already and get it over with.”

Your face is on fire now, but the warmth of Sam’s hand on yours makes it feel like it might just be the sweetest burn.

Sam’s gaze flickers between you and Dean, a slight smile curling on his lips. “Maybe he’s right,” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe we should… do something about it.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Like what?” you ask, your voice barely a breath.

Sam takes a deep breath, like he’s summoning the courage. Then, without saying another word, he leans across the table, closing the space between you two.

The kiss is soft at first, like a spark in the dark, gentle and slow as if he’s testing the waters. But when your fingers slip into his hair, tugging him closer, it’s like everything that’s been building up for so long finally clicks into place.

Dean’s groan from across the room is muffled by his hands, but it’s the only sound in the world that can make you and Sam break away, laughing softly, your foreheads touching.

“You better get used to the idea of it, Dean,” Sam chuckles.

“Yeah,” you say, grinning at him. “Because this is really happening.”

Dean mutters something under his breath, and you swear you hear him say something like, “Finally,” before he walks out of the room, leaving you and Sam alone in the quiet, the tension between you finally—finally—broken.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[coquettepascal]

like tiramisu

summary: nothing beats summer vacation like a secret relationship with your dad's best friend, right? wrong! what really beats summer vacation is trying not do jump joel's bones every time you're alone.

tags: 18+, smut, fluff, beach fic, age gap (it's dbf!joel, imagine what you want), dbf!joel, misuse of sunscreen, semi-public activities (not sex), groping, massaging, reader has a dad and brother, overuse of the word pretty, nicknames like pretty___ and baby, oral sex (f!recieving), she/her pronouns for your pussy, joel gets blueballed, fluff, joel and reader are very much in love, established relationship, secret relationship, stereotypical oblivious reader's!dad, mention of food poisoning (nothing graphic), slight grumpy!joel, soft!dom joel (ish)

a/n: woo!! i did it :D this is my submission for @hellishjoel's hot dilf summer challenge (link to the masterlist.) i'm a big fan of their work so i'm just happy to participate. tysm for this opportunity!

(3.6k, not beta read.)

Every year you travel to the coast with your dad and brother, enjoying a week at the tail end of summer to really relax. This year, your brother got sick, and so Joel took his place.

Like Joel, your dad’s best friend. You know, the one that you slept with a month ago one night after everyone went to bed? Joel like kind-of-your-secret-boyfriend-Joel. Simple situation really, you don’t know why you nearly shit yourself when Joel was standing in your driveway dragging a suitcase behind him. 

But, as Joel does, he’s made this easy. It shouldn’t be easy to be separated from him, but it’s made the small moments you can get with him better. Besides, you still get to see him in his handsome glory, all tan and broad and…

The not-easy part is not jumping on him every time your dad turns around. 

—

“Why is this so much more expensive than ice cream?” Joel asks you, eyes squinted as he peers at the chalkboard that hangs above the gelato cooler.

The family in front of you orders and literally pays with a 50 dollar bill, still not getting anywhere near a justifiable amount of change back. Joel squints at the board harder and you smile up at him. He needs glasses, you’ve been telling him this whole trip. 

“Having trouble?” You ask teasingly. Joel’s head turns, face already scowling, but then the employee behind the counter is asking for your order before he can tear you a new one.

Joel is still scowling at you as he shells out 25 dollars for 2 “adult size” cones. 

“S’not necessary to spend this much money on vacation, darlin’, we’re already relaxed,” He grumbles as you walk out of the air conditioned business, back into the beachy heat outside. 

Innocently, you lick up a drip of the tiramisu flavored gelato that drips down the cone. Joel’s eyes narrow more, clearly not appreciative of your behavior so far today. His face eases up when he takes a bite out of his mango sherbet, cooling his flamed temper. 

Your hand snakes into his free one as you walk down the beach, back to where your things are. It’s a quieter day on the beach, luckily. The past week you’ve spent with your father and Joel has been a hectic race for who can find a good spot on the beach, who can find a good spot to sit and eat, and who can find a good spot where the three of you can be left the fuck alone. 

Today you’ve found a good spot, tucked away behind some larger rocks. It kind of looks like it could be dangerous to be there when the tide comes in, but it’s out far today. You’re fine, you’re with Joel, and most importantly, the two of you are alone. 

Your dad ate some bad shrimp last night at dinner and has a horrible case of food poisoning. He assured both of you that he’d be fine on his own, to go enjoy the sun. 

God knows you both will.

You hop over to the blanket you had laid out, cowering under the shade of the rainbow umbrella Joel had bought earlier in the week. He claimed it was so you wouldn’t get heatstroke, but you have a feeling it was more for the sake of his skin. 

As you kick off your sandals, Joel sits down beside you under the umbrella, slurping obnoxiously at the remnants of his mango cone. Most of yours is still intact, though a bit melty. It’s something to marvel at, how Joel can inhale any food of any temperature in the blink of an eye. But it makes up his soft tummy, the one you can rest your head on later when you want to soak up the sun. 

“Do you wanna try mine?” You ask, noting the hungry eyes he’s giving your gelato. He nods and so you lean over to him, extending the cone.

And just as he leans in to take a massive bite, you jerk your hand, smearing tiramisu gelato onto the tip of his nose. 

“Oh my fucking god,” he groans, pulling back, “that’s not fucking funny.” 

But it is funny. Seeing the white cream smudged on his nose, tangled in the bristles of his moustache. You can’t help but laugh at him. 

“That’s what you get for trying to chomp half of my treat!” You point out.

Joel’s head tilts at you, as if to say “really?” 

“Okay fine, I’ll fix it,” you huff. Passing your gelato to your free hand, you lean forward and suck the tip of his nose into your mouth, slurping off the remaining mess. 

Pulling back with a pop, you see Joel’s horrified face. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He groans, wiping your saliva off his face. 

Joel gives you a look, clearly expecting some sort of repayment for the ridiculous stunt you just pulled. Begrudgingly, you hand the rest of your cone to him, but only because you really should put on sunscreen.

—

The sun beats down on you as you lay against Joel’s chest and belly, his legs spread to make room for you. He’s wearing black board shorts that cut off around his mid-thigh, leaving more skin exposed. Joel didn’t wear these ones yesterday, or any day previous. It was just the same red shorts that went down to his knees. But today, he matches you and your black two piece. His thick thighs firmly frame you, keeping you in place. 

“You need to reapply your sunscreen, sweetheart,” Joel hums, blindly pawing the blanket for wherever you tossed the bottle earlier. 

Streams of sunlight bathe you where you sit, the sun no longer blocked by the rainbow umbrella Joel insisted on. You planned on tanning anyways, so you don’t mind as much as Joel seems to. He grabs the sunscreen and his sunglasses, tossing them on. 

Your chin is tucked to your chest, crunched as Joel leans over you more, opening the cap of the lotion. The liquid is so cold in comparison to the warm sun rays that blanket the two of you, a near-pained hiss escaping you.

“Don’t be a baby,” Joel grunts, working the sunscreen into your abdomen.

His hands work your soft flesh so gently, his calloused palms spreading the protective lotion carefully. Joel’s thumbs dig a little harder as he feels your hip bones beneath his hands, making you protest weakly. You know what he’s doing, taking this private opportunity for his own gain.

“Joel,” you warn whinily, squirming. 

His hands grasp you in place, holding you while the cords of muscle on his forearms pop. 

“I said don’t be a baby,” he repeats slower this time, his voice rumbling in your ear.

“We both know you’ve taken worse.”

Yeah. Yeah you do know that. It doesn’t shut you up anymore, whining as he reaches to massage your thighs, his hands slipping to your inner thighs fast. You can barely process his touch there before he’s sliding his hands back to a more appropriate spot, your arms. He’s keeping it PG for the most part at least. The nagging fear of your dad suddenly showing up despite his illness lives in the back of your mind. 

Joel massages your wrists and the palms of your hands, thumbs pushing the flesh soothingly as he murmurs in your ear about how soft you are, how perfect. 

He was keeping it PG, but he’s getting selfish now. The orange sun is painting your skin in a way that’s making it hard for him to think, and it’s been so long since he’s had you alone. Your eyes glaze over as he drips more lotion into his palms, rubbing it between them slowly. 

“Don’t wanna forget your chest, would hate for my pretty girl to burn,” is all the warning you get.

Joel’s arms loop beneath yours, his wet palms sliding up your abdomen and then beneath your swim top. Big hands envelope the starting swell of your breasts, coming upwards and smothering your sensitive skin in sunscreen. His name slips out again, choked and surprised, but this isn’t unwanted.

You miss Joel. Even as he’s been here with you for this whole week, you miss his kisses and his touch. Sleeping in the same room as him, but in separate beds, has been awful. To hear him snore without feeling the vibration of it on your own skin has been treacherous. 

So you’re letting him have this, because as much as you hunger for him, that man is ravenous.

His thumbs rub over your nipples, most of your top bunched up on his knuckles now. Joel’s voice is low in your ears, talking soft like you aren’t in total privacy on the beach. Everything is flying now, his mouth uncontrollable as he tells you how good you feel, how much he missed you. 

“So fuckin’ pretty, all week you’ve been so gorgeous, darlin,’” 

And then the kisses start. Hot down your neck, his scruffy face trails, tongue tracing the bitemarks he leaves occasionally. 

“Joel– Joel no marks,” you remind softly.

He obliges with a grunt, clearly unhappy with the situation. Sometimes he can get away with little marks, ones like on your inner thighs or your tits. But not here on a beach vacation, not so close to your dad. 

Joel continues to kiss you regardless, tilting your head so he can awkwardly meet your lips as he gropes you, massaging the lotion in as if the sun would ever hit any skin below your swimsuit. The atmosphere is only getting hotter as he touches you, the sun blazing against your skin as Joel rolls your nipples between his fingers, making you cry out.

You want more, you need more.

You can feel him hard against you, slightly digging into your back. Sex on the beach is a terrible idea. Public indecency, sand in places it shouldn’t be… but it’s so tempting when you feel how badly he wants you, how badly he missed you. 

Desperately, you turn in his embrace, his hands slipping out of your top, leaving you exposed. You shove your face against his hungrily, feeling as his sunscreen greased hand cups your jaw, gentle even when he’s starving. You open for him easily, letting his hungry tongue taste where he wants. He tastes like waffle cones and tiramisu, you want to lick him clean. You breathe heavily when he slips off your mouth and kisses the side of your face.

“S’a good girl, lettin’ me miss her,” he says into your skin.

Your mouth feels rubbed raw, your nipples are buzzing, and the sun blazes across your back. Everywhere feels warm, his lips, his tongue, your skin, your cunt in these bikini bottoms that stick to you in the worst way. You want Joel’s fingers, spreading you open however he wants. 

Joel is so good at taking care of you, so good that he can hear the rambunctious group of people coming before you can. Hands tug down your top and flip you back around before you can realize.

“You’re alright, s’okay, just some people,” Joel says, sounding anxious himself. 

Just some people. Not anyone you know, just some people.

The two of you quickly switch back to how youwere, your head on his chest while you rest between his thighs. One of his hands rests on your abdomen as he squeezes you affectionately between his legs. It’s really frustrating, watching as the group of people sets up not too far down from the both of you. So much for your private spot on the beach, and potential sex. 

He shifts beneath you, the bulge in his swim shorts uncomfortable. Joel has settled for rubbing his thumb against the smooth skin of your tummy, catching his breath still. 

“You can sleep, baby. Jus’ enjoy the sun, okay?”

The last thing on your mind is sleep, you’re more focused on the conch shell in his pants, but whatever. The sun is warm, and you’re with Joel. His hand stills on your belly, a warm weight in an attempt to soothe you.

-

It works, you fall asleep as the sun sets, and wake up when the cool night air shivers past you. Joel has managed to snake out from under you, using an unused beach towel to make a pillow for you. He’s packed everything up, sans the towel pillow and the blanket you lay on. Everything is ready to go, he’s just been waiting for you.

You watch from where you lay, as he dips his toes in the water. His broad shoulders are covered by a white, linen, shirt, highlighting him across the shore. Something about this is so right, to be on vacation with him, to be taken care of by him. Laying back, eyes staring into the inky night, you wonder what would have happened if the two of you hadn’t stayed up late that night, chatting and flirting. How long would you have gone without feeling loved, and like you belonged? 

Being Joel’s girl is more than that, even if no one knows you’re his, you have come to know yourself through him. His hands brushed away the sands that blurred your eyes, you’re seeing clearly for what feels like the first time ever.

Your love for him crashes down on you hard when he turns, walking back to you with a soft, dorky, smile. That’s your man, that’s your stupid old man, and he loves you.

“You ready t’go, darlin?” Joel asks, clearly relieved you eventually woke up.

With a nod, you walk as a pair back to the hotel. Joel insists on carrying everything, claiming he “don’t need” your help, even as he grunts.

-

Entering  the lobby of the hotel is a reminder that you have to be normal again, you and Joel are just getting along swell, and not seriously infatuated with one another.

His eyes bear into you when you step into the elevator, you can feel his eyes on your back as you press the button for your floor.

“What?” You ask, stepping back to lean against the railing.

Joel’s mouth seems to be dry as he responds, eyes tracing something on your stomach.

“Your tummy,” he manages.

