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nereidprinc3ss · 9 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

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this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s.

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last��night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side.

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him.

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night.

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real.

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word.

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one.

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair.

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question.

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to.

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment.

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth.

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up.

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table.

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you.

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God.

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out.

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you.

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially.

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door.

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal.

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you.

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you.

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong.

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him.

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss.

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine.

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment.

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze.

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound.

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text.

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling.

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will.

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough.

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty.

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly.

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan.

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak.

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you.

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more.

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent.

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him.

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet.

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about.

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers.

Long night, huh? I remember those days.

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all.

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor.

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning.

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation.

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away.

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.”

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him.

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see.

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken.

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away.

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down.

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem.

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve.

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently.

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad.

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what.

But that’s not the topic at hand.

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow.

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response.

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting.

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers.

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back.

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting.

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here.

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough.

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was something he could do to settle you.

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list.

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough.

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice.

He can’t not worry.

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him.

part nine

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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theconstantsidekick · 2 months ago

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Thunderbolts* ft. Static (1) | b.b

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings)

Genre: Such unexpected angst, my god. Such unexpected giggles MY GOD.

Summary: When attending Valentina's gala for the Heroes of NYC, Bucky gets a surprise visit... from his wife—Y/n.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codenamed—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: MINOR SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* (nothing you haven't seen in the trailers), Cursing, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of Smoking (don't do it kids)

a/n: if you're reading this as someone who has read Static Verse before, you are about to lose your mind, babygirl. and if you're new, fret not, i assure you, you'll be having double the fun.

Thunderbolts* ft Static (2) | Series Masterlist | Static: Get, Set, Glitch | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

“Howdy, Congressman.”

The voice cuts through the hub-hub of the party like the sharpest knife in his weapons chest.

He’s been dying to hear it.

He’s dying now that he has.

He’s been desperate to hear it.

He’s bleeding now that he has.

He hated missing it.

He misses hating it now that he has.

“What the hell?” He throws back, gritting his teeth.

What?

Did you think he was gonna act all fucking heartbroken and shit? Tough chance.

Besides, he is surprised by her entrance. And annoyed.

(And something else, festering quietly under the skin. But no, we don’t talk about that.)

But then he turns to face her and suffice to say, no one—and he means no one, in this room, in New York, in the goddamn world—can carry a suit, like Y/n Stark can.

She’s an avalanche in white. Of course she is.

Practically a threat to all mankind.

Fuck.

She’s in some kind of structured suit—clean lines, sharp shoulders, silk ribbons trailing off the sides like they were stitched in just to piss someone off. It shouldn’t work. It does.

The jacket’s buttoned up tight, like armor, but somehow still manages to look… effortless. The pants are wide and loose and glide when she moves, almost like the floor’s giving her a pass. Even her damn shoes are white. Who wears fucking sneakers to a gala?

Y/n Stark, apparently.

He hates how good she looks.

No—scratch that. He hates that she knows it.

She doesn’t dress to impress. She dresses to disarm.

And it’s working.

“Right back atchya, Congressman!” She bites back with a cunning smile and all too easy shrug. Gesturing nonchalantly and vaguely at the entirety of him with the drink in her hand, she adds, “Who put this gem of an outfit together for ya?” Before he can even register her words, let alone respond, she speaks up, “Wait! Let me guess—It was your assistant—what’s her face?” The drink sloshing in her hand at the sudden action.

Fuck if Bucky doesn’t hate going up against her like this.

She plays this game all too fucking well.

Clenching his jaw, he tries to compose himself, tries to swell the storm of petulance and rage rising in him.

“Daisy, right?” She answers her own question. And then she smirks at him, malice clearly etched on every single inch of her face. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she?”

Bucky fails.

“Fuck off!”

His tone is cutting.

Anyone else—anyone at all—would’ve been bleeding.

But this isn’t anyone.

No.

This is Y/n Stark.

This is Static.

She just throws her hands up in mock surrender, a smile playing at her lips. “Did I touch a nerve, Congressman?”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t put a fist through the wall.

Growth, or whatever.

Cocking his neck, frustrated and annoyed beyond mensure, he yells out, “Will you fucking stop that?”

“Stop what, Congressman?”

“That!”

“I’m sorry, Congressman. I’m completely lost. Whatever do you m—?”

“Will you ever stop fucking calling me that?”

“Oh!” Her smile widens and yet she manages somehow to look painfully innocent. “Well…” She takes a sip from her drink, having finally pulled the reaction she was hoping for. “I’ll stop calling you Congressman, when you stop being a Congressman… Congressman.”

His hands clench into fists while his jaw is now working overtime, gritting his teeth. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

It’s a valid question.

Bucky’s meant to be at these stupid galas—especially if it’s some absolute bullshit about commemorating the Heroes of New York but even more so if it’s bullshit being hosted by Valentine Allegra de Fontaine.

But she has no reason to be here—especially now that she’s stepped away from the superhero spotlight and returned to what she’s always been unbeatable at.

Espionage. Strategy. Disappearing before you even knew she was there.

(And sometimes after one has gotten painfully used to her.)

And yet, here she is.

Making a shit night, shittier for Bucky.

They’re standing off to the side of the main hall—tucked just out of the spotlight near a row of marble pillars that frame the edge of the ballroom like silent sentinels. The rest of the gala hums on in the background—clinking glasses, soft chamber music, boots polished enough to blind a man. White walls catch reflections from crystal chandeliers, everything too pristine, too glossy, too staged.

“What the fuck am I doing here?” She asks, very rhetorically. “Your fucking press team called me.”

Well fuck, Bucky thinks to himself.

He almost winces at how dumb the answer makes him sound.

But she’s not done yet. In a much lower volume, she adds, “Apparently, you’ve done a few too many of these things without me on your arm—” she clicks her fingers, “—and oh! The interview before Valentina’s hearing? Yeah, that really didn’t help.” She shakes her head at him. “What the hell were you even thinking, Bucky?” He’s gonna sound fucking stupid when he says this… but, is he losing it or does she sound like she gives a shit? “I thought—Don’t you have a goddamn speechwriter?”

He’s probably just losing it.

Better to fix that before he spirals.

That’s why, standing up straighter, he takes a step closer to her. In a low voice, he speaks steadily with all the cool and collected calm he can find, “So, what? You decided to swing by, throw that Stark name around and get my polls back up again?”

Maybe it’s Bucky’s tone or maybe it’s the use of the ‘Stark’ name veiled as an insult that does it, but done, it is. Her facade falls—or well—her armour cracks a bit.

A sliver of moonlight slips through a window behind her, casting her in its glow.

With a hint of heartbreak in her tone that can be clocked by Bucky and Bucky alone, she says, “It was your press team that called me, Buck.” It makes him feel like absolute fucking shit. She gulps, audibly, slowly to compose herself. “I came here as a favor.”

Look, while he’s come a long way in his century long existence, he still hasn’t mastered the art of healthy communication just yet. Especially not when the person he’s meant to communicate with is—no wait, was—oh fuck it. Whatever.

What he means to say is don’t hold it against him when he retaliates with, “More like holding up your end of the bargain.”

Just like that, the moonlight is devoured by the clouded sky.

“Bullshit!” She counters, loud and raging. “You have not even pretended to hold up your end, so this a fucking favor and you know it!”

Before Bucky can retort, before he can bite back with a defense that would fall completely flat in front of her, he hears hushed whispers from across the room.

A lady in red pointing at Y/n with a look of pure wonder as she tells her date, “Is that? Y/n Stark?”

He knows there will be more people who’ll follow suit. He knows that their time to keep hurling verbal grenades at each other has come to a halt for now.

Buttoning his blazer, he easily takes a step towards her. With a small smile that he knows she can clock as being purely performative, he leans in. His hand finds her waist, his cheek rests on her temple.

They’ve done this before. The charade. The proximity. The whispered nothings that look like devotion from a distance.

But every single time it knocks the air out of him.

She fits against him like muscle memory. Like gravity. Like the ache he never truly got over.

The perfume is familiar—light, cool, infuriatingly subtle. Her body is stiff under his hand, but not enough to give them away. Not enough to stop his mind from wandering.

She plays her part like a pro. But he misses her like a fucking idiot.

Every. Single. Time.

He swallows hard and leans in, his lips brushing just close enough to her ear to sell the image. His voice is steady, dry, deadpan, “Can we please just get this over with?”

She pulls back just enough to look at him—not enough to ruin the photo-op, of course. “Yeah.” A beat. “Let’s go pretend like we’re happy…”

He hears it. That little shift in her tone. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough to catch on his ribs like a splinter.

He glances at her. Fast. Reflex.

Eyes sharp. Expression unreadable. Almost too unreadable.

But her eyes—there’s something there. A crack in the glass. Not big. Not loud. But there.

Probably nothing.

Probably just him being pathetic again.

He exhales through his nose, tightens the grip on his own mask, and lets it all slide off his face.

Smile. Nod. Showtime.

Together, they walk into the ballroom like they haven’t been throwing knives at each other for the last ten minutes.

The room is buzzing—laughing, clinking, performing. Senators, lobbyists, old money in new packaging. All of them oozing self-importance and scotch.

And Bucky? He plays the part.

Firm handshake. Steel spine. Smile that doesn't touch his eyes.

He lets Y/n lead the charm offensive—she’s better at it. Too good, honestly. Laughing at someone’s joke like it didn’t make her soul rot. Touching his arm like she doesn’t want to snap it off. Whispering little things in his ear—observations, names, barbs, whatever she thinks will keep them looking like a unit.

To everyone else, it probably looks like flirting. Like chemistry.

To him? It’s muscle memory.

Her voice keeps brushing past his ear and every goddamn time it happens, something tightens in his chest.