You look down instantly, concerned you’ve managed a sunburn despite Joel’s efforts. Instead though, you find a tan line. A tan line in the shape of Joel’s hand, where it rested as you slept. Ghosts of Joel’s lips and teeth on your neck from earlier murmur across your skin, misting tingles across your shoulders and chest. He wanted to mark you so badly, wanted to sink his teeth into you the way he should have been able to, despite your refusal. Now he has his mark, across your tummy in the shape of his hands, the ones that carefully nurture you. 

You can see how it’s making him tick, how his scruffy jaw is clenched as his eyes are entranced by the shape on your belly. He has to spend the rest of the evening, the last couple of days of this trip, with his mark on you. Joel has to do all of that and not jump onto you at every opportunity he can.

“Baby,” Joel breathes, but the elevator doors open, and your dad is right there.

Your arms instantly wrap around your middle, trying to hide away the Joel-hand shaped tan line. As sick as your dad was this morning, he’s looking miles better. There’s colour in his cheeks, that isn’t green, and he’s standing up.

“Hey kid,” he greets cheerfully, “I’m feelin’ a helluva lot better so I was gonna go out and grab a bite to eat.”

The elevator is so quiet, the doors try to shut and Joel slams a hand against it, to keep it open. Your dad looks a little weirded out, but just smiles. “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” you manage to say, sounding like your lungs have been cut out of your chest.

In the few months that you and Joel have been “together” you haven’t been caught, or even close to being caught. This tan line on your tummy could have been the cat out of the bag, but thankfully your dad seems oblivious.

He steps into the elevator between you two, gently nodding at the elevator doors.

“Y’all gettin’ out? Both of y’look kinda sunfried,” your dad asks.

Joel manages to respond this time as the two of you hurriedly leave the confined space. -

He practically dragged you down the hallway and back to your room once the elevator doors shut, leaving your dad in the dark. Joel dumped all your stuff on the floor near the door, pushing you off him when you tried to kiss at him.

“Naw. Bed,” he had grumbled, making a vague gesture to your bed.

You both knew you had limited time, your dad would be gone for an hour tops. Joel had peeled off his shirt while you shimmied out of what little clothes you had on, your swimsuit coverup falling away easily.

Now, you lay on your back, and if you could look down, you would see the sweat that’s soaking his back and the mess of hair on his head.

But you can’t look down, you can barely move as is. Your legs, which are tossed over his shoulders, shiver, toes curled. You want to ask if he can breathe down there, but your voice keeps catching, repeating his name again and again. The bristles of his facial hair might be chafing, but everything is wet right now, your cunt, his face, your thighs. He’s suffocating in your flesh, opening his mouth to sloppily make out with your pussy, licking at your clit as he sucks it between his lips. It isn’t gentle, he’s fucking famished.

“Joel– Baby, please,” you manage to whimper. 

He probably can’t hear you with the headlock you’ve put him in, soft thighs trapping his ears. Joel’s face slides down further to push his tongue into you, making you clench and gush as his nose presses to your clit. Reaching your hand down, you lace your fingers against his curls, trying to pry him away, but he just won’t quit. Your fingers slip from his sweaty strands, slamming onto the sheets as he doesn’t let up.

“Missed you, missed her,” he rasps between kisses. 

Joel loves this, loves pleasing you. This isn’t submission, this is worship. He talks to your cunt like he knows her, like he’s dating her too. Gentle as he is, he knows where your aches and cricks are, knows how to massage them with his fingers and tongue. Joel takes care of you both, it’s what he lives for. 

“I know, I can feel it, I missed you too,” you babble, hands flagrant between his hair and the sheets.

He laughs softly into you, smiling. You tug him closer, grinding onto his nose as a tease. 

Joel focuses on bringing himself closer, arms snaking up beneath your ass to curl his hands around your thighs, fingers digging in as he pulls you closer. “Been so patient all week, need you t’come for me, please pretty thing?” He groans.

Nodding your head, you start to work with him. Again and again you roll your hips into his face. The two of you are fucking on borrowed time and Joel hastily promises you that he can take care of himself in the shower later, that he just needs to focus on you.

“Just need to taste you, remember your cunt in my mouth, please?” Joel asks.

You nod even faster now, huffing out air as your hips rise and he pulls you closer, tongue and teeth and nose buried in you. Every movement he makes begs for your release, begs for you to give him what he wants. His voice rumbles around your head, a voice encouraging this selfish feeling of pleasure.

“C’mon darlin, I’ve been waitin’ all week to have you. Let go for me, I’ve been patient.”

It sends you over, the mixture of Joel getting pussydrunk on you and the thoughts of him in your head. Your thighs lock around his head even harder, and he powers through without taking a breath for himself. Thoughts of times with him previous flash through your mind as you shiver, thoughts of what he’ll do to you once you’re both home make you gush. He laps it all up, his reward for being patient. 

When he pulls away, your essence is all over his face. Slicked through his facial hair and even on the tip of his nose, like tiramisu gelato. 

Unlike the gelato, you decide not to suck this cream off his nose.

Gently, you swipe a finger over his nose, cleaning it off with your own tongue.

“Thank you, baby,” you hum.

Joel manages to drag himself up your body, caging you beneath him while he smiles. Soft kisses are shared between the two of you, enjoying the peaceful moment where you’re finally, truly, alone. His moustache prickles your upper lip as he smiles and pulls away.

“Can give me your ‘thank you’s’ in a few days time, sweet girl.” He says, pulling himself down to kiss the 5 fingertips of the hand tan line he left.

Looking down at him as he kisses your belly, you hope you'll be exchanging thank you's for a very long time.

[dollvtte]

Velvet tension

cw arranged marriage, first date, sexual tension, banter, kissing

note: this is literally my first fic ever so i hope its not too bad. my main focus to write is husband!sunghoon so i can’t wait to finally get there hehe

The room fills up with notes of amber, vanilla and musk. You spray two more spritz of Angel’s share by Kilian. Your signature date night scent. The bottle is filled to the brim reminding you that date nights are not a frequent occurrence for you despite the long line of suitors your friends and family ward off every year.

Being raised in a loving family with parents who were each other’s first loves, you had high standards for men since you turned 13. No amount of sweet talking or grand gestures impressed you. You faintly remember a guy buying you a set of custom designer heels in the second week of university. Can’t recall his name however.

You stand up and set your hair one last time before you leave the room to meet someone who’s been on your mind for years now. Park Sunghoon. His name alone makes your insides twist with nostalgia. You’ve known Sunghoon since he was 13 and you were 14. Your families frequented the same galas and events often crossing paths and exchanging greetings.

You’ve seen him across countless rooms. But no words were ever exchanged. Just fleeting, curious and careful glances. Sunghoon left to finish his higher studies abroad while you stayed back to graduate from SNU as your parents have always wanted.

He’s only been back in Seoul for a month and your terrifyingly coordinated mothers didn’t waste any time setting up a dinner date for you two. "Just to catch up," they said. “You’ve known each other since childhood. It’ll be good for you.” Which, in their language, meant: “Marry him eventually. Or at least make us look good in the tabloids.”

You couldn’t say no. Not when you’ve spent years wondering how he grew up and what he sounded like now. Did he still have the same cold, distant gaze when the room around him was filled with life? Did he only have one mole on his face or have you forgotten the others already? There was only one way to find out.

And that’s how you ended up standing outside Le Saphir, Seoul’s most exclusive rooftop restaurant. A black Mercedes pulls up to the curb. You know its him before the door even opens. Something about the stillness in the air shifts, as if even the city is holding its breath.

And then there he is.

Park Sunghoon steps out of the car in a charcoal coat, crisp and sharp like it was pressed with a blade. His black dress shirt is unbuttoned just enough to hint at his collarbone, and his hair is styled perfectly falling effortlessly onto his face.

He looks up, and for the first time in what feels like ever, your eyes meet his.

His gaze flickers down, once, quickly. The corner of his mouth lifts with a hint of a smile and something more secretive.

"Yn," he says, his voice deeper than you’d expected.

"Sunghoon," you reply, matching his tone. Smooth, composed.

He offers his arm. "Shall we?"

The hostess nearly faints when she sees him. Of course she does. You’re escorted to a private table near the glass edge of the rooftop, with the whole glittering skyline of Seoul spread out. It’s all breathtaking but its his presence across the table that makes your heart skip.

He watches you with unreadable eyes as you sit. His fingers are long, resting lightly on the white tablecloth. He hasn’t looked away from you once.

“You’ve changed a lot,” you say, setting your clutch down and crossing your legs. His eyes flick down to them, then back up.

“You say that like you expected me not to.”

You raise a brow. “I didn’t say that. I’m just surprised you actually showed up.”

“I’m surprised you did,” he replies smoothly. “I heard you hate being set up.”

“I do. But I also hate mystery, and you’ve always been a bit of one.”

He leans back in his chair, his gaze not leaving yours. “You think I’m a mystery?”

“I think you’re impossible to read. And I don’t like puzzles I can’t solve.”

“You’re always this intense on first dates?”

“Only with men who act like they’ve walked out of a noir film.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. Its a small sound, but it cracks something wide open in you. You realise the jitters from before meeting him have only gotten worse since and the night has just started.

The waiter arrives with wine. There’s something in the air that tells you this conversation is going to change your life in ways you’re not ready for and yet, you’re almost dying just to hear his voice again so you ask him about his life abroad.

Did he miss home?

How is his dad’s business doing?

He asks you about your violin classes.

He asks if you’ve ever thought of leaving.

The food on the table sits untouched. The conversation is the main course, and its never ending. There’s a rhythm to it already, an unexpected chemistry that neither of you seem prepared for.

By the time dessert arrives, you’re sitting just a little closer, and so is he. Your legs brush beneath the table, and neither of you move away.

He looks at his watch. Vintage, expensive, stupidly sexy on his wrist. “It’s late.”

“Baby prince hoonie got a curfew?.”

“No,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. “But I should take you home. I feel drunk and I haven’t even taken a sip.”

The car is quiet when you slide into the backseat beside him.

Not awkward quiet. Not tense quiet.
Its the kind of quiet that hums, thick with things unsaid, unsipped wine, and all the eye contact you didn’t get tired of at dinner.

The city rolls past in blurry gold streaks as the driver pulls away from the restaurant. You rest your hands in your lap, perfectly composed, even though inside you feel like a firework waiting for someone to light the fuse.

Sunghoon doesn’t look at you right away.

He sits back, legs relaxed, one hand resting carelessly over his thigh. The other brushes his jaw as he stares out the window. Calm, unreadable, maddeningly composed.

But his knee touches yours. Barely.

And he doesn’t move it.

You glance at him. “You always this quiet after a good date?”

His mouth twitches. “You think it was good?”

“I think if it wasn’t, you’d have ghosted me by now.”

“True,” he says, finally looking over. His gaze lands heavy on yours. “But maybe I stayed because I was curious.”

“Curious?” you ask, tilting my head.

He hums. “You’re not what I expected but also exactly what I expected at the same time.”

“That doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“I know,” he says, voice low. “Its a compliment but I don’t know if you’d want to be someone who fills my expectations.”

You study him in the passing glow of streetlights. His face is a sculpted kind of perfection with a sharp jaw and the faintest shadow of stubble. But its the way he’s looking at you that sets your skin ablaze.

“Do I surprise you, Sunghoon?”

“Every minute.”

There’s a pause. Then,

“I thought you didn’t like surprises,” you say softly.

He turns toward you fully, one arm resting along the back of the seat. “I don’t.”

“And yet here we are.”

His fingers brush a strand of hair from your cheek. It’s the first time he’s touched you like this. Not accidental. Not fleeting. Intentional.

The contact is so gentle it makes your pulse stutter.

“Maybe I was wrong,” he murmurs. “Maybe I do like surprises.”

You don’t move. You can’t. The air between you feels electric and alive, like it could spark and ignite at any second.

“Sunghoon,” you say quietly. The minute his name leaves your mouth, you faintly register how weak and reverent it sounded.

He leans in, just slightly. “Hmm?”

“I think... if you’re going to kiss me, you should do it before I start thinking too hard about it.”

That gets a low, quiet laugh out of him. “You’re always this honest?”

“Only when I want something.”

“And what do you want right now?”

You pause. There’s no way sober yn would’ve ended up in this situation and in this conversation. But you have nothing to lose when he’s looking at you like that.

Then you say, steady and clear, “You.”

His expression shifts. The cool mask cracks. You finally see the bubbling hunger, desperation and want he’s been hiding all night long behind the slow smirks and long gazes.

He moves closer, and you meet him halfway.

His lips brush yours. Softly at first, barely there. Just a test. A tease.

Then he kisses you for real.

It's slow, at first. Thoughtful. As if he’s tasting the idea of you. His hand slips behind your neck, fingers curling into your hair, and his mouth moves against yours with aching precision. Controlled, yet desperate. Careful, but not shy.

When you finally break apart, you’re breathing harder than you should be.

“You’re not what I expected either,” you whisper, forehead resting lightly against his.

He smirks. “What’d you expect?”

“Colder. Arrogant. Boring.”

“And what am I?”

You run your hand along the lapel of his jacket, smoothing it out. “Trouble.”

His eyes flicker. “Do you want trouble, Yn?”

“I think I just kissed it.”

His smile fades, just a little. His eyes search yours like he’s trying to decide something.

Then he pulls you closer again.

This kiss is hungrier.

Less composed.

His tongue slips past your lips, and you gasp softly against his mouth, fingers clutching the front of his coat. His other hand finds your thigh just above the slit in your dress and lingers there, warm and firm. But he doesn’t go further. He just stays, like a promise.

You can feel the tension in his body. He’s holding himself back.

You don’t want him to.

The car pulls up to your estate, and he gets out before you can protest. He opens your door, offers his hand. You take it. Your knees are wobbly and your mouth is swollen and you want him so badly it hurts.

At the entrance, you stop.

“I meant what I said,” you tell him softly. “This was more than I expected.”

He nods once. Serious. “Same.”

He looks down at your lips and brushes his fingers against them while tucking a stray hair strand behind your ear.

“Goodnight, Yn.”

You whisper it back.

He takes your hand into his and presses his cold lips against the back of the soft skin. With one last smile he turns and gets back into the car. Its only as the car disappears around the turn that you realise that you’re holding your breath.

As you make your way upstairs into your room, your face is warm, hands tingling where his lips touched and heart pounding against your chest like you ran a marathon. You already know no herbal tea or skincare routine is going to help you sleep tonight and no music can drown your thoughts of missing him already.

[bxnfire]

Lines Blurred || Satoru Gojo

✎ synopsis: Heartbroken after dating “the boy of your dreams” you’re looking towards living a new life, one with new people and possibly new experiences, except the light hearted fun you hoped for became something stronger than that

✎ warnings/content: smut, fluff, tiiiny bit of angst, fingering, oral (both receiving), p in v, fwb, pet names, college!au

✎ a/n: this is my first ever fic!! english is not my first language, so please excuse any faulty grammar. please lmk if you have any suggestions or comments, they’d help a lot ❤️

✎ part 2 here

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏMINORS DNI ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏ

It had been 3 months since your last relationship ended. You dated one of your closest friends, and tauntingly enough, he was also in your friend group. Having spent your summer heartbroken and trying to move past things, if you were certain of anything it was that you wanted to spend the least amount of time in his presence, something near impossible if you also wanted to be around your friend group, therefore, you decided it was time for a change.

You had been friends with Shoko for a while, but didn’t really know her friends nor hung around her much, and seeing how she got you through your heart ache you decided it’d be a good idea to stick to her.

💬 Shoko ❤️: you comin w us for lunch?

💬 You: sure thing!

You were nervous. Geto seemed so hard to read, you wondered if he’d be annoyed by your presence, and you didn’t know Gojo at all. Would they like you? Would they make you wish you were back with your other friends? Would they welcome you like Shoko did?

All your questions suddenly coming to a stop when you felt someone bump into you.

“My bad! I got caught up playing ball over there, please let me know if I hurt you,” said an energetic but apologetic voice. As you turned to look at the speaker, you noticed you were met with his chest instead, and looking up at him, you realized it was none other than Satoru Gojo.

“No worries! You just caught me off guard, but I’m good,” you said reassuringly.

“Wait! Aren’t you Shoko’s friend? What was it,” he hesitated, then said “Y/l/n, right?”

Surprised he knew about you at all, you unknowingly smiled at his recognition. “Yes, that’s me!”

“I remember her talking about you,” he smiled, “she said you were going through it. Is that true? Are you feeling better now?”

Embarrassment ran through you. As your cheeks turned pinker than usual, you scratched your head and replied “yes, that’s true. Luckily, I’m doing better, but as you’ve probably heard I’ll be hanging with you guys for now. I hope we can get acquainted soon!”

“Sure we will, see ya around Y/l/n!” He said as he ran off back into the field to play once again.

You didn’t know it yet, but in no time Gojo would be your door to a new world.

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ˏ

One month had passed, and Gojo was more than just your friend. It had started innocently enough, sending each other dumb reels, sharing snacks, and even studying together.

You found yourself enjoying your conversations with him more than you enjoyed anyone else’s. He was really easy to talk to, and was always there to lift you up and make you smile whenever you felt down. His easygoing nature making you feel at ease with him, something you realized you were missing more than you originally thought.

It was no secret that he was very attractive, his beautiful blue eyes every girl seemed to fall for surely had similar effects on you. His cocky confidence made him even more likable to you, was there anything this man couldn’t do? His build was also very attractive, not too muscular but still built enough to be easily noticeable whenever he hugged you or took his shirt off, something you found yourself treasuring more and more.

It was all friendly until one night the jokes started to change tone, and after a week of tension, and stolen glances, you finally had enough of his teasing.

💬 Gojo 🍰: y/l/n, do u think u could do this?

💬 Gojo 🍰: *VID*

💬You: oh please, that’s nothing. i’ve fit bigger things than that banana in my mouth before

💬 Gojo 🍰: oh is that so?

💬 You: yes 🤭

💬 Gojo 🍰: what if i don’t believe you?

💬 You: well in that case i’d have to convince you right?

💬 Gojo 🍰: and how would that be?

💬 You: come to my dorm and find out

Gojo was running. Unbeknownst to you, he had been into you for a while, even before you two officially met. He remembers the beginning of your sophomore year in college. You two had ethics together, and he remembers you as the kind girl who helped everyone around you. Anybody could come to you if they didn’t understand something, and indirectly, he’s learned a lot from you. Shit, you were the only reason why he passed that boof ass course. The only reason to keep him coming. In the halls, he’d gotten to see your humor. Playing silly pranks in your friends, hiding phones for fun, having sassy remarks ready whenever the time called for them, and how loudly, although cutely in his eyes, you laughed at your friends’ jokes.

In no time, he found himself easily picking out your voice from others, differentiating your laugh in a sea of noise, and noticing you whenever you were around. But oh, he really disliked your boyfriend. Not hated of course! Never that, he wasn’t a hateful person… Though if he were to be, he’d hate him. Your stupid boyfriend who didn’t do well in class and didn’t care enough to ask for your help, who believed anyone’s opinions about your relationship over yours, and who, in the end, preferred to spend time with anyone else but you.

In retrospective, he didn’t really hate your ex; if anything, he started to like him. After all, after he proved he was too shitty for you, you were smart enough to leave him, meaning Satoru finally had a chance with you. He was more than psyched when Shoko told him you were sticking around for a bit, something that didn’t go unnoticed by her, but she knew Satoru could do you better than your ex did, so she let it slide.

You, on the other hand, were a wreck. Letting your lust get the best of you didn’t let you truly think through what you were about to do. What if this screwed your newfound friendship over? What if he didn’t actually want you? What if…

Your thoughts were interrupted once again by Gojo, but this time it was through a text.

💬 Gojo 🍰: open ur door

Running to your door, you gave yourself a second to shake the nerves off before opening the door. There stood Gojo, so handsome even with his white hair messy from running and his clothes a little rustled, making it obvious he wanted to waste no time getting here. His smile, shy but curious, didn’t go unnoticed by you.

“You’re so goddamn thirsty,” you tell him, finding enough confidence to smile back.

“You don’t even know,” he whispers as he gets closer to you while shutting the door behind him.

Next thing you know, you’re pinned against the wall with his hands all over your body. His kisses are desperate yet gentle, as if he had been waiting for so long he was scared this was just a dream, one he didn’t dare wake up from. Flushing at that thought, you tangled your hands in his hair and pulled him even closer, something that ignited a fire in him.

Until he woke up and stopped. He pulled away for a second, looking into your confused eyes.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Don’t get me wrong, I want to keep going, but I’d rather not make you uncomfortable ‘cause I know you may not be ready yet.”

This makes you smile. Couldn’t he tell how down bad you were for him? You truly found it sweet that he cared, but in that moment all you wanted was to have him down your throat. “I’m as ready as all I’ll ever be, unless you’re scared of course,” you reply, trying to bring back the mood.

“Scared? Baby you have no idea of how long I’ve waited for this, if anything, you should be scared of how desperately I want you,” and with that, he pulls you back in for a more passionate kiss.

Your response gave him the confidence to get bolder. His hands now ran under your shirt, every breath you took making them go a centimeter upper, until he eventually reached the hem of your bra. Shifting from your mouth to your neck, his kisses starting to get slower but more calculated, you started to moan at his touch, and in no time you felt something starting to poke your stomach. This made you even more flustered, and a familiar warmth pooled between your legs.

He picked you up and laid you down on your bed. Kissing your neck slowly, your whimpers get louder and louder as he presses him self against you, giving your soaking cunt well-received pressure.

Wanting to please him, you instinctively changed your positions so that you were on top of him and kissing down his body.

“Take this off,” you commanded.

“Who’s the thirsty one now?” He asked as he took his shirt off.

“Shut up. You came here so I could prove my point yeah?” You asked trying to hold on to you wavering confidence. His bulge was big, bigger than you would’ve thought it to be, but you were ready to take it, you wanted to taste him so bad.

Going over to him and taking his pants off, he stopped your hand from going further. You look up at him confused, wondering if you were doing something wrong.

“I want you to promise me something.” He said, looking deep into your eyes.

“And what would that be?” You asked, trying to guess what he could possibly be asking you.

“If you’re gonna show me your skills, it’s only fair I get to show you mine. Can’t let you one up me,” he said playfully, hoping you’ll let him in a little closer.

“Sounds good to me, but I don’t think you’ll be one upping me in any way,” you say, not wasting any time and going back to what you were doing.

Sliding down his underwear, his arousal sprung out, bigger and thicker than you thought it’d be. Giving it a few experimental strokes, your hand moved along his shaft trying to see what he liked, but to no avail, given that he was very reactive to all your touches, and this only encouraged you. Opting for leaving one hand at his balls and getting closer to him, you lick all over his dick.

Gojo is fucking losing it. He’s gripping the sides of your couch trying not to buck his hips into you. Who would’ve thought that all those late nights hopelessly scrolling through your profile stroking himself silly would eventually lead him to your bed were your mouth would finally replace his hands?

“F-Fuck, yeah, just like that,” he breathed out, lost in the feeling of your tongue deliciously swirling around his tip as you took him deeper in your mouth.

He started bucking his hips into your mouth soon after, gripping your hair and guiding your movements, fucking your face as he noticed how well you were taking it. As he was near the edge, he pulled your head away, once again leaving you confused.

“Why didn’t you let me finish the job?” You asked him almost mad, you wanted to see how he tasted.

“I want to make you cum first, told ya you won’t be one upping me tonight.”

“Oh really? You know I don’t need my mouth to make you cum right?” You say as you sit on his lap and start making out with him and put your hand to work. Since he was close not that long ago, you knew he’d be worked up enough to not take long to cum. Gojo was no longer kissing you as dominantly as before, having to take breaks to breathe and even moan under your touch.

Not even 10 minutes passed until he came all over your hand. Sticky ropes of cum shooting out coating your fingers, his abdomen, and your pants. Moving your hand to your mouth to suck his cum off your fingers, you look at him seductively. He wanted to be a brat and take control, but just watching you do that made him his dick throb once again.

Kissing you, now tasting himself in your mouth, he took your shirt off and tried to take your bra off. Inexperienced, he fumbled many times, which made you both laugh.

“Talk about one upping me and you can’t even take my bra off. What’s next, you won’t be able to find my clit?” You tease, doing the job for him.

“Oh please, let’s see who ends up begging for more by the end of the night,” he challenged, and for the first time, you realized you wouldn’t mind losing at all.

You were about to reply, but you realized he was no longer focused on your little banter. His eyes were glued to your bare chest, scanning every inch of your skin, wanting to remember everything for later, archive it in a special place in his brain.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says.

“You’re so fucking horny,” you reply, knowing better than to believe lust-filled words.

“I mean it! I’ve thought so even before we met,” he confessed, giving you no time to respond as he took one of your tits into his mouth while he played with the nipple in your other tit by rubbing it between his thumb and index finger.

Moans took over the room. Your smart mouth not shut, but rather occupied making progressively louder sounds in response to Gojo’s touch.

“Oh p-please G-Gojo!” You mewl, melting in his touch.

“Satoru.” He responds

“H-Huh?”

“Call me Satoru. You tried my nut, I think that’s enough to be on first name basis,” he joked, and in any other circumstance you would’ve laughed, but you were too caught up in the pleasure he was giving you.

“S-Satoru I-I need m-more!! Please give me more!!” You struggled to get out, but once you did, Satoru got to work quick pulling down your shorts and kissing down your torso to reach your thighs.

He licked, bit, and kissed around them, wanting to test how impatient you could get. It didn’t take you long to tug on his hair and pull him into you, his nose deliciously coming in contact with your soaked cunt, only the thin, wet fabric of your panties between you. Bringing one hand down to jerk himself while the other pulled your panties down to start kissing your sweet pussy, until he goes up to your clit and starts sucking it lightly, making sure you knew he was well aware of where it was and how to treat it.

His other hand reached up to your entrance and one digit started pumping into you. Your moans got louder and louder, and Satoru was wondering just how much longer he had until you were over the edge. Sticking in another digit and matching its curling pattern to the one inside made you start seeing stars, so lost in your own pleasure you couldn’t even manage to tell him you were about to come undone.

Eager to see you cry for him, all of a sudden he stopped, seeing your cute little flushed face with teary eyes look at him enraged.

“Why’d you stop?” You ask, forgetting all your pride and letting him know just how much he worked you up.

“Can’t have you wasting your arousal sweets. If you’re gonna cum, it better be all over my cock.” He said, waiting to see if he had fingered you dumb or if you had a smart remark for him.

“Then don’t fucking waste your time.” You replied, sitting on his dick and riding him to your own pleasure.

“S-Shit! You’re s-so big!” You moan, ecstasy reaching your system once again.