He keeps one hand at the small of her back. It’s for show. That’s all it is.

But he can feel her pulse.

Quick. A little too quick.

Might be nothing.

Might be everything.

But he’s not stupid enough to ask.

He doesn’t really get a chance to, either.

“Mrs. Congressman! So good to see you.”

And just like that, her smile’s gone.

They both turn to face the voice. Of course it’s Valentina. Smug. Dressed like she owns the place. Considering it is her event…

Y/n doesn’t even blink. “Don’t fucking call me that, Valentina.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t need to.

Valentina fake-winces like someone just stepped on her designer shoes. “Alright, alright. Then… how about Mrs. Barnes?”

Not a jab. Just bait.

Still, it lands.

Bucky feels the hit in his chest first. Then in his hand—the metal one—curling into a fist before he even realizes it.

Y/n doesn’t move. Doesn’t react. Not even a twitch.

He hates how good she is at this.

Valentina’s still grinning. “Oh, wait! That doesn’t work either, does it?” Still going. “If I’m right—and I usually am—you never actually changed your last name after the two of you…” She wiggles her damn eyebrows. “Tied the knot.”

Bucky exhales through his nose. Doesn’t look at Y/n. Doesn’t have to. He already knows what kind of damage Valentina’s trying to do.

And Y/n?

She just stands there like a statue that could break your jaw.

“I’m the COO of Stark Industries,” she says flatly. “I own half of it.” Then she adds, like it’s just an afterthought—but it’s not. Not even close. “Oh—and my brother saved the multiverse. Died doing it. So forgive me if changing my name felt... disrespectful.”

Beat.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not Mrs. Barnes.”

She says it like a fact. Like a closing argument.

Bucky can’t fucking breathe.

Because she meant it.

Not as a comeback. Not as a performance. Just—meant it.

And that’s what guts him.

He doesn’t know why she said it. Doesn’t know what the hell’s going on in her head these days—hasn’t for a while now—but he knows her well enough to know that wasn’t for the cameras.

Wasn’t for Valentina.

Wasn’t for anyone but her.

She said it like it was the sky being blue. Like it was gravity. Like it was just true.

And maybe that’s what really screws with him.

Because if it’s still true for her… what the hell does that mean for him?

What does it mean for this?

He keeps staring, stuck somewhere between a punch to the gut and a prayer.

But Valentina has no regard for Bucky’s silent spiral, so with absolute ignorance, she counters with, “Alright, alright.” A smile plays at her lips as she puts on a very obvious show of innocence. “I get it,” she says then. “There’s a legacy attached to that name. One you want to honor by carrying it with yourself.” She shrugs, “I understand.”

“You do?” Y/n throws back, nonchalant yet clearly not buying any of the shit that she’s selling.

Valentina just waves her hand, “Of course, I do!” She gestures around the room, at the exhibit, “That’s what this event is all about! The legacy of the Avengers.”

“Huh,” Y/n remarks. She turns to Bucky then, “I thought it was about commoditizing all the shit our teammates went through.”

“Ah! That is exactly what I thought you would think,” Valentina chirps, all teeth and smug delight, “which is why I thought you wouldn’t, you know?”

“Show up?” Y/n offers, one brow raised.

Valentina nods, like she’s just won a game no one else was playing. “Exactly.”

Y/n doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, you miscalculated—I go where he goes.” She nods toward Bucky, tone sharp enough to draw blood.

And yeah—Bucky feels that one too.

Jesus. Can this night back the fuck off?

He’s barely recovered from the Mrs. Barnes gut punch, and now she’s throwing that out like it’s nothing? Like it doesn’t mean everything?

The hell is he supposed to do with that?

(Aside from standing here like a decorative husband prop and pretending his pulse hasn’t been tap-dancing for ten straight minutes.)

“That’s not really true, though, is it?” Valentina replies, her voice all innocence and arsenic. “I haven’t really seen you around at the last couple of events.”

Y/n makes a face—one of those ‘are you fucking serious’ looks that Bucky’s missed more than he cares to admit. “It was obviously metaphorical, Valentina. This isn’t the 1950s. I have a fucking day job.”

Bucky snorts before he can help it. Just a little one.

Valentina’s eyes flick to him.

Bucky shrugs, half a step past nonchalant. “What? It was funny,” he says, deadpan. “Sue me… once you’re done with those damn impeachment hearings.”

Y/n sips her drink without looking at him. But he knows she’s trying not to laugh.

Valentina’s smile twitches—tightens. “That was hilarious, yeah. Absolute riot!” she snaps, all sugar and venom, smile stretched so thin it’s practically translucent.

Bucky just gives her the smallest smirk. It’s not much. Barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth. But it feels good. Petty, maybe. Worth it? Fuck yeah.

She notices, of course. Valentina notices everything. Especially things she can’t control.

“I know that you’re really batting for me to get impeached,” she says, slowly now—careful, loaded—“based on the misinformation that’s been spread about me.” Here it comes.

“But I would think you, Congressman Barnes,” she presses, too sweet, too close, “should know better than anyone how easy it is to sway public opinion. Make them see you as a hero.”

And—yeah. That one fucking lands.

No time to recoil. No air to breathe through it.

She leans in like she’s offering a goddamn olive branch. One hand reaches out, faux-affectionate, resting lightly on his arm. “Besides, I am on your side!”

Bucky blinks. “On my side?”

“Yeah,” she hums. “Oh? You haven’t heard?” Her eyes scan the room like she’s about to drop state secrets—like this is some casual little gossip sesh between friends. Then she drops her voice, almost conspiratorial. “There’s this horrible, terrible, no-good rumor going around the office... says that Mrs. Barnes has been taking these ‘night shifts’ that no government organization or agency seems to know about...”

By the time she’s finished, her eyes are on Y/n, locked and loaded with a glint that makes something primal crack down Bucky’s spine.

And then—it’s instant.

The temperature in his skull plummets. His vision narrows.

Bucky sees red.

He’s leaning in before he even knows he’s doing it, voice low and sharp as broken glass. “Are you fucking threatening my wife?”

The words slice through the air, hard enough to halt conversation at a few nearby tables.

Valentina doesn’t even blink. She just smiles. Calm as ever. “Of course not, Congressman!” she says, voice raised just enough to draw more eyes. “No! No.” She gives a theatrical little shake of her head, lips curled like he’s the one throwing a tantrum in public. Then, lower: “If anything, it looks like you’re the one threatening me.”

And that’s when he feels it—Y/n’s hand, gentle but firm, pulling him back.

He doesn’t resist. Not really. He lets her tug him half a step behind her like a leash on a short fuse. But his eyes? They don’t leave Valentina. Not for a fucking second.

“I was just informing,” Valentina insists, turning back to the crowd like she’s clarifying something for the record. “Since we were already on the subject of Mrs. Barnes’ job, or whatnot…” She waves her fingers vaguely.

And then, like it’s the punchline she’s been saving for the end: “But I can’t blame you. Once a guard dog, always a guard dog, I suppose.”

Bucky doesn’t react.

He doesn’t need to.

Because beside him, Y/n lets out a chuckle. Hollow. Dangerous. The kind that makes people shift in their seats without realizing why.

He knows that laugh. He’s seen it in rooms right before shit exploded—literally and metaphorically.

And yeah.

Valentina’s about to regret everything.

Y/n turns toward her slowly, whiskey still in hand, wearing a smile so wide and condescending it practically has teeth. “You know, Val,” she starts, voice dripping with mock-sympathy, “there’s a reason you’re being investigated.” Valentina’s expression doesn’t change. But Bucky catches it. The flicker. The way her fingers twitch slightly at her side. “There’s a reason you had to hire Shadow Ops to sweep the Chimera Protocol logs,” Y/n continues. One step forward. “A reason you buried Red Sigil, scrubbed Orchis, torched Project Sentry, wiped Black Box, so on and so forth.” She almost sounds bored while Bucky watches the blood metaphorically drain from Valentina’s ego.

Y/n tilts her head like she’s about to offer a recipe for snickerdoodles. “It’s ‘cause you’re fucking sloppy.”

And shit, Bucky could kiss her.

(He won’t. Can’t. Not here. Not now. Not anymore.)

“But I’m not,” Y/n finishes, all sweetness and silence.

Then she shrugs, easy as anything, like she’s not holding an arsenal behind her eyes. “Which is why all you’ve got on me are rumors.”

Valentina tries to speak. Doesn’t manage it.

Y/n takes another lazy step back, looping her arm through Bucky’s without asking. The contact is light. Y/nual.

And it wrecks him.

She doesn’t look at him when she speaks next, but the way she says it—Bucky feels it like a goddamn vow. “So if you wanna come for me,” Y/n says, “I suggest you come out swinging as hard as you possibly fucking can.” Her hand tightens slightly around his arm. “However…” she says, tone flipping like a switchblade, “if you insult my husband ever again…” Another step closer, this one almost gentle. “I assure you, the impeachment will be the least of your worries.”

Valentina snorts, a little too loud, a little too sharp—like she knows she’s lost this round but refuses to leave without throwing one last grenade over her shoulder. “I am sensing a little hostility here,” she says. “Does it—” she feignes surprise. “It doesn’t have anything to do with what happened in Marrakech, does it?”

She says it like it just occurred to her. Like the memory drifted lazily into her skull without warning.

Like it isn’t loaded.

Like it isn’t lethal.

Like it hasn’t ripped both of them apart at the seams and left the pieces rearranged, barely functioning.

Bucky freezes. Just a second.

Just enough.

His heart doesn't even race—because it stops.

He can feel the temperature drop behind his ribs, feel the way every muscle in his body winds tight and ready. The way his jaw locks down so hard he might crack a molar. He doesn't need to look at Y/n to know she feels it too. That kind of grief—that kind of ruin—settles into your bones like rot.

And Valentina tosses it out like she’s asking if they remember a bad vacation.