“This dick is all yours babe. Do as you p-please with me,” he replied, having a hard time keeping his composure as he watched your tits bounce in his face and feel you clenching his dick so fucking good.

It didn’t take you long to reach your climax, and seeing that you were unable to keep up with your own pace, Satoru took over and fucked you through your orgasm as he came closer and closer to his own. Pulling out in one quick motion, he came on your belly and kissed you as he did.

You both laid there quietly, trying to process everything that had just happened, not daring to say a word but also make a move away from each other. You were consumed in your thoughts until Satoru snaps you out of it.

“You impressed me sweets, you’re even sweeter than you look, and you take dick like a fuckin’ soldier,” he said as he caressed your face and you laughed with him.

“You’ve fucked a soldier before? Do those uniforms turn you on?” You reply playfully, happy that it’s almost like nothing has changed at all.

“Yes I have, she’s right in front of me, and I’ll need that soldier pussy putting me out of combat often,” he laughed as he said so, returning your energy as he always did.

You lay there naked just basking in each other’s presence, giving the bubble separating you from the rest of the world a little more time before bursting. Satoru ended up spending the night, but since he had a morning class the day after and you didn’t, he bought you breakfast before leaving your dorm.

You woke up to your favorite kind of coffee along with a butter croissant and a note in his unmistakable handwriting.

“Don’t miss me too much!! After lab is over I’m coming right back, so don’t leave juuust yet, I wanna see ya again ❤️

—Satoru”

Giggling, you sipped the drink as you recounted the events from last night, the memories flooding through and clouding your brain, making you genuinely wish he would come back soon.

Even then, after your daze was over, you really sat down to think of it all. Satoru was known for being a ladies’ man, could you just be another one of his conquests? You loved him, but you couldn’t stand to lose yet another friend due to your stupid feelings. Unsuspecting of his feelings for you, you decided to make it clear that you would just stay friends once he came back. Friends that were there for each other, but if the time came, friends that could call each other on those late, restless nights. This would be a sweet deal would it not? Or at least that’s what you told yourself.

Once Satoru came you acted normal. The usual banter between you two never failing to appear, but you could tell something had shifted. High fives or fist bumps were changed to hugs a little too long or kisses a little too intimate. Whenever people couldn’t see you, your usual friendly bickering turned into heated makeout sessions, always testing who gave into the other first.

Even if you placed the boundaries, ones that Satoru adhered to and respected almost religiously, you felt the dangerous beat of your heart whenever his name popped up on your phone or you happened to see him by chance. Once calling each other friends started to hurt, you knew you were screwed.

What you didn’t know though was how hurt he was too. How it pained him to have to hide his love for you all because he was scared you didn’t want to date him after all. He spent an awful lot of time dreaming of what it could be like if you were more than just friends with fucking benefits, if you would let him truly take care of you the way you deserved to be taken care of, if you could only give him a chance to prove that love, when good, is worth it after all. But he knew better than to push your limits, and so, he kept stealing glances, longing for your touch, and clinging to your little fuck sessions in hopes that one day, you’d see he had loved you all along.

[everythingmp3]

pillow talk

adult!Van x fem!reader

plot: you visit your hometown for summer break and can’t take your controversially older girlfriend with you, so you have to handle two weeks of being apart from her - one night, a phone call turns heated when you both realize how badly you’re aching for each other’s touch

authors note: someome asked if I could write a phone sex fic for her, which sounded fun to me, so this is what came of that :) I think at this point I’m fully a gf!Van writer lol I hope you enjoy <3 (ca. 5k words)

warnings: smut, dirty talk/phone sex, masturbation, me subtly pushing the “Van is a switch who prefers to bottom” agenda

two weeks isn´t that much time. it´ll fly by. it´ll be fine. I´ll be back with her before I know it.

that´s what you told yourself over and over before you flew home to see your family.

the years before, you´d always stayed at your parent’s place for at least a month each summer - if not two - but things had changed: you had fallen in love during fall the year before and weren´t used to spending more than a few days without her, so, to make the separation less daunting, you decided to make your stay a fourteen day affair, enough to make your family happy, but not too much to start going crazy from the prolonged distance between you and Van. 

there was no way in hell you´d have told your parents about her, that you were dating someone who could pass as their sibling, so you just let them believe that your palpable joyful, radiant energy came from a successful year in school, a group of lovely friends, a fulfilling job, instead of a woman who was out there missing their daughter so bad that she thought she might lose her mind.

within a few days of being back home, you and her developed a ritual of talking on the phone late at night, since it felt more intimate than rushed calls during the day while you were both out driving or at a cafe, a pillow talk vibe to your calls during those late hours that lent itself to whispered confessions, muffled laughter, losing track of time til you both had to get some sleep around 1 or 2 am. 

that night it was no different.

you´d spent the day at the lake, being social, meeting old friends, so by the time the sun set, you took a long shower, got yourself all nice and fresh, lit a scented candle in your room, opened the windows to hear the faint buzz of the cicadas and tall trees outside, and felt giddy as you called your girl, finally, splayed out over the bed as you pressed your phone to your cheek, leg dangling off the edge, gazing up at the ceiling, already smiling before she even picked up.

you beat her to the first word when the line on the other end opened up and said “heyyy” in a sweet enthusiastic tone.

“hey there” Van responded, her voice all kinds of cracked and raspy, a sound that was deeply familiar to you from when she woke up after a nap, usually a little disoriented and cranky, so you laughed and said “oh, sorry baby, did I wake you up?”, amused when you heard her clearing her throat and trying to pull herself together.

“no no, I mean not really, was just dozing, resting my eyes, as they say” she explained as she sat upright and found a better position. “ah I see, hope you´re not too tired to talk, I´ve been waiting for this all day” you teased, so she insisted “oh no way, I´m wide awake now, trust me sweetie, feel free to chew my ear off. this is just what happens when you´re not here to keep me up til midnight, makes my body realize how old it actually is.”

“well lucky me that I caught you like this, you sound sexy, very dreamy” you cooed into the speaker which made her scoff to mask her bashfulness at the shameless flirting “took you about five seconds to start hitting on me, huh”. 

you grinned to yourself and nodded as if she could see “oh I´ll make it one tomorrow, just you wait”, Van got comfortable and felt herself relax, immediately soothed by your way of lovingly messing with her, even while thousands of miles apart, “perfect, looking forward to it”.

“so” she said, as if she was just then coming to her senses, louder and clearer than before, “how are you holding up over there? anything juicy to tell me about today?”.

you thought for a second and absentmindedly stroked one of your pillows before you said “not really, no, I will have some juicy drama to tell you about if I ever slip up and mention you though, so who knows”. 

“oh, that would turn into a lovely little family affair if you dropped that during dinner, I can imagine, yeah. have you gotten close?” she was genuinely curious, Van was nosy at heart and it killed her that she couldn´t observe it, how you looked and behaved when you were blatantly lying to your parents faces about being single, whether there were little giveaways or if you were truly just a stone cold liar, unlike her, who would´ve accdientally blurted it all out day one if she was in your spot.

“nope, it´s not that hard to hide our relationship, you know, I can tell them stories about things we did, trips we took together, all that, because I just refer to you as a friend, age you down a bit, easy” you told her, phrasing it that way on purpose to tickle her, which worked, a faux-offended gasp on her end of the line before she answered “oh wow.. I´ve been demoted to the friend status, ouch”.

“but isn´t that kinda hot though? being my secret, hm?” you whispered, lascivious and dramatic the way you delivered those words, trying to get under her skin, which wasn´t entirely unsuccessful, Van joked in return and said “your secret? how scandalous” her voice lowered too, matching your energy, which made you miss the banter you two always shared, the casual back and forth during your days together, the little stolen moments where you were both trying your best to make each other laugh or roll your eyes or both.

“very, we´re doing something so fucked up here, baby, depraved really, perverted” you told her, playing it up, turning yourself on a bit by phrasing it that way, thinking of your dynamic as more forbidden than it actually was, which didn´t escape her, so she interrupted your thought and said “oh yeah, our take out and move nights would have people clutching their pearls, I´m sure”.

you weren´t gonna let up, you were in a mood, which made you wanna push her buttons a bit, - perhaps the fact that you were ovulating didn´t help - so you said “well… if I went into detail about how I´ve had my way with you on the couch you´re sitting on right now, then yeah, they probably would”

Van went quiet for a moment. you hit a nerve. got the upper hand with that one. your words forced some memories back into her mind that made her shiver: vivid flashes of being ruined by you, her hand resting right where she´d once held on for dear life while you´d fingered her within and inch of her life while sucking on her tits to a point of having her beg for mercy. she crossed her legs out of instinct and sighed “damn you´re in heat, huh?”. 

“yes, yes I am” you admitted, unwilling to sugar-coat how horny five days of no touching whatosever had left you, after weeks and weeks of being used to having access to her all the time. 

“so, tell me… what are you wearing right now?” you asked her, which got a laugh of surprise out of her that made you heart melt, a high-pitched sound that made her sound like she was your age. 

“oh it´s so fucking sexy, brace yourself” she said, so you smiled and told her “yeah go on”.

“my big white t-shirt that has a hole at the sleeve and my gray sweatpants. try not to moan too loudly imagining that” she uttered, which did give you an image that was enticing because you could easily picture the rest: her hair effortlessly messy from the humidity of the shower, falling down her shoulders in pretty waves, her face bare and rosy-cheeked, her lips glistening with that vanilla coconut balm she used, the taste of home, of soft kisses before bed, her body at ease in those wide clothes. 

“no bra, right?” you inquired, already knowing the obvious answer, but leaning into the sex-hotline voice you´d been trying on for the past minutes, which was getting to her more than she cared to admit, so she scoffed “yeah that´s right, you perv.” eliciting a laugh from you too that made you break character and fear that your parents might´ve been woken up by it, a grin of success on her face when she heard it. 

“fuck I wish I was there..” you groaned, theatrically rolling over on the bed and flinging your free arm out like a lovestruck teenager in a 90s romcom.

“I wanna feel you up soo bad. bet you´re so warm and soft right now” you whined to her, which made her admit to the same feeling “hm, wish you were here too. I miss how handsy you get, feels wrong not to be groped out of nowhere all day. also, your turn, what are you sporting for the night” she asked, taking the lead.

“well it´s hot as hell here, even at night, so just a thin tank and cotton panties” you told her and caressed your own bare thigh the way she might´ve if she was there in that moment.

she gave a low whistle, which made you shush her “shut up” as your face heated up from the feeling of being cat-called by her, as if she wasn´t your girlfriend, as if she was a hot stranger coming onto you. 

“next time just lie and say you´re in the nude, for my sake” she added, twirling her hair while picturing you like that, naked on top of your childhood bed, glistening from your freshly applied lotion, a glow of sweat and too much sun all over your skin, a sharp hit of desire to her body when she imagined the space where your thighs would part, where she might crawl up on that bed and push her face between your legs, feel and taste and please you. god. she missed you. 

“will do” you said and heard the labored breath on the end of the line, so you took the chance and set your mind on riling her up as much as possible while not being in the same room as her. challenge accepted. 

“you know…” you said, which made her snap out of her fantasies, “yeah?”.

“I´ve been fantasizing about you” you said, matter-of-factly, as if it was just an afterthought, trying to reel her in, peek her interest. 

“go on…” she said, barely hiding her pressing need to hear more.

“been dreaming of what I´ll do to you once I´m back home.” you went on, your voice silky smooth, buttering her up.

“oh, is that so?” she said, trying her best not to give away how much she loved hearing you talk like that, her tone huskier than before, that low, achingly attractive sound you´d come to crave during the day while waiting to speak to her later on.

“hmmm…been getting a bit too worked up actually, it´s intense. can´t help it though, I´m not used to being away from you for so long, my body is in withdrawal.” 

“hm, poor thing” she cooed, deeply pleased by your open admission, so you feigned offense and said “oh wow, thanks for the concern”, which made her smile, the expression audible when she said “oh come on, you know it´s no different for me! I just don´t do anything about it and stoically suffer through it, unlike you”.

you gasped a little “what´s that supposed to mean? you think I´ve been jerking off a bunch?”.

Van had a thing for getting a rise out of you, it wasn´t a secret, so she continued the thought “I know for a fact that you have, you´re a bit more… how shall I put this. efficient? in that regard. I mean it as a compliment, it´s hot”.

she wasn´t wrong, you were defintiely more active than her when it came to masturbation, which had lead to a few moments of her asking to watch, or even walking in on you because you´d purposely left the door cracked before getting yourself off.

“well, you do know me, yeah, I´ve been trying to help myself, more or less successfully…”.

you'd definitely had one or two experiences the days before where you´d thought of her with your hand between your legs, or a vibrator pressed against yourself, giving up mid-session when you could already tell that the orgasm would only leave you disappointed and wanting more.

“send a video next time.” Van said, dead-pan, a dry delivery that somehow sounded hotter than if she´d said it playfully, like it was a demand almost.

“uh, I´m not filming a sex tape in my childhood bedroom, thank you very much” you joked, which didn´t deter her, she just said “go to the bathroom then. or the guest room, or basement, I´m not picky.” you couldn´t tell if she was joking. she coulnd´t either.

“nope, no way, I want you to reallyyyy miss me by the time I get back, so I´m not sending you anything, not even clothed.”

“so cruel” she uttered, “hmm” you agreed, a moment of silence before she felt the boldness get a hold of her again.

“well, I don´t even need visuals, just tell me about it, give me something baby, please, look at it as charity for the elderly.” that made you laugh and give in, you told her “alright, alright, let´s see” while thinking of something to say that would get her hot and bothered.

“well… when I touch myself I don´t think of memories with you, but all the things I wanna do to you when I see you again.” she made a pleased “hmm” sound, urging you to elaborate.

“the moment I´m back, I´m eating you out til you´ve drenched my face and the sheets. won´t stop til you´re shaking and crying.” 

in that moment, you won, big time. you understood her to her core. her one big weakness, always, was being aggressivley pursued, so the second you stopped talking and the words settled in her mind and then in her body, her soul, she let out an almost pained “jesus christ…” a pang of need at her core then, heating pooling at her lower stomach, her face suddenly pink. 

you didn´t waste any time and kept going “hmm, gonna get my fill of you, gonna make you come over and over and over, won´t let you sleep. you´re so sensitive, it´s fucking addictive, you know that? I bet you´d come just from having me grind down against your through my clothes right now, hm?”. you were hitting her in all of her weak spots, as if it was nothing, proving your power over her in a way that made her body burn up.

Van´s breathing was heavy by then, her tone quiet and strained by lust as she tried her best to speak “yeah… yeah probably.. wouldn´t take much at all.. fuck go on please, what else are you gonna do.” you had her right where you wanted her. she was turning needy, desperate, weak, just how you remembered from all those times you´d come onto her before. 

“gonna kiss you and bite you and lick you all over” you were getting aroused from our own words then, so you shifted on the bed and sounded breathy and worked up as well “gonna grab you all over, rub up against you all eager and starved, gonna have you ride my fingers until you´ve drenched them.. my face too.. gonna ruin you, just the way you need, I promise baby” you told her, half speaking, half moaning the words.

“god you´re in heat…” Van groaned, turned on to no end form all the images you were conjuring up in her mind, her neck tingling where she imagined your kisses, her tits aching where she imagined your fingers digging in, her cunt throbbing where she imagined your mouth, your tongue, a strap.

“fuck I wish you were here right now, I wanna hear you whining and begging for me so bad” you confessed, your top clinging to your skin where you were getting damp from violent desire.

“fuck you´re killing me here, you know that” Van cursed into the speaker, so you begged “please touch yourself, please, tell me how wet you are… you´re soaked already, right?”.

Van did as you told her to and pushed her hand down her pants, no underwear in the way to keep her from immediately slipping her fingers over her slick folds, between her lips, collecting the arousal, lazily, but eagerly. 

she let out a whimper that nearly made you choke on your own spit, so you pressed your face against your phone as close as possible and said “oh god, yeah, keep going please, do it the way I would, rub your clit nice and slow, tease yourself the way I would if I was there, do it like me”. 

that instruction nearly did her in. she remembered your fingertips, the motions that always teased wild moans out of her, she imitated them and felt herself growing wetter by the second, so she moaned “fuck baby..” and kept going, legs wider apart then, her breaths and sounds pleasure driving you insane over the phone, your own body twitching with unreleased tension then as you could see it all so well in your mind, Van pressed back against the couch cushions with her hands down her pants, red splotches blooming all over her pretty pale neck the way they did over her whole body during sex.

“feels good right, to do it slow, to ache for more?” you asked, greedy for her whined words, so she said “god…yes” barely coherent, “go a bit faster now, give yourself some more” you told her and heard the result, a sharp cry as she started jerking herself off harder.

“baby.. I wish I could watch you do that right now and then have you rub your pussy all over mine, feel how wet we both are til were shaking and sweating” the words tumbled out without a filter then, you werent thinking, just spilling your thoughts, so she moaned “fucking hell” while trying to get off, you knew she needed more, it was the moment where you´d switch strategies, so you told her “put your fingers in, please”.

Van inched two of her fingers into her aching, soaked cunt and winced a little before it started to feel good, pushing herself in knuckle deep then, telling herself that they were your fingers, gripping the pillow next to her to hold on as she whined and started curling her fingers up.

“Jesus I can hear how wet you are…” you moaned, almost dying then from the sound of her fucking herself like that, faint squelching sounds reaching your ear that made you jealous beyond belief, aching for the feel of her pussy streched around your fingers, desperate to have her rock her hips down to hump your palm. 

without any hesitation you pushed your hand into your panties and started jerking off too, imagining that it was her you were jerking off, her juices, her folds, her clit, her cunt you were feeling slick and pulsating against your hand, mirroring what she was doing and pushing two of your fingers in, fast, no resistance at all, your arousal from before intense enough to leave you wet to a degeee where you could’ve taken a pretty big toy without any pain, suddenly wishing she was there to fuck you, to fill you, take you.

she heard what you were doing and kept moving her fingers in and out of herself, switching to a slower pace to draw it out, to play with herself the way you would.

“I miss how you fuck me, wish you were here kissing my neck while doing this, fuck” she whimpered and lost her composure as you couldn´t keep lying on your back and got up to straddle your hand and ride your own fingers, one hand holding the phone to your ear as the other was being soaked, your hips rocking back and forth, a whiny maon escaping you as you tried to find the best angle. 

“baby I miss you so much” you whined, needy and emotional then on top of being painfully horny, “miss you too god” she groaned in response, “I´m drenched just from listening to you, I´m so fucking wet” you whined to her, which gave Van a final blow to her sanity that made her twist and turn on the couch while adding a third finger to really satisfy her craving, to overwhelm herself the way you might, to come as hard as she was dying to.

“let me hear you please put your mouth right at the speaker” she begged, “you too” you demanded, so you both moved your phones right over your lips as you chased your shared climax and touched yourselves, fucked your own fingers, reached a point of pre-orgasm neediness that made her moan “fuck I´m so close, I´m gonna come” so you pleaded “just a bit more, wait for me, wanna come with you” so she held out as you fell onto your back again and shoved your fingers in as deep as possible, trying not to be too loud, hitting your weak spot over and over until your started clenching around your fingers and whined “I´m coming baby, come with me” which was all it took for her to let go and let the orgasm rip through her so hard she wasn´t sure if she´d squirted or if she had just gotten that wet, riding the high out while you did the same, breathless whimpers and moans echoing back and forth between your ears, until you both went slack, let out a shuddering deep breath at the same time, and felt a dazed, satisfied smile tugging at the corners of your mouths, your eyes still shut, your bodies sticky with sweat, your legs trembling, your arms cramped up from the holding of the phones and the fucking, a moment of peaceful, charged silence before you came to again.

“well.” Van said. “gotta go wash my hand now..” but before she could get up you said “no no wait!” which made her pause and say “huh?”, still reeling, a bit out of it.

“lick it off… it´s what I would do. do it how I would” you told her, which made her laugh in a way that gave away how winded she still was, “jesus youre greedy tonight” she teased and held her hand up before her face, fingers glistening in the dim light.

“I know you taste good, so. do it for me, please baby” you said, vocally batting your eyelashes at her, so she caved and said “alright” and licked most of the cum off her fingers, imagining it was your cum instead, which made her do it more thoroughly, the sloppy sounds pretty audible to you, so you sighed “hmm” in approval.

“you got me good baby. real good. fuck” she sighed and shook her head with a dazed, pleased expression while feeling a few last aftershocks tingling all over her body. 

“feels better, doesn´t it? when you let it out?” you said, feeling a cool night breeze come in through the window then and caress your limp, warm body. 

“yeah I needed that…I´m lucky you´re not as repressed as I am, really helps me out here” she said, only half joking, since she did thank her lucky stars that you weren´t shy and pushed her to yield to her desires in a way she never would´ve with someone else. 

“my pleasure” you whispered into your phone and took a sip of the water from your nightstand. just as you wanted to lay down again, you heard a scratching sound at the door and said “fuck, wait that´s the cat, she won´t give up til I open the door, give me a second” you told her and stood up to go let your little guest in.

Van laughed and said “sweet” as you ushered your childhood cat in, “yeah, she´s an old lady now, gotta help her onto the bed, she can´t jump that high anymore” you announced before you let out a groan from lifting her onto the bed and watched her suss out a good spot to lay down as you did the same.

“well, lucky for her, you loveee having old ladies in your bed” Van said, clearly very pleased with herself for how fast she came up with that out-of-pocket response, a scandalized gasp on your end that made her feel very smug before you chided her “you´re disgusting”, secretly approving of her remark of course.

“here, say hi to my strange girlfriend” you told your cat and held the phone out and to your surprise she actually let out a gentle meow, so Van cooed “ohh that´s adorable. damn I wish I was there to see.. are you petting her? I think I can hear the purring”.

“yeah, she´s getting all the caresses and kisses I can´t give you right now” you answered, smooth enough to make her feel a bit flustered then. “lucky girl” Van mused, endeared by the mental image of you half undressed lounging on a bed with a little creature snuggled up to you.

“but uh-” you said a moment after, trying to be earnest, to say something straight from the heart, so she didn´t interrupt you and gave you the time you needed to gather your thoughts, sensing your shift in tone. “I do miss you a lot. just so you know. like a lot, a lot. especially at night, this bed feels way too big, I don´t even want all this space for myself. ugh. I miss sleeping on your chest.” 

she was quiet for a second because she was too busy feeling her heart melt to respond immediately. “yeah I miss you too. not to make it a competition but I think you´re more miss-able than me, so I have it worse. I keep reaching over at night to put my arm over you, I miss the sounds you make when you nuzzle up to me.” 

“you know, it´s kinda wild…” you trailed off.

“hm, what?” she asked, speaking softly. 

“I used to spend some pretty horrible nights in this exact spot when I was younger, so I kinda wish I could go back in time to tell myself how lovely things are gonna get down the line. I wasn´t very good at being hopeful back then, so. yeah.” 

“aw baby…” she said, clearly affected by it, “breaking my heart here. I can´t take that image of you all upset and alone like that… now I wish I could go back in time too, to help you, or you know, hold you.”

you smiled fondly “of course you´d say that instead of thinking of yourself when you were younger, with way worse circumstances than mine. I love you.”

Van was selfless in love, devoted, loyal to a fault, you knew this, of course you did, but in that moment you were reminded of it in a way that made you tear up, which she heard, so she uttered “you´re making me choke up here, fuck. I love you too, so much.”

she shed a few tears, so did you, perhaps a little raw from the intense release a few minutes earlier, which ended in you eventually laughing, a sniffling sound before you said “sorry for getting all sappy on you, I mean it though, I´m so glad I ended up with you.”

“oh don´t be sorry” she said and wiped the corner of her eyes “happy tears are good, didn´t shed many of those before we met. so yeah. I´m glad too. that´s an understatement, but you get it.”

“I don´t wanna hang up yet…” you sighed, which was a shard sentiment, so she said “sure let´s just stay like this for a moment, we don´t have to talk, we could just lay together for a bit, relax”.

“okay yeah” you agreed, pleased by the idea of just hearing each other breathe.

“let me go to bed real quick, get comfortable” Van said and got up from the couch, which made her groan after having sat in one spot for so long, which made you laugh a little too loudly, so she exclaimed “oh, I`m glad my sounds of agony do it for you, really”.

“oh yeah, always” you whispered and got up from your spot as well “gonna go brush my teeth, I´ll be back in like two minutes” you told her and put your phone down on your blanket before rushing to your bathroom sink.

within no time, you were back, half under the covers, and said “okay, I´m back. my cat is curled up right by my head now by the way”.

Van was laying on her side by then and smiled “she smells good I bet, cats always smell like sweet dust or something”.

“wish you could meet her” you mused while stroking the soft fur, “she´d like you, she´s always been like her mom, prefers the ladies”. Van laughed “ah, a clever one then”.

“maybe I´ll sneak you in here one day, who knows” you whispered, a hint of mischief to your tone.

“oh sure, just have me stay in some nearby hotel like I´m your mistress that you can only invite over when the wife and kids are gone” she joked. “such a storyteller, huh” you teased “go on, flesh that fantasy out for me, will you” you told her, so she indulged you and spun a little tale about her being your side piece in some alternative universe.

by the time it reached 1 am, you both started slurring your words and felt your eyes get heavy, so eventually you said good night and hung up, both of you falling into a heavy, deeply relaxed sleep afterwards, sinking into a world of dreams that were just as soft and soothing and pleasurable as your phone call. 

the next morning, you woke up to a notification that Van had just transferred fifteen dollars to your account with an attached message that said “buy that book you told me about a few days ago, gotta have something to talk about later :)” , so you sent her a few sparkling pink hearts in response before you got up and realized that spending some time apart wasn´t all that bad after all, since it brought out new ways to get close to each other, to be sweet and attentive, even while you were separated by multiple state lines, proof that no amount of distance could keep you apart, ever.

[skimmingmilk]

you know how you sometimes go back and find old videos of your dog when they were a puppy or your kids when they were still toddlers and are all cute; squeaky voiced, smiles and giggles. I don't know that Sonic would have old videos of tails but would he ever have a moment to physically look back on and get mushy about his kid?

As much as I love reading fics about it and seeing art of Sonic getting super mushy about Tails growing up (because I do, I think it's adorable and it warms my heart every time~), I don't think the Sonic we're most familiar with would actually do that too often. At least not consciously. He's so about living in the moment, he's not really looking back at old photos or reminiscing on old childhood habits without something prompting him.