Like it wasn’t a before-and-after line in their lives.

Like it didn’t hollow them both out in ways neither one has figured out how to name.

And the way she says it—so casually, so deliberately careless—it doesn’t just sting.

It makes something ancient in Bucky snap.

“Because if it is,” Valentina carries on, entirely unfazed by the silence now thunderclapping between them, “allow me to apologise!” Her hands press to her chest like she’s about to burst into a musical number. “It must’ve been horrible for the two of you—and the fact that you were able to survive something like that?” A theatrical gasp. “Honestly, it’s a testament to your relationship!”

She’s smiling.

Smiling like it’s all just gossip and politics and pageantry.

Like she didn’t just put her hands around something sacred and squeeze.

“But I really am so sorry for—“

Bucky doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t growl. Doesn’t bark.

He speaks, low and even, “Di' un'altra parola e ti taglierò la gola lì dove ti trovi.” You say another word and I’ll slit your throat where you stand. His voice doesn’t shake. His eyes don’t blink.

He means it.

Every syllable is soaked in venom and every syllable is the truth.

“Congressman or not,” he adds, stepping in just enough to make it felt, “I still am the Winter Soldier.”

And finally—finally—Valentina shuts the fuck up.

For the first time tonight, she looks like she doesn’t know what to say.

Not scared. Not shaken. Just… stalling. Like her brain’s buffering.

Because maybe she forgot for a second that behind the polished suits and press-friendly smiles, Bucky Barnes is still someone who’s buried men for far, far less.

Y/n is the one to break the silence. “Annndd, I think we’re done here,” she says lightly, almost chipper—like they didn’t just walk through hell in white sneakers and golden cufflinks.

She’s already pulling on Bucky’s arm, and he doesn’t fight it.

Doesn’t even hesitate.

It’s too easy, the way he lets her lead him out. Like muscle memory. Like safety. Like home.

“I’d say we’ll see you around,” Y/n calls over her shoulder, voice sharp and bright like broken glass, “but I really don’t think you want that… so. Later!”

Bucky doesn’t look back.

Because if he does, he might actually make good on that threat.

And right now, the only thing keeping him from becoming someone he swore he wouldn’t be again… is the woman walking next to him.

Still close. Still there.

Still his.

Even if it hurts like hell.

Once they reach a quiet corner—up the stairs, onto a mezzanine that somehow feels just slightly detached from the glittering absurdity of the party below—Bucky finally breathes.

He steps back, lets the railing press into his spine. From here, the chandelier is almost at eye level. Y/n faces him, stairs flanking her, a hallway looming behind. She lets go of his arm, and he feels it—like a sudden drop in pressure, like the warmth of her hand had been the only thing keeping him upright.

“That was intense,” she says, trying to make light of it, like it wasn’t anything. Like she didn’t feel it too.

The ghost of her fingers lingers on his arm, just phantom heat now, and the sudden absence pisses him off more than it should.

“What was I supposed to do?” The words come out harsh. Too loud in the empty space. “Just fucking take it?”

She throws her hands up in mock surrender, easy, casual, like she’s not remotely afraid of him—which, of course, she isn’t. Hasn’t been since the time she dropped a building on him. “Hey, I didn’t say it was unprovoked… just that it was intense.”

Bucky starts pacing. He doesn’t mean to. It just happens. That old feeling crawls up his spine again—too many eyes, too many ears, too much to hold in his chest all at once.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, flexing his fingers like it might work the anger out through his joints, “she has a special skill set for pissing me off.”

Y/n smiles—like she always does when she knows she shouldn’t. “Yeah, trust me, I could tell.”

He stops. There’s a silence now, not awkward, but thick. He can feel her thinking. Y/n never just lets a moment pass. She always gets there, eventually. Some part of him itches at the weight in her eyes. “What is it?” he asks, his voice low, more tense than he intended.

She shakes her head too fast, the kind of motion that means liar. “Nothing.”

He narrows his eyes. “Just say it.”

She pauses, breathes in like she’s bracing herself. He knows that inhale. It’s the same one she used to take before dropping some deep truth over cold pizza in bed. The same one from the morning she left.

“You—you called yourself—the—the Winter Soldier.”

Bucky tilts his head. “Yes… And?”

There’s something in the way her jaw tenses that puts him on edge.

“Haven’t heard you do that in a while.”

His lips pull into a smile, the kind that feels like cracked porcelain—brittle and mean. He’s not pacing anymore. He’s rooted. “Probably ‘cause you haven’t exactly been around in a while.”

It lands. He sees it land. Her eyes flinch like he smacked her.

She throws the line back like a boomerang. “Wonder why, when you’re such a peach!”

He barks out a laugh. “As if you’re getting awards for your charming personality.”

The silence now is different—volatile. Like lightning before the crack.

She speaks first. “So you do it often, then?”

“Do what?”

“Call yourself that—call yourself the Winter Soldier?”

The question pins him, unexpected in how deeply it cuts. It shouldn’t. It’s a name. A code. A past. A brand.

He hesitates. Feels that same twist in his gut he gets every time he sees the headlines, the merchandise, the fanboys with metal arm tattoos. “I… I guess? It did well in focus-groups.” He stands straighter, defensive now, posturing. “People think The Winter Soldier is cool… People like it.”

Y/n looks away, and he sees it—her face fractures. Not in a dramatic way, not even fully visible. But it’s there. A crack in the armor only he knows how to spot. “Yeah…” she says, soft, like her ribs hurt. “That’s probably ‘cause people are stupid.”

And what the fucking hell does that mean?

He bites out the words before he can stop himself. “Because they like me?”

She snaps to attention, eyes wide. “Seriously? Come on, Jam—” She stops herself. Not out of habit. She chooses to. His name dies in her throat and she scrubs her hands down her face. “That—that’s not what I meant.” She says it too fast. Like she’s trying to catch the words before they settle.

Oh.

Bucky watches her scrub a hand down her face, all nerves and frustration, and something clenches in his chest. Not sharp. Just... tight.

She almost called him—

Almost.

But she didn’t.

He doesn’t say anything. Just nods, like, Okay. Sure.

They’re not fighting now. Not really.

That counts for something.

Right?

Fuck know.

Then she exhales like she’s got smoke to blow out. “I need a drink.” She turns to go—left.

He snorts, low. “Uh huh,” Bucky mutters, leaning back against the railing like he’s clocking out of a shift.

She halts. Rigid. Whips around. “What?”

He raises a brow. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Just fucking say it.”

Fine.

“The bar’s to your right.”

She looks. Of course it is.

Turns back slow, eyes narrowed. “I was gonna pee first.”

He points past her without even looking. “Restrooms are right behind you.”

She glances over her shoulder. Big neon sign flashing like it’s mocking her.

Back to him. “I was… taking the scenic route.”

He nods, solemn. “You hate direct paths. Always have.”

“I wanted to stay away from your stupid face for as long as possible.”

“You hate my face too. Always have.”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.”

She glares. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“What?”

He shrugs, lazy. “Didn’t say anything.”

“WHAT?”

Still shrugging. “Still nothing.”

“Just say it, Barnes.”

He bites down on a grin. “You were gonna get a drink.”

“I was gonna get a drink,” she says, like if she says it hard enough it becomes true.

He nods again. “Totally.”

And now it’s on.

The standoff.

The old game.

They don’t move.

Don’t blink.

Until—

“And smoke a fucking cigarette!” she snaps, like it’s been clawing at her throat. “There! Happy?”

He tries not to smile. Fails. “Didn’t even ask. You offered that up all on your own.”

She jabs a finger at him like she’d love to stick it between his ribs. “It is my life, okay? We might still technically be married, but we are separated. You don’t get to police my goddamn lungs.”

He lifts both hands. Peace sign, surrender, whatever works. “Wasn’t gonna.”

She storms off, full of dramatic exit energy—

—only to spin right back.

“And you definitely don’t get to morally judge my cigarette, either!”

His smile widens, lazy and pleased. “Didn’t even raise an eyebrow.”

“You’re an asshole.”

That makes him laugh. Full-bodied and stupid and real.

She turns to go again—

“Y/n,” he calls out, smooth, soft. Maybe it’s the old habit slipping in or maybe he’s too drunk on his little victory.

She halts instantly. “What?!”

He points, deadpan. “The smoking area is behind the bar. To your right.”

“Motherfucking asshole!” She mutters under her breath knowing full well that he can hear her. She stalks off then, middle finger half-raised. “I fucking hate you!”

“Right back atchya, babygirl!”

He watches her go, still chuckling like an idiot.

Still bleeding under it all.

But for a second, it almost feels normal.

Read the next part here. Find the Static Verse Masterlist here.

be honest, i blew your mind, right? that was crazy, right? come on! it was. you gotta admit it.

Just fyi, y’all didn’t miss like a previous instillment or anything. I just did a time skip, hence the marriage and subsequent separation. Love you very much much xoxo

286 notes · View notes

shalfeis · 5 months ago

Text

a/n: hello hello! I had an idea in my head for a long time, so I decided to write this fanfic. I hope you enjoy it. (I'm sorry for possible mistakes since English isn't my native language, also it can be a little ooc Phainon).

Phainon.

Just that name makes you roll your eyes and make a displeased face. And when your friends and acquaintances start admiring him, you feel like throwing up.

Everyone loved this chrysos heir, but you were disgusted by him. He seemed to you to be too kind, too good for that to be true.

You don't understand why everyone has such high hopes for him. "He is our savior!", "Glory to Kefal, Lord Phainon has arrived! We are saved!", "We have nothing to worry about when Lord Phainon is around" and so on. Ugh.

The white-haired always strives to protect everyone he can. And what follows from this? That's right, he doesn't think about himself at all, as a result of which he gets injured and ends up in the hospital where you work. That's definitely the "savior".

You magically aren't around at times like this. Fortunately, your colleague and healer did not ask unnecessary questions and silently treated Phainon every time.

Sometimes, however, luck turned away from you, and you had to treat him through unwillingness. Either you were in an uncomfortable deathly silence, he was trying to start a conversation, but you showed by your whole appearance that you did not want to communicate with him. Or the treatment was accompanied by harsh and sarcastic comments on your part.

He always looked at you with such an uncomprehending and sincere look that you almost felt bad and ashamed of your behavior. Almost.

You try your best to avoid him and show that you hate him. Yes, you definitely hate Phainon.

Phainon is a man who strives to protect everyone. He sincerely tries to help people and protect them from suffering, which makes people reach out to him. He often hears words of gratitude addressed to him, awe and all that sort of thing, he responds to all this with a polite smile.

So why do you treat him completely differently?

He doesn't understand why you're so cold and harsh with him. Why are you avoiding him? Did he offend you in some way?

The Chrysos heir has tried to talk to you, to find out what he did wrong, countless times, but each time he was met with a harsh refusal. He sometimes even got injured on purpose just to get to your appointment, but in most cases he was met and treated by your colleague.

Phainon tried to ask your colleagues, but all he got in response was something vague. It seems like you're only acting like this with him.

The white-haired does not understand how he could have earned your hatred. He's upset that you don't even want to look at him.

He flatters himself with the hope that one day you will have a heart-to-heart talk, and he will find out what exactly is wrong with you. Maybe if he comes a little more often than usual and behaves a little more stubbornly, will you open your heart to him?

Anyway, just know that he won't let anyone hurt you. The very thought of you being hurt in any way leaves an unpleasant taste on his tongue and makes his stomach twist uncomfortably. He'll be there if you need help.

It's been a while since his last visit to the hospital, and you haven't seen much of him. You have already decided that the gods have taken pity on you and that he will finally no longer appear in your life, but it seems that you were overjoyed too soon.

Soon he began to appear in the hospital twice as often. And even if he wasn't injured, he still came. There is always a lot of work in a place like a hospital, so he extended his helping hand and helped in every possible way. Which meant that you were seeing each other much more than usual.

He became more persistent. Even if he wasn't trying to get you to talk, it was evident in his behavior and actions.

Even if you try to avoid his help when you're carrying something heavy, such as a stack of documents or a box of scrolls or medicines, he silently takes it from you and walks to the destination. No matter how much you said you could carry it yourself and you didn't need help, he just waved it off and continued doing what he was doing with a warm smile.

Now you didn't even have a chance that you could avoid him. He was almost literally everywhere. You're already seething with anger because your colleagues have decided that it would be ideal to talk all your ears about which Phainon is perfect.

But if you hate him so much, why did you stop pushing him away after a while when he gives you a helping hand? Let him carry heavy things if he wants to, it's better for me. You tried to convince yourself of that.

And no, the heartbeat quickened not from embarrassment when he lightly touched your hand with the pads of his fingers or showed such attention and care, but from disgust at how persistent and stubborn he was.

You still refused to talk to him, but you stopped pushing his help away. This small progress made Phainon incredibly happy. Maybe if he keeps it up, you'll open up.

He started giving you little trinkets that reminded him of you. And oh, how happy he was when he saw that you were wearing one of the necklaces he gave you.

His companions noticed his strange behavior and started teasing him about it, but he didn't seem to care. All that mattered to him right now was your trust. And he will do everything to preserve the fragile bond that has begun to form between you.

You really hate Phainon. You're absolutely sure of that. So why did you rush to shield him from the impact with your body? Why did you so desperately want to protect someone you also desperately hated?

Due to the heavy blow and blood loss, your vision started to darken. Your legs stopped holding you upright, causing you to collapse to the ground. Somewhere in the distance, a desperate and pain-filled scream could be heard. For some reason you were sure it was him, Phainon.

Before the darkness swallowed your consciousness, you felt someone gently hugging you to him and desperately begging you not to fall asleep. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to get some rest now.

Phainon's heart almost stopped when he saw you taking the blow that was meant for him. He didn't waste a second dealing with the remaining enemies and quickly ran towards you.

He gently picked you up and tried to bring you to your senses. He asked you so desperately and pitifully to stay conscious. He didn't care how he looked from the outside. You. That was his priority.

Therefore, when he realized that you were about to fall into the impatient hands of Thanatos, he went to your hospital with all his might. He prayed to everyone he could for you to survive. He didn't want to lose those he cared about again.

You wouldn't be in such a deplorable situation if you hadn't gone with some colleagues to help him and other soldiers.

Because of him, you've been in a deep coma for several days now. This fact alone aggravated his emotional state. He felt guilty about what had happened.

Phainon came every day and stayed in the room as long as he could, waiting for you to wake up. The silence in the room was suffocating. He still had so much to tell you, so much to do for you.

Your colleagues had to force him out of your room. They already allowed him to stay there longer than he was supposed to, due to the fact that he was a recognized hero of Okhema.

The other Chrysos Heirs couldn't cheer up Phainon, no matter what efforts they made. Neither Tribios' support, nor Mydei's peculiar encouragement, nothing. They decided to relieve him of most of his work so that he could spend more time with you. All they could do was hope that you would get out of Thanatos' hands after all.

When you finally woke up, it was a big day. Phainon couldn't hold back the storm of feelings that arose, and pressed his lips to yours. It was a long, sensual kiss that expressed all his longing for you and those unspoken feelings. That kiss contained all that immense and tender love for you.

You wanted to pull away, but for some reason your body refused to do it. You accepted defeat and returned the kiss. It seemed like forever before he pulled away from your lips and wrapped you in a warm and strong hug, not so much to hurt, but strong enough to show how bad it was for him without you.

"I thought I'd lost you. Thanks to Kefal, you're awake," there were cracks in his voice. His condition made you feel guilty for putting yourself in mortal danger.

"I'm sorry," you were tempted to say something sarcastic, but you felt that now was not the time for that.

He squeezed you a little tighter in his arms, nuzzling into your neck. Be sure that nothing like this will happen again, he will not allow this incident to happen again.

Yes, you really hate Phainon, just as much as you love him. Although maybe you didn't hate him from the very beginning, you just refused to accept it.

#phainon x you #phainon x reader #phainon hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr

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wholoveseggs · 3 months ago

Text

Drops of Affection {Part Two}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Two

{Elijah Mikaelson x Klaus Mikaelson x f!reader} Elijah wants more. Klaus is unraveling. Someone is going to get hurt... and this time, it might be everyone.

♡♡ Part two of the request for the lovely @originals23!! I'm sorry babes... but this one goes off the rails a bit... ~xo ♡♡

5.8k words - Warnings: smuttt {with Elijah♡}, angst, gossip, more jealousy, unresolved feelings, love triangle, Kol and Rebekah grab some popcorn, brother brawl, toxic dynamics, Klaus has a valid meltdown, everyone needs therapy, iced coffees, wet clothes and lots of rain...

{Part One}

Kol heard the front doors open before he saw him.

The footsteps were familiar. Confident, cocky, and just a little too loud. Kol didn’t look up from where he was sprawled on the couch with his phone until Klaus sauntered into view.

“Morning, sunshine,” Kol said, eyes flicking lazily over his brother. “You look... pleased with yourself. Did you murder someone or just get laid?”

Klaus grinned, but didn't respond. Instead, he wandered to the bar and poured himself a drink.

Kol waited a beat. When the silence stretched, he sighed. "Don't tell me you were with her."

"And if I was?" Klaus asked, raising the glass to his lips.

Kol scowled, tossing his phone aside. "You know how Elijah feels about her."

"Which is precisely why it's fun," Klaus replied, shrugging. "She's far too smart to ever fall for our noble brother's charms."

"But not for yours?" Kol snorted.

Klaus took a long sip of his drink, ignoring the question. "Speaking of Elijah, do you know where he's gone off to? He hasn't returned my calls." Klaus kept his tone light, but there was something sharp lurking in his smile.

"He's somewhere upstairs," Kol said, gesturing vaguely.

Klaus' smile widened and he put his drink down, turning on his heel.

"Where are you going?" Kol called after him.

"To find our dear brother, of course," Klaus called back, practically skipping up the stairs before Kol could object.

Kol stayed where he was, staring after him with a grimace. “Well,” he muttered to no one, “this should be catastrophic...”

A few minutes later, the front doors opened again, but far quieter, more composed steps followed. Rebekah stepped in, heels clicking softly against the stone, sunglasses perched on her head and a tray of iced coffees in hand.

"Bex, darling. I think we might be in for a bit of a show." Kol sat up as his sister made her way across the room.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, dropping her purse onto the coffee table.

"Nik was with that witch this morning, and-"

"Oh, don't start," Rebekah groaned, handing him one of the coffees. "Please don't tell me they are fighting over a girl again," she said, dropping down onto the sofa.

Kol grinned and shrugged, taking a long sip. "Wait- listen ..."

Rebekah nodded and focused her hearing, following her brother's lead. She could hear Elijah's voice, his perfectly calm and measured tone, then Klaus' reply, harsh and mocking, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying.

Until she could.

“Eliijaahh, don't be like that,” Klaus’s voice carried through the compound, lazy and bright like he wasn’t about to start a fight, like he hadn't been waiting all morning. "I've just returned from visiting a mutual friend of ours. What a beautiful sight she is."

There was a pause.

"Do you need to say something, Niklaus?" Elijah's voice cut through the air like a whip.

Kol and Rebekah shared a glance, sipping their drinks in unison.

"Oh, come on, Elijah. Don't pretend like you don't care. I know you have a certain fondness for her. I just wanted to let you know I was with her last night." Klaus sounded positively gleeful, "I think it's important we stay open and honest about our encounters with the lovely Y/N."