There are old photos and drawings Tails made hung up around the workshop that Sonic passes all the time, so he's not unfamiliar with them. He'll smile at them, think about what a good day it was when they took the picture, then be filled with the desire to find Tails or Amy or Knuckles or whoever and go make more memories with them right then and there. Sonic has the freedom to spend time with the people he loves whenever he wants, so he doesn't really have time to miss what he had, because in his mind he still has it right here and that's what matters.

I think when he does stop to think about it, it's more for the sake of the other person than himself. Like, Sonic doesn't want Tails to feel like he's too old for something if he really isn't yet or if he's missing out on something because he had to grow up too fast, so he'll stop for a second and spend a little time reminiscing, just in case it'd help him figure out how to help Tails. It wouldn't occur to him that, maybe, it's also a little bit for himself.

Until he's put in a position where he can't be with his friends, where he's separated from them for longer than he's ever been before, and doesn't even know if they're alright... when the memories are all he has, I think that's when he starts to get a bit more consciously sentimental.

Because then everything starts to change a little bit. When he comes back from being imprisoned for six months in Forces, fresh with trauma of however that experience went for him, the whole world changed without him. His friends changed. Tails changed. And he missed it all.

And then Frontiers happens, which is all about memories being preserved forever in cyberspace, and Sonic is spending days (weeks) running through snapshots of his life and the lives of his friends while losing himself bit by bit and seeing how his friends are suffering various identity crises simultaneously. With Tails's being especially painful because what he ends up wanting is distance and change because he doesn't like who he is. His bad memories are at the forefront of his mind, his mistakes, his failures. His successes and triumphs and just happy little moments are buried so deep, maybe if Sonic had spent a bit more time reminiscing with him on those, Tails would be able to access them more freely rather than the negative ones when left to his own devices.

After all that, Sonic would start to lean a little more into the sentimentality of the past. It's still not in his nature to stay there too long, but as he matures and grows older, he'll realize that memories are truly precious things and he'll hold his a little more closely. He'll stop to look at old photos and take a moment to let himself feel a bit sappy over how much Tails has grown or how far he's come. He'll be more careful with the drawings Tails made when he was younger. He'll go back to places where they traveled together in an attempt to recapture all those good moments.

By the time Tails is a teenager, you know he's found his balance and he's all about teasing him, being super dramatic about what happened to his cute baby brother xD And, of course, seeing him come into his own will absolutely make his heart melt with pride, and it wouldn't be so strange to see him watching Tails with the sappiest smile on his face, thinking back to the little guy who got his start spilling juice on his blueprints and writing his Cs backwards <3

So, yeah, I like to think Sonic does get to that point and lets himself get mushy over old memories, but it would be when he's a bit older and realizes he won't always have the luxury to be there whenever he wants.

Thanks for the ask!

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Long Time Coming

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Warning: slight angst (usual mentions of walking dead stuff), mostly fluff

Authors Note: this does mention pre breakout Daryl briefly but I was inspired by @dixons-sunshine I love their fics so check them out

Word Count: 1.4K

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You and Daryl Dixon had known each other for as long as you could remember. Growing up in the same small, rough town, you both carried more bruises—both physical and emotional—than you’d ever admit to anyone else. Your families were the kind people whispered about, and no one in town expected much from either of you. That didn’t matter, though. You and Daryl understood each other in ways no one else ever could.

You spent most days together, wandering the woods on the edge of town, finding safety in the quiet and solace in each other’s presence. Words weren’t always necessary; there was a kind of silent understanding between you two. He wasn’t much for talking, but you’d learned to read him—by the way he moved, the set of his shoulders, or the way he clenched his hands when he was angry. Over time, he relaxed around you, and a friendship formed that was deeper than anything you’d ever known.

As you grew older, things shifted in small ways. You noticed the way he’d sometimes stare when he thought you weren’t looking, a kind of softness in his eyes you didn’t see anywhere else. You’d find excuses to brush his hand or linger a little too close, your heart hammering every time you did. Despite your unspoken feelings for each other, neither of you dared to confess. Each of you feared risking the one good thing you had.

When things got bad at his place, Daryl would come to your window late at night. You’d let him in without a word, and he’d curl up on an old sleeping bag on your floor. In time, you started keeping the little things he brought you from his walks—shiny rocks, a feather, even a small metal dog tag he’d found at a garage sale once. “Thought it looked cool,” he muttered, giving it to you with a rare, shy smile. On the back, he’d scratched his initials, *DD*, with his old pocket knife. You wore that tag around your neck every day, the feel of the cool metal against your skin a comforting reminder of him.

You thought you’d have all the time in the world to tell him how you felt, that someday you’d finally be able to put your feelings into words.

But then everything went to hell.

When the world ended, you were waiting for Daryl to come by, the way he always did. You hadn’t planned anything special—just another day spent together, escaping the world for a little while. But that afternoon, the world collapsed. Panic swept through the streets as people ran, screamed, and clawed at each other, desperate to escape the horrors that seemed to emerge from nowhere.

You barely managed to escape the initial chaos, fleeing into the woods where you and Daryl had spent so much time. You waited there for hours, hoping he’d come, but as the sky darkened, you realized you were on your own. Days passed, then weeks, and still, he didn’t show. You held onto hope, but each day without him made it harder. Part of you feared the worst, but the other part clung to the belief that he was out there somewhere, just as determined to survive as you were.

Months went by, and you learned to fend for yourself. In and out of groups, you never stayed anywhere long. Trust became a luxury you couldn’t afford, and you hardened, learning the skills you needed to keep going. The dog tag around your neck became your one constant—a small, silent reminder of what you’d lost and the person you couldn’t give up on.

That was where Carol and Maggie found you, holed up in the back of a crumbling grocery store on the edge of town. They convinced you to come with them, promising a safe place, a community. Their words stirred something in you—a spark of hope you hadn’t felt in a long time. You decided to follow them, if only to find out if “home” was something you could still have.

As they led you through the gates of the prison, Carol introduced you to a man named Rick, who assessed you with a calm, piercing gaze. “Daryl’s off workin’ on repairs,” he explained, “but he’ll be here soon.” Then he turned to someone nearby. “Go tell him to come help our new friend get settled.”

At the mention of Daryl’s name, your heart skipped. You fought to keep your expression neutral, reminding yourself that it was a common enough name. But a part of you couldn’t help hoping that maybe, against all odds, it really was him.

The minutes felt like hours. Then, finally, you heard heavy footsteps echoing down the hall. You turned, breath catching as he came into view.

There he was—older, rougher, with longer hair and sharper features. He’d changed, hardened by survival, but his eyes, those deep blue eyes, were still unmistakably him.

“Daryl?” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

He froze, his gaze locking onto yours, and you saw the shock, the relief, the unmistakable softness that was always there when he looked at you. “It’s…really you?” His voice was rougher now, almost hoarse, but it was still him.

You barely managed a nod before rushing into his arms, holding him tight. His embrace was just as fierce, his grip solid and real, grounding you after all the months you’d spent alone. He buried his face in your shoulder, his breath shaky as he murmured, “Thought I lost ya. Thought you were gone.”

You pulled back, your fingers instinctively going to the dog tag around your neck. You held it up, showing him. “I kept it,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I never took it off.”

His eyes softened even more as he reached out, fingers brushing the tag with a gentle reverence. “Didn’t think ya still had it,” he muttered.

“Of course I did. It was all I had left of you.” Your words were raw, spilling out without restraint, and you saw him visibly swallow, his emotions barely contained.

His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he gazed at you with a fierce determination. “Ain’t lettin’ you go again,” he whispered. “Not makin’ that mistake twice. You were gone too long.”

In that moment, the world fell away. You leaned forward, closing the distance as you kissed him, pouring all the words you’d left unspoken into that one moment. His arms wrapped around you tighter, his kiss deep and fierce, as though he was as desperate to make up for lost time as you were.

When you pulled back, breathless, he kept his forehead pressed to yours. “We’re gonna make it,” he promised, his voice barely a whisper. “Ain’t lettin’ you outta my sight.”

In the days that followed, Daryl’s protective instincts grew stronger than ever. To others, especially newcomers, he was cold and distant, rarely bothering to remember names. But with you, he was different. He softened, his usual roughness fading when he looked at you.

If you mentioned needing anything—medical supplies, food, anything—he’d make sure it got to you, no matter what it took. Whenever he returned from a supply run, he’d bring back something small for you—a shiny rock, a wildflower, a feather. They were things that reminded you of how he’d once come to your window at night, gifts in hand, and it warmed your heart that he still did it, even now.

One evening, he handed you a small, tarnished silver ring he’d found on a run. “Ain’t worth much,” he mumbled, cheeks tinged pink as he rubbed the back of his neck. “But…figured it might look good on ya.”

You slipped it on, smiling. “I love it,” you said softly. Those three words carried weight, and you saw him blink, the truth settling between you.

Daryl was everything to you now, your one safe place in a world that had torn itself apart. He watched over you with a quiet devotion, his gaze always tracking you in a crowd, his hand resting on your back whenever you needed grounding. If you felt uneasy or scared, he was there, his presence a constant reassurance.

Some nights, as you lay wrapped in his arms, you’d trace the scars on his skin, your fingers mapping the battles he’d survived. And sometimes, he’d open up, sharing things he hadn’t told anyone else. You listened, holding him close, letting him see that with you, he was safe.

In a world that had taken so much, you’d both found something unbreakable. No matter what came next, you knew you’d face it together. Because after everything, neither of you would ever let the other go again.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[doveentrails]

Heaven Can't Be Sweeter Than This (Chapter 1)

Art: You’re lonely?

Fuck. So lonely, you want to scream. You want to disappear, to drown yourself in your drink. You type back.

**Yeah, honestly, I hope it’s not too pathetic to admit that. I had a bad break up a while ago and I just haven’t gotten things back on track.

Art: It’s okay to admit that.

**Okay good, I don’t want to scare you off

Art: You won’t.

You're lonely. You're bored. You're unsatisfied with your job, still not over your last break up, and your closest friend is your cat. You want someone to hurt you. You want to feel something. So you venture into the depths of a kink forum and start chatting with a mysterious stranger...

This was a fun idea I had that I'm so excited to write! What if Art was a lurker on various weird, dubious online forums looking to lure victims, but then meets someone who's into it, like really into it. He's confused, annoyed, he's into it too?? What could go wrong! Will probably be a little slow keeping this one updated, but I love the idea so much and I promise I'm gonna see it thru!!

Yes, this fic will be very NSFW, but nothing here in chapter one...

Word Count: 3800

All chapters

A mug of tea sits steaming on your desk as you stare at the monitor in front of you. You just have a few more emails to reply to, but you feel your eyes growing heavy. You were swamped with extra work tonight, still on the clock hours after you’d normally be done. Lifting the mug to your lips, you feel the warmth of the apple blossom black tea seep into your fingertips. You take a sip, hoping the caffeine will tide you over. Grogginess pulled at the corners of your vision, but the frustrating part was that without fail, every night when you lay your head on your pillow, sleep was hopelessly out of reach. You’d toss and turn and stare at the ceiling for hours, imagining arguments that would never happen, horrible ways you could die, dredging up old embarrassing memories. It was torture. 

The insomnia had been an issue for the better part of a year, and you weren’t sure what the reason for it was. You’d had a sleep study done to not much avail, and you hated relying on prescription sleep aids, though you often had to. The weeks you went without them were brutal, and you’d have to make up for it with an 18 hour crash brought to you by your friends seroquel and nyquil. 

People told you it was because you spent so long staring at screens. The blue light messed with your circadian rhythm. That’s what it was. You just had to quit that damn job you always complained about and get outside more. The long hours of screen time, of course, were courtesy of your job as a cyber security operator for a large corporate health and beauty company. You got to work from home though, which you loved. Staying at home with your fluffy, grey ragamuffin cat, Mia, was a perk of the job. The work itself was something you could take or leave. You didn’t care much for being a cog in the corporate machine.

Ever the practical type, you went into the tech field for job security. That stuff has always come naturally to you anyway, and you didn’t mind it. Some of it was actually interesting. Being one of the few women in your field was a novelty that soon wore off though. That’s why you opted for the health and beauty route. It was a company with more women and general diversity than the average cyber security sector. You liked your coworkers enough, even though you saw them almost exclusively through screens. Not much of a people person, you tended to prefer things that way. 

You had a comfortable routine, but you had to admit that you were bored. The days tended to blur together, and you’d sometimes go weeks without leaving the house until you’d realize you’re about to run out of something essential and have to go to the store. The cashier would be your only socialization for the month. Mostly, you liked to exist this way, but recently you were finding yourself feeling more and more unsatisfied. Maybe that’s what the insomnia was trying to tell you; something needed to change. 

You finished your email replies and signed off for the day, taking another large gulp of your tea, now cooled to the perfect temperature. Getting up from your ergonomic, cushioned rolling chair, you switched your apartment from work to relax mode. It was a distinction you had to make. You hated the lines between work and leisure becoming blurred. The switch entailed turning off all the overhead lights in favor of string lights, kitchy neon signs and lava lamps that filled the apartment with a diffuse, multicolored glow. Next, you put on a record, taking the time to choose something that matched your mood. Tonight you were feeling melancholy and melodic, opting for some acoustic singer songwriter to waft through your gigantic sound system at the perfect decibel. You stripped off your jeans (you opted to wear them to put yourself in your work mindset, even though you didn’t have to), and changed into a pair of pajama pants and your Garfield slippers. Lastly, you took your tea to the kitchen and poured in a shot of brandy. 

Officially off the clock, you sat back down at your desk with a sigh. You clicked around your usual sites for a bit, scrolling social media, reading forums and checking ebay auctions for vintage clothing. Your spiked tea warmed you from the inside out. It was your favorite pre dinner ritual. Mia came over and rubbed up against your legs, chirping softly at you. You scratched her behind the ears and cooed back at her. This was your typical Wednesday evening. That nagging urge to search for something more surfaced, and you took another sip of tea.

The dull ache of boredom in your chest propelled you to open the web browser and begin typing. The brandy supplied you some boldness as you navigated to a page you rarely visited: a fetish forum, specifically a heavy BDSM forum. Even though you were alone, you felt yourself blush as the page loaded, and you glanced over your shoulder. Mia blinked at you judgmentally. 

Admittedly you had some kinks, quite a few, and you’d never really found a partner who matched what you were into. Once you got into the details of your fantasies, you scared any potential mates away. Some would go along with it, but you could tell they were performing, not being genuine, and that just put you off. It became frustrating, and you dreaded opening up about your unconventional tastes. You had one partner (your now most recent ex girlfriend) who you felt was on your level, and it had been great while it lasted. She let you try things you’d never done with anyone else. She had indulged your fantasies, even yes and-ing you and giving you more than you’d asked. You had thought she was your perfect match, Liz. 

But around this time last year, the relationship went up in flames. You hadn’t been seeing each other particularly long, just 9 months, but it was a passionate whirlwind 9 months. Real stereotypical lesbian stuff. She was actually the first woman you’d ever been with. You had gotten tired of men trying to play the tough dom role, laying it on too thick and making you cringe. Liz made it look easy. She was a breath of fresh air. She gave you something you never knew you wanted, and then she was gone. The insomnia started after your break up, your longest relationship since. 

Post-Liz, you took a big step back. You were depressed and bitter and entirely uninterested in dating. The handful of times you tried, you got cold feet and backed out, calling off dates or just ghosting them entirely. Liz had really done a number on you. All your friends knew it too. You weren’t very social to begin with, but once you started seeing Liz, your social life went out the window. You were entirely consumed in her orbit. You still haven’t made a full recovery socially, letting the bridges of your friendships atrophy due to apathy and embarrassment. (Surely, it’s been too long to reach out now.)

So here you sat behind a screen, a voyeur into the lives of other kinksters. People who were actually getting some, you thought with no shortage of self pity. You read several discussion posts, questions about bondage, cnc fantasies, people bragging about glorious encounters that made your mouth water. You thought about pulling up some porno, jerking off and going to bed, but something stopped you. Instead, you decided to type a post. 

ISO someone with dark tastes. I’m looking for a sadist who will hold nothing back. Someone who will push my limits (Trust me, I’ve yet to discover them - Maybe you can help me?). Aiming for bruises I can’t leave the house with, and stories I can’t tell at parties. The more blood the better. An offer not for the faint of heart, or weak of stomach. (Medical knowledge is a plus!) Reach me here, and we can discuss further, xoxo. 

You let the text sit in the type box, looking back at you. Rereading it several times, you still debate whether or not to post it. You get up and change the record, putting on some 80’s new wave to boost your confidence. You deserve this. You can find someone twice as kinky as Liz. Someone who will actually get you to safeword for once. That’s what you're really looking for. Honestly, you’re so bored of everything, so numb and detached most of the time, you just want someone to scare the shit out of you. 

You walk back to the computer, holding your breath and hitting post before you can think better of it. Then you slink over to the full length mirror in your bedroom and sexy dance in front of it, hyping yourself up. Internally you repeat the mantra, ‘you deserve hot, depraved sex’. Feeling a little better about yourself, you finish your tea and then make yourself some dinner. You get comfy on the couch with more brandy and some shrimp pasta to watch your usual bad reality TV.

Picking up your phone, you decide to text your long distance friend, Nic. He works for the same beauty company as you, but in regional sales. You met years ago at a large holiday event, and have been friends ever since. Even though you're seven hours away from each other, you talk nearly every day. 

Ur not gonna believe what I just did…

Nic: What? Took a shit thru someones sunroof

Lmaoooo nooo wtf

No I posted on KinkBound

Nic: Shut up! Finally! Get some, girl

Nic: Show me what u posted!

Nooo wayy, too personal

Nic: Whatevr I know ur a freak

Well, leave it to ur imagination

Nic: Fine, I’ll just imagine ur into shitting thru ppl’s sunroofs lol

Works for me :-)

You text back and forth for a while as you eat your dinner. Then you finish the episode of trash TV you’re watching, and sip the rest of your brandy. Once the show’s over, you hop in the shower. 

You can’t help yourself from fantasizing while you’re in there. You think about all the things you want to try, all the things you’ve been too afraid to ask for. There was stuff you even held back from Liz, though she was the one you opened up to more than anyone else. But you never shared with her the darkest thoughts. The literal torture you’d like to endure, the true breaking point you want to be pushed too. It’s too real, too raw, too heavy for most people.

You’ve always wondered why you’re like this. Why isn’t light bondage and spanking enough for you? It’s all too tame. You want to really feel like you’ve given up control, like your life is in someone else’s hands. You’ve psychoanalyzed yourself about this enough. You could blame your parents for raising you an over-achieving only child, always type A, always with a plan. Nothing was ever up to chance, nothing was ever out of your hands. For once, you want someone to take it all away from you. 

And the pain, god you love pain. You couldn’t really explain why. Maybe your safe, comfortable life has made you an adrenaline junkie, an endorphin addict. Everything is always so predictable, and the pain snaps you out of it, makes you feel alive, puts you right back in your body. It’s just so good. You’ve never explored it to the full extent that you’d like to. You want to know what it’s like to get seriously injured. To heal. The body’s ability to heal has always fascinated you. 

You know you could get away with it too. Working from home, you’d be able to recover from all kinds of heinous injuries in peace. No one would be the wiser. You just need to find someone willing to inflict that kind of suffering upon you. To rend your flesh, steal your breath, maybe even break your bones. You just want to know what it feels like. This is the shit you don’t tell people. Here you are, scrubbing yourself with eucalyptus sage body wash and imagining someone breaking your leg in a sexual context. Some Stephen King, Misery, type shit.

You towel off and throw back a couple sleeping pills. You don’t want to be up all night thinking about who will reply to your post on the forum. Sliding between the silk sheets of your bed, you feel calm and strangely optimistic. You succumb to sleep much quicker than usual, all the while hoping it could be possible for you to find your freak.

***

Morning comes, as usual, all too soon. You reach for the blaring alarm clock and silence it. Early morning sunlight streams through your window, and your second alarm clock, Mia, jumps up onto the bed and starts pawing at your face. You allow her to curl up on your chest, scratching her head until she begins meowing in your ear for breakfast.

“Alright, alright,” you tell her, pulling yourself out of bed. In the kitchen you procure Mia’s half can of fishy smelling wet food, avoiding taking in a full whiff of its odor. She runs to the dish on her little paws and gobbles it down appreciatively. Then you put on the coffee pot and head to the bathroom.

Slowly, you awaken and come fully into your body, going through the motions of your morning routine. Drink half a cup of black coffee, get dressed, jog around the block, shower, put on your work clothes, and finish the rest of the pot of coffee throughout the morning as you sit at your desk. 

The light run, your cold shower, and the strong coffee have you humming to life with your computer like always. Mia naps in the sunlight at your feet. You check your inbox first thing, and see that you have a couple messages from the kink site. You can’t believe it, honestly. It takes everything in you to not open them, and instead direct yourself to your work. Excitement bubbles up inside you, but you quickly remind yourself not to get your hopes up too high.

Weirdos are about a dime a dozen, and that’s bound to be who’s messaging you. But maybe the right kind of weirdo… You steer your thoughts back to your screen, loading up the morning check in meeting. You’ll leave those unread messages as a special treat for once you’re off the clock.

The day drags by, all you can think about are the mystery messages waiting for you. 4 ‘o’ clock can’t come soon enough, and once it arrives, you're navigating to the kink site without a second thought. You don’t even bother to change into your comfortable clothes or switch the lights.

The first message is a bot, and your heart sinks. The second message is from some guy with a handlebar mustache that puts you off immediately and the screen name BigMistressMaster, but you figure you should give him a chance. His profile is full of giantess fetish posts, so you really don’t think he’s who you’re looking for. In no hurry to reply, you get up to put yourself into relaxation mode. You’re going to need a double brandy for this.

Mia follows you dutifully as you change, put on a record and pour yourself a drink. Sitting down at the computer, you type a friendly hello to Mr. Mustache. He tells you his name is Ivan, and even the name makes you roll your eyes. Maybe it’s his real name, you think, telling yourself not to be so mean. You chat with Ivan for a bit, drifting to other tabs and leaving space between your replies. You keep the conversation dry while Ivan flirts and tries too hard to win you over. After a couple hours, you lie about the time zone you’re in and tell him you’re going to bed.

The boredom thrums painfully in your chest again. You get up and walk to the freezer, pulling out your bottle of brandy and pouring yourself another double, neat. You don’t usually drink this much, especially on a weekday. Spending so much time alone makes for a slippery slope, and you make an effort to not form a habit, but tonight you indulge in your disappointment. Walking over to the record player, you put on some whiney, sad boy music and let it fill your deflated heart. You think of Liz and take another drink. 

Avoiding the computer, you walk a slow lap around your apartment and decide to water your neglected house plants. Then you make dinner and turn on the TV like always. You send Nic a self pitying text message.

Convinced I’m going 2 die alone

Nic: Online dating not going well huh

It’s abysmal

The one reply I’ve gotten is from the most boring white bread man on earth

Nic: White bread on the kink site?

Nic: That’s crazy

More common than u think

Nic: Why don’t u try a real dating app

🙄 ugh

Nic: idk what u have against it

Dating is just so hard

I want something else

Nic: She’s so mysterious…

Nic: So aloof….

Nic: Not like other girls

Stoppp

I hate 2 admit it but I still miss Liz somtimes

And you do hate to admit it. You hate that you’re thinking of her right now. You wish you could give yourself everything you want, be completely self-sufficient. You try, but some things just can’t exist in a bubble like that. You crave excitement, and you haven’t figured out how to get it without bringing someone else into the picture. 

Nic: Aw babe

It sucks

Nic: Don’t drunk text her ok, call me instead

Nic: idc what time it is 

Thanks <3

You weren’t planning on drunk texting. Although, those things are never planned. You want to defend yourself and argue that you’re not even drunk, but when you get up to bring your dishes to the sink, the world swims beneath you for a brief moment. No more texting, you note to yourself. Really, you should just delete her number already.

You leave your phone on the couch and go back to the computer, planning to check some clothing auctions you’ve been watching. However, the KinkBound page is still up on your screen, and you see you have another new message. The screen name isn’t anything clever or fancy, just Art. At that you feel some relief, just a normal person for once. You open it, hating yourself for feeling another rush of excitement.

Art: I’m interested in your request.

Short, to the point. There’s no profile picture, which should be a red flag, and the account hasn’t made any posts. Still, you can’t stop yourself from typing back.

Hi, glad to hear you’re interested. Have you been on this site long?

You get a reply right away.

Art: No, not long. Why do you want someone to hurt you?

What a weird question. The answer should already be baked in, but you suppose he wants to know more about what you’re looking for. You’re not completely sure how to answer.

It’s exciting… I like how it feels

Art: Exciting… tell me more.

I guess it’s the adrenaline, you know. I really don’t have a lot going on. I get bored, and I guess I’m looking for something to make me feel more alive.

You can’t believe you’re being so candid. Your pulse pounds in your ears, and you stare at the screen, waiting for Art’s response. 

Art: More alive, that’s interesting. You don’t feel alive?

You realize how desperate and angsty you sound. You get up and refill your glass with brandy. Already, you feel like this guy can see right through you somehow. You gulp down the brown burning liquid and start typing.

Well, maybe that’s a little dramatic, but everything just feels dull. I do the same things every day. It’s boring. And honestly I’m lonely.

Dear god. You didn’t even reread that one before you sent it. Well, you might as well lay your cards on the table. 

Art: Bored isn’t good.

What do you do when you’re bored?

Art: Oh, I’m never bored. I make sure of it.

Normally a statement like that would make you roll your eyes, but instead you’re genuinely intrigued. 

Wow, well that sounds nice. You’ll have to show me how you do it.

Art: Maybe.

What do you do, Art?

Art: You wouldn’t want to know, it’s boring.

Okay, fair enough, my job is boring too

He’s a tough one to crack. Usually these people are spilling every detail about themselves, aiming to impress. Art’s approach is refreshing, and it’s definitely working on you. You swirl your glass, and can’t help but smile as you see him typing a reply. 

Art: You’re lonely?

Fuck. So lonely, you want to scream. You want to disappear, to drown yourself in your drink. 

Yeah, honestly, I hope it’s not too pathetic to admit that. I had a bad break up a while ago and I just haven’t gotten things back on track.

Art: It’s okay to admit that.

You want to jump through the screen and hug him. Who is this person? Why are you suddenly compelled to bear your soul to him? God, you really are lonely. 

Okay good, I don’t want to scare you off

Art: You won’t.

You find that hard to believe, but for now you’ll take him at his word. You check the time and decide to wrap it up for now. You want Art to stay mysterious, living in your brain as three letters on a screen and the promise of something more. 

Well, it was nice meeting you Art, do you want to talk tomorrow? Same time?