"Enough, Niklaus," Elijah sighed, exasperated with the conversation before it had even begun. "Why must you go out of your way to try and anger me?"

Klaus laughed. "Maybe I enjoy seeing your feathers ruffled."

"Perhaps you should focus more on your own affairs rather than mine." Elijah snapped, and Rebekah reached out to stop Kol from slurping so she could hear better.

"My affairs?" Klaus spat. "Your affair, brother, is my affair. I don't appreciate you interfering with the things that belong to me."

"She doesn't belong to either of us. In fact...she is far too good for either of us, yet she is somehow content to share her bed with us both," Elijah said, his tone deceptively calm, like he was stating facts that had nothing to do with him at all.

Kol and Rebekah glanced at each other, and Kol let out a low, delighted whistle.

"I'd watch myself, brother, if I were you. I know you're not accustomed to being bested, but I think it's quite clear she enjoys spending time with me more." Klaus' tone was light and teasing, and Rebekah could picture exactly what sort of vicious smirk was dancing on his lips.

"Is that so?" Elijah paused, the silence crackling with tension.

“She chose to go out with me last night. And oh, my dear brother-," Klaus’s voice dropped to something silkier, filthier. “You know how she gets, don’t you? Wild and wanting... I can still feel where her nails scratched down my back. If you could’ve seen the way she looked at me, the way she rode my-"

"Niklaus.” Elijah’s voice was sharp and loud this time, and Kol and Rebekah heard the unmistakable sound of his hands slamming down on a desk, the wood cracking slightly. "I will not listen to you talk about her in such a disgusting manner. Do you have any respect-"

Kol snorted. "He’s so pissed."

Rebekah shot him a glare, waving for him to be quiet, not wanting to miss a single word.

"-and if you had an ounce of respect for her, or for me, you would keep your filthy mouth shut. Do not dare speak to me about her like that ever again."

Kol and Rebekah listened closely, holding their breath.

"So touchy," Klaus murmured, his voice practically dripping with satisfaction. "I just thought you’d be interested in knowing what she likes..."

There was a shuffling sound, a chair scraping, a loud laugh from Klaus, a slammed door…And then suddenly Elijah was coming down the stairs into the courtyard, pulling on his coat before he even reached the bottom step.

Kol and Rebekah sat stiffly as he stalked through the room, his jaw tight, shoulders rigid, eyes fixed on the door ahead. He barely spared them a glance.

"Oh, don’t be like that, brother!" Klaus called, coming down the stairs a few seconds later. “It was your idea, remember? You came to me like some noble idiot, saying, ‘I’d rather be honest than have a misunderstanding...’ What was it again? ‘Given how you tend to behave when you’re uninformed about the matters of others’?” He mimicked Elijah’s voice with smug theatricality.

Elijah didn’t respond. He simply walked out, the front gate swinging shut behind him with a heavy clang. Klaus laughed, loud and satisfied, like he had just won a battle, as Kol and Rebekah looked at each other in horrified amusement.

A knock came in the afternoon, sharp and deliberate against the steady thrum of rain. You paused, halfway through pouring hot water into your teacup, and frowned. The storm had rolled in fast, all heavy clouds and wind and anger. No one sensible would be out in it...especially not unannounced. But there he was, umbrella in hand and fine wool jacket perfectly dry, the picture of composure and manners.

“Elijah.” You blinked. “This is.. a surprise.”

“I thought I’d come by for my book,” he said calmly, though there was something tight in the way he held his jaw. “The one I lent you last month,"

You raised a brow. "You said I could bring it when we meet for drinks tonight, did you forget we were seeing each other later?"

You watched him carefully, noticing the subtle signs of strain. The slightly crooked knot of his tie. The faint redness at the corners of his eyes. Elijah’s expression didn’t flicker, but there was a pause. Barely a beat. It said everything.

“I had the time,” he said finally.

You considered him, and the silence stretched, filled with the soft patter of the rain against the pavement. Then, slowly, you stepped back, letting the door swing wide.

"Come inside, have some tea," you said, and the relief that crossed his face was almost imperceptible.

He followed you in. His umbrella clicked closed, and you took it from his hands, drying it with your magic and hanging it neatly in the closet. He was watching you with the slightest hint of amusement, and you raised an eyebrow.

"What is it?"

"Wish I could do that," he said, slipping out of his jacket and hanging it up without your prompting.

You chuckled, knowing how he was about any kind of mess or disorder.

You poured the tea in silence, the warmth of it curling through the room like a spell. Elijah had seated himself on the edge of the sofa, back straight, hands folded, the very picture of polite detachment. But his eyes tracked you everywhere you moved, subtle and steady. Like you were something he was trying not to need.

You handed him a cup without a word. He took it with a quiet thanks, his fingers brushing yours for a beat longer than necessary. You settled into the armchair across from him, tucking your legs beneath you.

For a while, you just drank.

It should’ve felt peaceful.

But Elijah’s gaze kept drifting over your neck and down to your collarbone, where visible skin was barred by the soft, off-the-shoulder sweater you wore. To the fading marks Klaus had left the night before.

When Elijah did finally speak, his words were carefully chosen. "I heard that my brother was here last night," he said, a note of forced nonchalance in his voice.

"He was,” You said, keeping your expression neutral.

His jaw flexed. “Forgive me. It’s just... difficult not to notice.”

"If it bothers you, then perhaps we shouldn't do this anymore," you said.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Drink together. Talk. Borrow each other's things. Fuck like animals." You tilted your head, holding his gaze. "Take your pick."

Elijah looked down, studying his hands. “I don't consider the sex we have to be animalistic.” He looked up at you from under his brow, a crooked smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Though I'm sure it could be, if you wished.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't help the heat that rose in your cheeks. It was so easy to believe him when he spoke like that, low and earnest and gentle, and you wondered if anyone had ever resisted the lure of those soft dark eyes and warm words.

"Don't try and hide your jealousy with humor, Elijah," you said, sipping your tea.

You tried to look away, to break the eye contact before it unraveled you, but he didn’t let you. Elijah’s gaze held yours, steady and unreadable, until it became something unbearable.

“I didn’t come here to argue,” he said quietly, setting his untouched tea on the table. “But I won’t pretend it doesn’t affect me.”

"I thought you were above conventional human relationships, above monogamy," you said, watching him over the rim of your cup.

Elijah tilted his head, unable to say it first, to ask the unspoken question that was hovering between you. The unfortunate reality was that you were both too similar in that regard, too afraid to be the vulnerable one. Too prideful.

“I never promised you exclusivity,” you continued, suddenly standing, needing distance. “And you are free to fuck whoever you please."

Elijah frowned, his dark eyes following you as you walked toward the window. You watched the rain come down, harder now. It pounded against the glass like it was trying to get in. You could see him in the reflection, walking up behind you.

His warm hands wrapped around your waist, gently pulling you away from the cold, wet window. Your back pressed to his chest, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you there.

"You know... every time I'm between your legs, it's like my whole world narrows to just you, and nothing else," he whispered, his voice low and close and warm. "I know you feel it too. The way you lose yourself when we're together."

You let yourself melt into his arms for just a few moments, indulged in the truth of his words, tasted the comfort they offered, sweet and dangerous. But fear and uncertainty gnawed at your mind, and you slipped away, stepping out of his grasp, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Maybe I don't want this," you lied. "Maybe I'm not as affected as you."

He didn't say anything. When you turned to face him, his expression was guarded, but his eyes were full of something dark and desperate.

"Thanks for letting me borrow your book, but you should go," you said, walking past him.

Your heart clenched, regretting the words before they had fully passed your lips, but the damage was done. Elijah was already moving, putting his jacket back on, taking his umbrella.

The words right there on the tip of your tongue. You wanted him to stay. You missed him all the time.

But he was already gone.

And the rain went on.

You stood there, staring at the front door, and then you ran after him, pulling it open with a frantic tug, not wasting time grabbing a coat. You were soaked before you made it down the steps, your hair plastered to your cheeks, your clothes heavy and cold.

Elijah was outside of his car parked across the street, unlocking the door with his keys.

"Wait!" you called, voice lost in the rush of the storm.

He didn't turn, but his hand paused, hovering above the door handle. You knew he heard you, if not your words, but the pounding of your heart, the rush of the rain, the thud of your feet on the pavement.

He turned just in time for you to reach him, grabbing the collar of his jacket and pulling him down into a kiss.

He dropped his umbrella, the rain coming down even harder now, drenching both of you. He cupped your face in his hands, fingers tangling in your wet hair, holding you close, kissing you like he needed you.

"Please don't go," you breathed against his lips.

"Don't push me away," he replied.

You didn't answer, just pulled him into another kiss, and this time it was slower, deeper, his mouth moving against yours. Your hands trembled as they moved under his coat and up his chest.

You could feel the way his body shifted, the way his breathing changed. His hands moved down to your hips and then he lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist.

He carried you inside, his mouth never leaving yours as he kicked the door shut behind him and slammed you against the wall. Water dripped from the both of you, creating a puddle on the floor. The two of you quickly shed your wet clothes, tugging and struggling until you were both naked, bodies pressed together, kissing like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

He lifted you again, carrying you to your bedroom. You clung to him, legs wrapped tight around his sides, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He pressed you into the mattress, swallowing your gasp as his lips claimed yours again. Rough, demanding, his tongue plunging deep, tasting you like a man starved.

The two of you were still damp from the rain, and you ran your hands over his skin, his back, his arms, his chest. His mouth traveled down, nipping at the curve of your neck, licking and biting at the tender spot where your pulse fluttered. Your magic rose up, responding to the heat of him, the touch of his mouth, and it hummed under your skin.

Elijah could feel it, like a warm current, drying the two of you, and it only spurred him on, his kisses turning more insistent. Then he moved lower, his hands spreading your thighs apart and settling between them. He kissed the inside of your knee, then the inside of your thigh, his breath hot on your skin.

You tugged on his hair, wanting him closer, but he didn't move, his mouth hovering above where you wanted him most. You whined, trying to shift against him, and his hand spayed across your chest, pushing you back into the bed.

"I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart," he said, looking up at you. "Just relax."

He gave you a wicked grin, his eyes glinting in the low light, and then he bent his head and dragged his tongue through your slit, hot and slow. Your thighs spread wider and a moan slipped out, and Elijah chuckled, pleased with the reaction.

His dark eyes stayed locked with yours, letting you grind yourself against him. He teased you, his tongue sliding over your clit again and again, but never quite enough. It didn't take long before you were panting and desperate, trying to get the pressure and friction you craved. But he held your hips steady, not quite letting you have what you wanted.

You sat up and grabbed a handful of his hair, tugging hard. "Elijah," you tried to sound commanding, the same way you were with Klaus, but it came out pleading. "I need you to-"

Your words cut off as Elijah's head suddenly moved away from between your thighs and captured your lips in a kiss. You grabbed his shoulders and you kissed him back, your thighs squeezing around his hips.

He shifted his weight, his hand slipping down between your bodies, and then you felt the slow delicious press of his cock. Your breath caught in your throat, and Elijah kissed the sound away, easing himself inside.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, deeper, and his breath hissed between his teeth. He moved slowly, and your body welcomed him, stretching and clenching around him.

"Elijah," you breathed his name against his lips, your fingers gripping his biceps.

He hummed, deep in his chest, his eyes raking over your face, and down to the place where you were joined. He let out a soft groan and lifted your thighs, fucking you with deep, hard strokes.

Each thrust hit with force, his grunts low and raspy, your gasps sharp and breathless. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard banging into the wall in a steady, desperate rhythm.

Your head tipped back, pleasure burning white hot. His lips moved to your neck and you could feel the gentle scrape of his fangs. He wasn't going to bite you without permission, you knew that, but the threat was enough to make the heat rush down to where he was buried inside of you. And oh, you wanted it, his fangs sinking into your skin, your blood flooding his mouth, the bond forming and tying the two of you together.

You squeezed your thighs tight and his pace faltered. You could feel his control slipping, his grip bruising, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower.

"Elijah, please, I need..." you begged, unsure how to ask, if he would even be willing.

But the way his body stilled, the way his breathing slowed, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek, the softness of your neck...you knew he understood. You angled your neck, giving him better access, and he bent his head, his tongue tracing along your jugular, his lips warm and soft against the rapid pulse.

"I can't," he breathed, his voice rough and breaking.

"Please," you whispered, clinging to him. "I want you to-"

Elijah made a low, desperate noise and then his mouth was on yours, cutting you off with a hard kiss.

"Not tonight," he said, his hips grinding against yours. "Not until you-"

He broke off with a groan, burying his face in your neck, his thrusts becoming uncoordinated.

Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging hard. Your back arched, pleasure racing up your spine, and the moan that escaped your lips was a high, desperate sound.

"Yes," you whimpered. "Like that, please, Elijah, just like that, please, please, I'm so close."

Your head tipped back, a cry ripping from your throat as you came, a bright hot rush of pleasure that went on and on and on. He followed close behind, a hoarse, wrecked sound tearing from his chest. His body went rigid and he spilled himself inside of you, his hips grinding into yours, his hands intertwining with yours.

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was your heavy breaths, and the rain falling outside. Elijah lifted his head, his dark eyes finding yours, searching. There was an unspoken question there, one he wouldn't say, one he wanted you to answer.

"Stay," you breathed, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He kissed you again, softer this time, his lips gentle. Then he pulled out and rolled to the side, laying next to you, his arm draped over your waist. Your head fell to his shoulder, and you snuggled closer, feeling safe and warm.

"I'm sorry," he said, letting out a long sigh, before gently moving you off him. "I don't think I should,"

You frowned, sitting up, watching as he slid out of the bed. His clothes were still in a soaked pile in the hallway, and you watched as he picked them up, a frown on his face.

"Give me those," you huffed, climbing out of bed and grabbing the clothes from his hands.

They were dripping water, and you concentrated, your magic rushing forward, drying the fabric in seconds before you handed them back to him.

"Thank you," he said, and then he was pulling his pants on, his shirt, his tie, his shoes.

"Is this about Klaus?" You asked, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, watching him button up his shirt.

"Yes," he said simply, "It’s just hard for me not to..."

He trailed off, but you could guess the rest. You nodded, looking down at your hands, unsure how to respond.

"I know we agreed to keep things casual," Elijah said. "But I can't help but want more,"

He didn't let you answer, just moved forward, bending his head and kissing you softly.

"Goodnight," he whispered, and then he was gone.

You stood there for a long time, watching the rain come down. Wishing he had stayed.

The music was soft and expensive, drifting through the glowing courtyard. There were twinkle lights all around, their light catching on crystal glasses and gold detailing. It was the kind of party the Mikaelsons threw when they weren’t trying to impress anyone...just remind people who owned the city.

And you were there to remind the Mikaelsons who owned them..

The silk of your dress clung to your body like second skin, dark and smooth and merciless. You moved through the crowd, not bothering to look for familiar faces. You had no intention of speaking to them. Not tonight.

From across the room, up on one of the balconies Rebekah caught sight of you first.

“Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered, elbowing Kol in the ribs. “She actually showed up,”

Kol leaned on the balcony railing, one hand wrapped around a glass of bourbon, watching you like a cat. “Think she’ll go to Elijah first, or Klaus?”

“She hasn’t looked at either of them,” Rebekah said. “That’s worse.”

“Maybe she’s moved on,” Kol offered.

Rebekah scoffed. “She’s not here to move on. She’s here to be seen. And judging by that dress...and the fact that she’s sipping champagne like it’s holy water. I’d say she wants them to suffer.”

Kol grinned. “I think I'm falling in love with her too,"

“Don’t be stupid,” Rebekah muttered. “She’s about to burn this place down and make them both thank her for the ash.”

Down below, you paused to compliment someone’s earrings and laughed politely at a joke you didn’t find funny. Your gaze flicked around the room, skimming right past Elijah standing near the piano, and didn’t so much as graze Klaus by the bar. It was a clean, surgical kind of avoidance. Precise. Intentional.

Rebekah leaned over the balcony, watching Klaus now. His smile had gone flat. His fingers tapped once, twice against his glass before draining it in a single swallow.

“Oh no,” she murmured. “He’s going in.”

Klaus was moving now, cutting a path straight for you, his steps fast and determined. You were standing near the corner of the bar, your phone in hand, a bored expression on your face.

You were scrolling through some news app, and you didn't even look up when Klaus approached.

"Come on, love, this silent treatment is beneath you," he said. "Just tell me what I did wrong."

You rolled your eyes and took a sip of your drink. "You didn't do anything wrong,"

Klaus sighed. "Then why won't you talk to me?"

"I am talking to you," you said, your tone flat. "Or at least I'm trying to. You're not really listening."

He frowned, and you could see the annoyance flashing behind his eyes. Klaus was many things, but patient was not one of them.

“I always listen,” Klaus said, voice low and coaxing. “I may not always agree, but I listen.”

You finally looked up at him. “No, Klaus. You don't hear me. And when you do… you pretend you don't, because you don’t like what I have to say.”

His smile faltered. Just slightly. Just enough for you to see the crack in it.

“And what is it that I don’t like tonight?” he asked, stepping in closer, too close, the warmth of his body brushing your arm.

You didn’t flinch. You just held his gaze. “Boundaries.”

His mouth curled, half a grin, half a warning. “So now I’m being punished because Elijah forgot the rules of the game we all agreed to play?”

“I’m not punishing anyone,” you said. “I’m just done being dragged between the two of you like I’m something to win.”

He let out a soft laugh, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "Okay, okay. Fine. You don't want me as your boyfriend. I get it, darling. I'm an acquired taste," he said, tilting his head to the side, his eyes glinting with a challenge. "So how about we stick to what we are good at, and you come upstairs with me,"

You shook your head. "I don't think that's a good idea,"

"It never was," he replied, "But I'm not hearing a no…so…?"

He reached out, his thumb trailing across your jaw, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You didn't stop him. Didn't step away. You just stared at him, unmoved.

"Every time we hook-up we are hurting Elijah," you said, taking another sip of champagne.

Klaus let out a snort, shaking his head. "What do you want me to say? Don't tell me you are getting sentimental too, love."

You tilted your head, watching him carefully. “I’m saying it’s cruel.”

Klaus's expression shifted, the grin faltering. “Since when do you care what happens to Elijah?”

You didn’t say anything, you couldn't find the words. You just looked at him. And that was enough of an answer.

“When did that happen?” he asked, voice lower now. Less mocking. More dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly. “Maybe it was always there.”

Klaus let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Of course. Of course it’s him.”

You stayed quiet. It was a tense silence, thick and suffocating.

"Tell me the truth," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "What is it about my noble brother that inspires such instant devotion?"

"I think I …. love him," you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Klaus froze, his jaw clenched tight. For a moment, you could almost see his heart breaking. But the moment passed and his face went hard and blank, and then there was nothing.

"So, that's how it is," he said.

"That's how it is," you said, echoing his words.

Klaus looked at you, and you could see the anger, the frustration, bubbling up like molten lava, ready to spill over and burn everything around him.

"Klaus, I'm sorry-" you began, but he was already storming away, pushing past people as he went, shoving them aside.

You took a deep breath and turned away from the bar, trying not to panic. Trying not to cry. You shouldn't have gotten involved with two brothers in the first place, it was always going to end like this, with someone getting hurt.

Elijah was coming down the stairs, and when his gaze met yours he looked surprised. Then relieved. Then wary. You hadn't spoken to him since that rainy night, and you could see the questions forming, the uncertainty of where you stood.