Art: Sure, same time. It was nice meeting you too. 

You close the tab and just sit there for a moment, processing the new, exciting possibilities that have opened up for you. Biting your lower lip you smile to yourself, and then finish the drink that remains in your glass. For a moment, you consider texting Nic, but you decide you want to keep this to yourself, at least for now. 

Getting yourself ready for bed, all you can wonder is whether Art will live up to your expectations. You know literally nothing about him, so you try to stop your mind from running out ahead of you, but it’s no use. You’re lying awake, thinking of him, wondering what he could be doing, and if he could be thinking of you too.

[rori-is-writing]

Tell Me It Gets Easier

⟪ ⟨ Ch 1: Sorry To Bother You ⟩ ⟫

A The Pitt AU Fic.

Multi-Chapter | Explicit | Dr. Robby x OC | 1,323 words ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Summary: Robby’s secret telepathic neighbor keeps interrupting him every time he thinks a little too hard about offing himself. But in the process, finds herself drawn to him in a way she never would have expected.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Tags: Age Gap (20+ years), Female OC, Suicidal Ideation, Telepathy

Read on AO3 | The Pitt Masterlist

[ A/N: The only downside to writing in this fandom is there aren't a lot of fantasy adjacent fics or AUs out there. So I guess I had to write my own. ]

Why am I here?

Daisy paused in her aggressive chopping and glanced at the wall where she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, her neighbor currently sat on the other side—contemplating killing himself…again. 

Christ. This was the third time this month. 

She waited, hoping perhaps it was just one of those passing thoughts that rarely ever came to anything. Like when someone would look over the railing of a balcony or bridge and randomly think I wonder what would happen if I jumped? Of course most people rarely ever acted on those sorts of thoughts. In fact, they were usually so disturbed by the shocking suddenness of them that they would go out of their way to pretend it had never happened at all. 

Unfortunately for her though, this was not one of those. 

I can’t keep going on like this. I can’t lose another one.

Suddenly—in her mind’s eye—she saw a glimpse of a too-small face, covered in blood and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as the sound of a flatlined heart monitor droned on in the background. 

Daisy wished this were the first time she were seeing the death of a child in someone’s head but unfortunately she’d long since grown numb to it. After a lifetime of hearing and seeing the thoughts and memories of others—the good, the bad, and the most truly heinous and soul-crushing—it was a miracle she hadn’t gone crazy before the age of twelve. 

With a sigh, she laid her knife flat on the cutting board and made her way towards her front door. Dinner could wait. 

“Hi there, sorry to bother you,” Daisy said, not sorry at all as her neighbor opened his door to blink suspiciously at her. 

Robby was just as scruffy and exhausted looking as he always was. Though that made sense considering he was an E.R. doctor. Or so she had gleaned from his mind that first day she’d moved into the apartment next to his. 

Her again, he thought. Wasn’t she just here last week?

She had, yes. After he’d spent far too long staring at the bottle of Percocet he kept in the back of his medicine cabinet—something leftover from some surgery he’d undergone several years before—and had swiftly appeared at his doorstep to offer him ‘home-warming’ cookies like they hadn’t been neighbors for the last two and a half years. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have seen my cat roaming around have you?” Daisy asked him with her best concerned Cat Mom face. “Mumble. He’s an orange tabby. Fat. Adorable. Loves attention and snacks.” 

This was, in fact, a lie—not about the attention or snacks of course, her cat loved nothing more than to beg for treats and chin scritches—but that Mumble was very much safe and sound. In fact, as of five minutes ago, he was still napping away the evening in his favorite spot—the basket of clean laundry she always told herself she’d get around to folding before giving up when she inevitably fished out her last wrinkled blouse of the week…before starting the cycle all over again. 

But her neighbor didn’t need to know that. 

“Oh,” Robby said, surprised. He paused, actually searching his memory for a glimpse of an orange tail or ears hiding behind a bush on his walk home from work. Poor thing. She almost felt bad about deceiving him. 

Almost. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Daisy continued, knowing damn well he was. “But I just worry about him is all…” 

“I’m sorry,” he said, sounding genuinely contrite. “I can’t say I have.” 

She pasted on her best ‘I’m so disappointed but trying to hide it’ face before nodding. “Yes, of course. I won’t bother you any more. Just wanted to check if you’d seen him. I’m sure he’ll turn up though.” 

As she moved back she couldn’t help but reach out with her mind, brushing against his just to make sure he would be okay for the remainder of the night. 

Most minds had a ‘taste’. A feeling that was distinctly, wholly their own. Her mother’s tasted like sunscreen and cheap wine on the beach—her favorite place to vacation every summer with her husband before Daisy had been born. Her father’s tasted like newspaper and wood shavings—his refuge in their old shed where he liked to wile away his weekends building furniture for no one in particular. 

But Robby’s mind, his tasted like blood and antiseptic. Old leather and new scalpels straight out of the packaging. The bitterness of loss and the sweetness of friendship. A physician’s mind through and through. His vocation was not simply his job, but his life. He hated and loved it in equal measure, not matter how much it broke him some days. 

He would be fine, for now at least. Until the darkness called him once more and she was there to distract him again. 

Same time next week? She thought with no small amount of dark humor. 

“Sorry I couldn’t help,” Robby murmured awkwardly. 

Daisy smiled as she backed toward her own door. 

“You already have.”

Daisy remembered the first time she realized she was hearing thoughts instead of spoken words. 

She had only been a toddler then—just a couple of months shy of her fourth birthday. Still wholly innocent and sweet—unburdened by the knowledge of what she was just yet. Speech had come to her early. Her parents had marveled over the rapid and exciting development of their only child, so far ahead of her peers in her age range. 

Of course, it was only later that it would become clear that this had more to do with Daisy’s ability to hear every word and thought—spoken or otherwise—rather than their daughter being some sort of wunderkind genius as they had initially assumed. But those were revelations for later. 

“She already knows her letters!” Daisy’s mother had boasted to her friend. “Her doctor is so impressed!”

The friend, a bottle-blonde with a perpetually frazzled air about her, smiled in reply. Her lips had been closed. She never spoke. And yet…Daisy had heard her words regardless. 

Letters my ass. She has to be exaggerating. Addy didn’t know her letters until she went to Kindergarten! 

Daisy had blinked up at the woman. 

“Bad word.” She said. 

The woman smiled down at her, confused. “What’s that sweetie?” 

“Bad word,” Daisy repeated, a little more forcefully. 

“What bad word sweetheart?” Her mother asked, equally puzzled by this strange turn in the conversation. 

“Can’t say,” Daisy said. “Bad.” 

Her mother had, of course, drilled into her the importance of never using ‘bad words’ after she’d repeated a few her father had ‘said’ very loudly once. But this was different. This was a guest using them. And so…so rudely! 

What the fuck is she on about?

Daisy gasped. 

“Bad word!” She yelled, pointing an accusing chubby finger at the woman. 

Her mother’s friend frowned. I didn’t say that out loud did I? No, of course not…but then why…?

And that’s when it had all clicked into place. 

The afternoon had only spiraled from there. Daisy had swiftly been sent to her room for being rude to her mother’s guest but it hadn’t mattered. Like always, she could hear them speaking through the walls, as if they were right there in the room with her. 

I don’t understand what’s wrong with her today. I can’t believe she would embarrass me like that!

What a weird kid. 

I bet she’s just overtired. She just needs a nap. 

Maybe she’s possessed? No, that doesn’t make sense. Demons aren’t real…unless…? 

And so on and so forth until the woman left. 

She never came to visit again. 

Not that it had mattered to Daisy. All that mattered from then on was that she knew. Knew what she was.

Weird. 

Unnatural. 

A freak. 

Next Chapter | Tell Me It Gets Easier Masterlist

Thanks for reading! 🩵

If you would like to be added (or removed) to this or future tag lists, please let me know!

Tag List: @wisps-writes-fic

[stuckyslut8]

tastes like strawberries 2

Part 1

Pairing : mob steve rogers x chubby baker Bucky x mob reader

Warning : smut. Dom steve . Sub bucky. Poly fic. Throat fucking. Anal. 18+ Minors DNI. Sunny chubby bucky.

Bucky was currently tied up in Steve's bed , again. He only came to Steve's place to tell.him they can end things, "we can't do this steve, I'm loyal to y/n, she's all I need" but you sweet steve was already in a bad mood that day. Some of his minions fucked up his new deal , costing him a lot of money. He was quite happy to see Bucky come to his place , thinking he could fuck his frustrations out , use the bakers puckered little hole all night.

But the minute those words came out of his mouth steve lost control, "you're saying you don't want this anymore, youu don't want my cock? You ungrateful brat " steve has Bucky pressed against the wall , Bucky was a goner at the moment, he loved being dominated by steve and being told what to do, his resolve was breaking. "It's not that I'm not grateful sir, i just-, i worry about y/n, I know you do too" steve smashed his lips into Bucky's , shutting him up, the kiss was angry, possesive, steve wasnt about to let go the one person that brought light to his life currently.

"get naked and get on the bed brat." Steve said, it was more of an order , and Bucky knew it.

"yes sir." He did as steve said, and steve wasted to time I'm tying him up.

"what do I do with you ..huh?"

"Oh fuck fuck steve, i can't, I'm gonna cum. " bucky whined as he gripped on to the sides of the bed, panting as steve was giving him the blowjob of his life .

"Oh fuck ." Bucky cursed as he came in the blonde's throat. He still can't believe how all of it led to this. Steve visiting his bakery once again in the late hours, once turned into twice a week , for the past three months. Bucky became Steve's little bitch, doing whatever he asked him to. 'A picture of bucky in the pair of red thongs he bought?' he sent it right away, 'a video of bucky jerking off?' He didn't have to ask twice. And in return bucky got the best dick of his life, that always left him begging for more. He loved the way steve would grip onto his belly as he fucked him doggysttyle, and how he took time to lotion all of him after they were done.

Heck he'd make bucky do the most degrading thing sometimes, like making him get off on humping his leg, making him drink his cum after he jerked off in a cup. But all of this only made bucky want him more.

He was moslty a dominant guy when he was with you, there were moments when you'd take charge completely but all bucky wanted to do on some days was to let go of his control and be Steve's good boy.

and it became his routine, he'd play your sweet caring boyfriend on most days and then turn into Steve's little toy whenever he needed it. But he couldn't do it anymore, which is why he came to Steve's office today, to tell him everything was over, he was only gonna focus on you from now on .

But he had no i dea how he ended up taking Steve's cock ,with his face pushes onto the pillow , "harder daddy..." He begged shamelessly.

"yeahh harder baby boy l give to to ya....but don't you ever come in here again and say you wanna leave me okay?"

"yes yes daddy, don't wanna leave you ah ever, please please cum in me" he begged.

"yeshh you want daddy to cum in your pretty hole ?" Steve said slapping his ass.

"yes please." And steve came at his words.

A while later steve cleaned him up there were both laying in bed inches apart, facing each other.

"i ..I just don't wanna do this to y/n steve.." he tried to start the conversation not knowing how to make steve understand,he needed then both.

"you're not doing anything sweetheart,if i know y/n right and i damn well know her from all the nights I spent in her bed, she would love this arrangement and if she knew it was me you were seeing she'd be more than happy, she wouldn't show it of course, because I'm her enemy and all that but she secretly loves it." Stev said tucking a strand of hair behind Bucky's head.

"really? "

"yes sweetheart." Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky's waist pulling him closer. "You don't have to worry about that, for now all you have to worry about is bringing my favorite cookies tommorow, you gonna do that? "

"yes yes daddy, I'll make you your favourite cookies and being them to you" Bucky nuzzled his face in the crook of Steve's neck, placing his leg over the blonde's torso, getting comfortable and ready for his dreams filled with you and steve .

At the port.

You enter the place you were supposed to "share" with steve mafia, it was a mess really considering . But you showed up regardless, you wanted to deal with it sooner than later.

" there you are y/n " He had a lot of nerve that motherfucking blonde Greek god.

"Rogers ."

"here to check your shipments? Don't worry I've got it doll " he said with that smirk you knew was meant to rile you up.

"I'm only here cuz I don't trust you bring here" you said looking at the shipments.

"right ...how about we discuss this inside, lots of turbulence here." You follow him to one of the warehouses nearby, with your right hand natasha not far behind.

"you know this isn't about the shipments." Steve said as a matter of fact.

"oh then want is it about smartass"

"you want to take control, prove everyone you're better than your father, prove you're father you're better than everyone." He said with a mocking smile.

"oh so it's me and my daddy issues against the world? "

Steve chuckled. "Not exactly sweetheart but I see what you're doing, I used to be like that , but all that went away after my father died, i realised I didn't have to live by his rules anymore."

"didn't come here for therapy."

"not saying that but trust me alright, that's the whole point of the deal, I'd never let you down."

"is that what you say to all your girls befor you disappoint them or do you just pay them."

"i never play for sluts, they just can't seem to leave me, always coming back for more."

"not what I asked-" the blonde stepped closer placing a finger on your lips.

"no but you need to know that, once you get involved with me you can't leave unless I say so" he pressed you against the table firmly, before his hands wandered to your sides , "and i never said you could leave me, so technically you're still mine ." He whispered in your ear.

"stop -" he shut you up with his lips , hands exploring every curve, you reciprocated his actions soon.

"good girl that's what I'm talking about." He said , turning you over and bending you over the table, "such a good little slut, just like your boyfriend."