You didn't say anything, didn't move. You just held his gaze, hoping he could read the truth in your eyes. Then he reached the bottom step and the crowd swallowed him up.

You waited, expecting him to appear at any moment, but instead there was a loud crash, followed by a sudden, terrible silence.

A woman screamed. Someone swore. And you knew exactly what was happening. You didn't hesitate, just moved through the crowd towards the commotion, a sick feeling in your gut.

In the center of the courtyard, Klaus and Elijah were locked in a fight, neither willing to back down. The crowd was gathered in a circle around them, watching as Klaus lunged for Elijah. Who easily avoided the punch, spinning out of the way before landing one of his own.

Blood ran down Klaus's nose, dripping onto the white shirt. He growled and swung again, and Elijah blocked the blow, hitting him in the stomach.

"This is not the time or the place," Elijah said, in an almost gentle tone, trying to wrangle his brother into submission.

Klaus snarled, wriggling out of Elijah's hold, and throwing himself back into the fray.

"You know, brother, you're right," Klaus said, his eyes flashing with anger. "This isn't the time or the place."

"Stop being such a child," Elijah hissed. "It's not becoming."

“Me?" Klaus let out a harsh laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls, causing the crowd to shrink back. "Do you want to know what's insane? What's absolutely ridiculous?"

"No," Elijah said flatly, his eyes narrowed. "And neither does anyone else, so I suggest we call an end to this nonsense and resume our evening."

Klaus took a step back, his arms open wide, a vicious smile on his face. He raised his voice deliberately, like he was addressing the entire courtyard now. “What's ridiculous is that you can't seem to fall in love with someone I haven't fucked first.”

There was a collective gasp. You heard someone whisper your name. Someone else said 'holy shit.' Kol let out a strangled cough from the balcony and Rebekah dropped her drink.

You froze, unable to process the words Klaus had just said. Your heart hammered in your chest, and you looked at Elijah, whose entire body had gone still.

“First Tatia,” Klaus began, speaking to the crowd, sharing the tale. "A few stolen kisses between us was all the permission Elijah needed to swoop in, declaring his love over a pig trough,"

Elijah's jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter. You had never seen him like this. Not furious. Not even livid. It was beyond all of that… like he was burning.

"Second, Katerina," Klaus continued, a cruel smile on his lips, the name rolling off his tongue, "I courted her in daylight. I planned to build my empire with her. And yet, somehow, my brother was the one chasing her through the gardens. Whispering promises he had no right to make,"

"Enough," Elijah growled, his hands clenched tight at his sides.

"Then Hayley," Klaus said, the smile slipping, his tone going completely cold. "The mother of my child,"

The air was heavy with tension, the crowd quiet, holding their breath, watching the drama unfold.

“And now…” Klaus turned his gaze toward you. His eyes gleamed, the weight of his fury hitting you square in the chest. “The witch.”

You felt the blood drain from your face. Felt every eye turn to you. Felt shame rising up like bile in your throat.

"Niklaus," Elijah said, his voice low and threatening. "That is quite enough."

"Why? You're not denying it," Klaus said, suddenly snarling. "Tell me brother, why are you always so desperate for the scraps of affection that I have thrown away?"

Elijah was moving before anyone could stop him, and Klaus was ready for him, his eyes flashing yellow, his fangs bared.

The brothers crashed into each other, the sound of fists striking flesh filling the room. They wrestled, clawing and snarling, as if they were nothing more than wild beasts.

The crowd backed away as the fight intensified, giving them space to wreck the courtyard. Rebekah and Kol were hurrying down the stairs, shouting and shoving. You stood there, frozen, unsure what to do, who to help, as Klaus and Elijah tore at each other.

Finally, Kol was able to grab Elijah, while Rebekah had wrapped her arms around Klaus, pulling him back.

"Stop, both of you bloody STOP!" she yelled, silencing the courtyard. "What is wrong with the two of you? Fighting like children over a girl."

"Get off of me," Klaus snarled, pushing her away, storming off before anyone could say anything else.

Elijah was breathing hard, his knuckles bloody, his shirt torn. He ran a hand through his hair and tried to straightened his clothes.

"Everyone leave," Kol called out, his voice booming. "The party’s over."

People began moving quickly, whispering behind their hands, casting glances back as they left. Some glanced at you, some at Elijah. The damage was done.

Soon the only people left in the courtyard were the Mikaelsons, and you. You stood there, your feet glued to the ground, unable to move. Unable to breathe. The crowd had vanished, but the wreckage remained…broken glass, blood on stone, silence where there had been music.

Rebekah had gone after Klaus, and Kol was cleaning up the mess, and you were left alone with Elijah.

His eyes were fixed on you from across the room, and there was so much hurt, so much sadness in his gaze, that it broke your heart. You thought about stepping forward. Just one step. Maybe that would be enough. But Elijah didn’t move, and neither did you.

"I... I think I should go," you said, forcing the words out.

Elijah nodded, quiet and composed. "That might be best."

You swallowed hard, then turned and walked toward the door. Your stomach twisted. You needed air. Space. Distance. You didn’t know what you wanted yet…only that you couldn’t figure it out while standing in the middle of their storm.

The cool night wrapped around you as you stepped outside. For a moment, you just stood there, breathing it in as the truth washed over you.

You needed to be alone for a while.

Truly and completely.

To find out who you were when you weren’t caught between them. And that whatever came next, the Mikaelsons wouldn’t be part of it.

The love for them would always be there, buried deep and secret, like a seed waiting for the rain.

But not everything that’s watered gets to grow.

{Part One}

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hoiststowline · 4 months ago

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radio silence [w/ ultra magnus, ratchet, & sunstreaker]

ultra magnus isn't the fondest of communication via technology, but respects its resourcefulness in moments when he cannot speak with you physically. there are often times when he's knee deep in paperwork or too far distance-wise, and opts to check in with you at intervals when he knows school or work would not be an obstacle. he has your schedule committed to memory, and expects and even anticipates changes or unplanned events so when you do go radio silent, so he can justify it. you don't need to tell him where you are at all times, he isn't in charge of you, but appreciates your messages to say you'll have your phone off for an hour to study, or are heading to work.

however, most messages he sends are typically answered immediately by you, because of how few and far between they are. just checking up on you if he's been away from you for a prolonged stretch of time, when he has a moment to himself. now, he's decided to send you a text that he has returned to base and his mission has concluded, updating you accordingly. but you don't reply, leaving him to question if perhaps you've been caught up at class, or decided to pick up an extra shift at work.

he allows a two hour-grace period. magnus doesn't worry within these cycles, because things happen and he could never fault you for circumstances beyond your control. however, he'd had a long talk with you about the dangers of what lurks and associating with him, romantic or not, and if he doesn't know you're okay after those two hours, he's searching for you. about halfway to your house, you call him, some drowsy slurring to your tone. "you're not almost here, are you? I fell asleep, and I just woke up-" as long as he knows you're okay, but now he must account for unprecedented so-called 'naps', as it is finals week, so you kindly told him. "not a problem," he rumbles, relief flooding his words. "I'd still like to see you, if that is alright."

ratchet is less forgiving to radio silence, as most of his time is spent in front of a computer and is often flooded with your messages. you sometimes send him things that make no sense, swept up by exhaustion as you text him well into the night and into the early morning, until he threatens to block you so you can get some rest. he loves this way of communicating with you throughout the day, it's easiest to check up on you whilst at work or class, and you can respond whenever you have the chance to. he likes this form of communication, though nothing actually tops getting to speak to you in person.

he vaguely has an idea of your work/school schedule, though he trusts you are doing something productive when you aren't spamming his inbox. it's not out of disinterest, he understands better than anybody the importance of not hovering over his s/o, though with what he's kindred with, it leaves room for worry. some unwarranted radio silence is enough to escalate his concern regarding your health, and when your replies are either negligible or sparse, sorry not sorry, he's on his way to your place. ratchet will try calling you once, and that's your only chance to fess up and tell him just what is going on and why you were suddenly not answering his messages.

there is a short, but impatient grace period with ratchet. he knows you like the back of his hand and realizes when you aren't quite acting like yourself, whether that be lively, withdrawn, or somewhere in the middle. he convinces himself that something must be amiss or you are in some sort of trouble, and leaves no room for disagreement or input from others. he's taking matters into his own hands and coming to look for you, come hell or high water. though he doesn't vocally portray it in most cases, he is very protective over you and couldn't live with himself if something happened to you and he neglected the signs. he respects your boundaries but knows your character, and can gather context clues when something isn't quite right.

you sent sunstreaker your work/class schedule once, and he scoffed at it. he couldn't understand why you would assume he would ever need such thing, displaying disinterest by your offering. after you'd left that day, he saved the timetable to a data-pad and stored it in his subspace, never telling anybody about it because it was simply none of their business. especially you, you don't need to know that he secretly worries about your well-being now that you're tangled up with the autobots.

messaging with him isn't as frequent as it is with ratchet, but it's not as sparse as with magnus. you often have to initiate the conversation, [he has, but his typical messages are usually to ask what you're doing and if you wanted to go for a drive] but he will carry a rapport with you, never wanting you to feel as if he wasn't there for you. sunstreaker won't say it out loud, of course, so it must be conveyed through message in a cryptic method and just prays that you sympathize with his emotional constipation. in full agreement, he prefers to speak with you face-to-face, but he will take what he can get and he's totally fine with that. not really. if it was up to him, he'd be hanging around you all day long, but his schedule and yours prohibits that.

there is no grace period with sunstreaker. don't bother, if you've gone radio silence on him after a pretty steady conversation, he's already on the highway, headed straight for your house. he'll grumble about it and complain if nothing really is wrong, but he's the one who couldn't stop thinking about the fact that you must be injured or unwell to have stopped so suddenly. he understands that you get caught up in things, as he does frequently, but he'd promised to be transparent as long as you would be in return. messages like 'i'll be away for a bit' or 'talk to you asap' are very common between you two.

if the silence has gone on for a prolonged time, perchance he didn't get to check his inbox right away due to responsibilities and was replying to you late. but it isn't at an odd hour so, to him, there is no grounds for you to not answer within a reasonable time frame, a million to one scenarios are running through his processor. "why didn't you answer my message?" when you finally get the chance to call him, after getting hung up at work, he picks up on the first ring. following explaining why, he ex-vents but stifles his exasperation to ask about your day. as long as you were safe and sound, that's all that mattered.

#sul tf writes #transformers #maccadam #transformers idw #mtmte #transformers prime #ultra magnus #ratchet #sunstreaker #transformers x reader #transformers headcanons #ultra magnus x reader #ratchet x reader #sunstreaker x reader #ratchet transformers #sunstreaker transformers

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aventurineswife · 4 months ago

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Hi! I was wondering if you could do Blade with a reader who can't drive? Like they either don't have a license or are just a horrible drive so Blade drives them around a lot and maybe tries to teach them a bit? Sorry if that's too vague. Hope you're have a nice morning/day/night 🩷

“Hands on the Wheel, Eyes on the Road”

Summary: When Blade insists on teaching you how to drive, you're reluctant but agree. Despite your lack of skill and previous failures, Blade remains patient and surprisingly encouraging as he offers lessons. Throughout the process, you begin to realize that there’s more to Blade than his cold exterior, and his quiet care starts to break through your own walls.

Tags: Blade x Reader, Learning to Drive, Fluff, Lighthearted, Slow Burn, Angst (?), Patient Blade, Caregiver Blade.

A/N: this is giving that one Firefly and Blade scene 😭🙏

You sighed, clutching the seatbelt that was a little too tight against your chest. “I don’t think this is necessary,” you muttered, glancing at Blade, who sat in the driver’s seat with the calm authority of someone who had no time for your excuses.

“You don’t think being able to drive is necessary?” Blade’s voice was dry, his piercing eyes glinting as he glanced at you briefly before focusing back on the road. His hands gripped the steering wheel, elegant and steady, the glove on his right hand contrasting sharply with the pale skin of the left.

“I can walk,” you offered weakly, knowing full well that this argument was a lost cause.

“And if you need to escape?” His tone was soft but unyielding, cutting through any attempt you could make to downplay the situation.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Blade wasn’t wrong. The Stellaron Hunters didn’t exactly live peaceful lives, and relying on others for transportation in a pinch was impractical at best, dangerous at worst. But still—

“I’m just not good at it,” you admitted, your voice dropping as you stared out the window. The city lights blurred into streaks of gold and silver as the car moved smoothly along the highway. “And besides, the last time I tried, Kafka said I was ‘endangering the galaxy’ or something.”

That earned a quiet huff of amusement from Blade. “Kafka exaggerates.”

“She doesn’t exaggerate when it’s about me,” you grumbled.

Blade didn’t respond immediately, but you could feel his attention shift toward you even as he kept his eyes on the road. After a moment, he spoke. “You’ll learn.”

You blinked at him. “From you?”

“Who else?”

The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, like there was no question that he’d take on the responsibility—made your chest feel oddly tight. Blade wasn’t exactly known for his warm demeanor, but moments like these reminded you of the quiet care he sometimes showed, tucked beneath his stoic exterior.

The next morning, you found yourself in the driver’s seat of the car. The sword Blade usually kept at his side was propped up in the backseat, as though it, too, were judging your every move.

“Start the engine,” Blade instructed, standing outside the car with his arms crossed. His long coat swayed in the light breeze, the embroidered gold catching the sunlight.

“I know how to do that,” you mumbled, turning the key and hearing the hum of the engine spring to life. A small victory.

Blade opened the passenger door and slid in with an effortless grace that you could never hope to replicate. “Now, put it in drive.”

“Got it.”

“And remember—gently.”

“Right, gently,” you echoed, carefully shifting the gear. The car lurched forward, nearly throwing both of you into the dashboard.

Blade let out a sharp exhale, bracing himself against the armrest. “That wasn’t gentle.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have such a sensitive car,” you shot back, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“It’s not the car.” His voice was flat, but you could see the faintest flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips.

You groaned, gripping the steering wheel like your life depended on it. “I told you I’m terrible at this.”

“And I told you you’ll learn,” Blade replied, his tone calm despite the chaos of your driving. “Now, ease onto the gas. Slowly.”

Taking a deep breath, you followed his instructions. The car moved forward at a crawl, but at least it was smooth this time.

“Good,” Blade said, nodding slightly. “Now, keep your hands steady.”

Minutes passed as you navigated the empty parking lot, with Blade offering quiet corrections and encouragement. Despite the initial nerves, you found yourself relaxing under his patient guidance.

“You’re doing better,” he said after a while, and the rare note of praise in his voice made your heart skip.

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing at him briefly. He looked surprisingly relaxed, one arm resting on the edge of the window, his piercing gaze softer than usual.

“Don’t get distracted,” he warned, and you snapped your eyes back to the road.

By the end of the lesson, your confidence had grown, even if your skills still left much to be desired. As you parked the car—crookedly, but parked nonetheless—you turned to Blade with a grin.

“See? No galactic disasters this time.”

Blade raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. “You’ll get there,” he said simply, undoing his seatbelt.

As he stepped out of the car, you called after him. “Does this mean I’m your official chauffeur now?”

He paused, glancing back at you with a faint smirk. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

You laughed, climbing out to join him. Despite the teasing, you couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride. Maybe, with Blade’s help, you really would learn to drive.

And if not, well, you were perfectly fine with him driving you around for a little while longer.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x reader #blade x you #blade x y/n #blade hsr #blade honkai #fluff #slow burn #lighthearted #angst #patient #caregiver

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cvnt4him · 2 months ago

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i just got dumped 🥀 Izuku comfort fic when? (preferably m/m but wtv)

awh, I'm sorry my love! i don't write mlm (too well) unfortunately; luckily this won't be gendered since I normally write in "you/you're" pov!

You've been through a lot this week. Your daily life torturing you to socialize and be active, and recently being dumped by your former partner. It was alot. You tried to bury yourself into whatever work you could to keep your mind off of things.

But that didn't work. Nothing worked. You tried to not let it get to you, keeping in mind that there's "many fish in the sea". That didn't help either.

So there you were; lying in your bed heart broken and head aching from the tears you shed, your cheeks were sticky from the tears that flowed down non-stop, your nose filling up with snot as your eyes burned and turned red. Crying like this wouldn't do anything sure, but it could hurt.

You didn't really want to be bothered too much by people. You weren't feeling like doing much so you called in so you could stay home and sulk figuring that's what you needed. Trying to let the feelings poor out only somehow made it worse. It has you thinking about things, questioning things, and just seeing yourself as not enough. So many thoughts running through your already throbbing head.

You had your phone on DND you hadn't wanted to be bothered for obvious reasons. Unfortunately for you, you don't have Spotify premium so when an ad came in after the song had ended you were so upset, ripping your head phones out and groaning loudly only making your headache worsen with the movement and noise.

You pickup your phone to try and close Spotify out and reopening the app, maybe that would work. You see many notifications, two calls and 15 texts. Izuku. He was your best friend and you hadn't spoken to him in a while. You didn't expect him to actually care because this isn't the first time you've gone a while without talking.

You sigh heavily to yourself and decide to text him back. As you open your messages you're greeted with the messages full of concern and worry, a small smile forming onto your face. He cared so much... but he cares about everyone. It's who he is.

A frown forms back on your face as you read them all, the last one stating he was coming over the second he could. You gasp looking around your room to see trash everywhere, on the dresser the floor and even some wrappers in your bed. Clothes littering the ground and messily in the hamper along with crumbs in your bed, on your desk and even your hoodie!

You were a mess. This would be so embarrassing for him to see. He'd sent that over 30 minutes ago, he must've already been in his way if not at the nearest stop sign! There was no way you could allow him to see you in this sort of state. You weren't feeling like seeing people anyways, it all felt like a chore within that moment.

You exhale and lick your phone back up, typing away at the keyboard to let him know you didn't think that was a good idea. You weren't feeling well and didn't really feel like talking to anyone right now.

You made it pretty vague and he'd read it immediately, to your unfortunate luck he not only responded within an instant but he apparently was outside?!

You couldn't even get anything out before there's a knock at your door. You didn't have to wonder who it is, grumbling lowly as you lazily climb out of bed. Your feet trudge against the ground as you hardly felt like walking. Your body felt weak and you were quite dehydrated. You lift your art to open the door to see a green haired male staring at his phone with wide concern filled eyes.

Quickly his gaze turns to yours and he quickly gasps seeing the way the day light shines dimly onto your face. You squint your eyes at the sudden light you've strictly prohibited in your house, izuku sees your eyes red along with your nose and cheeks. The corners of your eyes crusted with dried tears as you sniff only for it to hardly do anything with how it's blocked with snot from your crying.

You had a rather unimpressed expression on your face, you tried to give a polite smile but you couldn't muster anything more than that.

Izuku rushed in grabbing your face and questioning you. Why hadn't you been speaking to anyone, why haven't you been out in the last week, why were you obviously crying??

His voice only egged in the intense headache you still had. You groan with a wince as you squint your eye at the way his voice grew louder in worry. He lightly apologizes with a nervous smile quickly being replaced with the same look of concern from before.

“ y/n. what's going on..”

His voice was stern but in an unsettling or upsetting way. Just to let you know he cares and needs to know what's wrong. He wants to help you, to make you feel better. He loves you. So much. However, he wouldn't go as far to tell you something like that often, because then you might piece together that he's actually in love with you and loves you more than just as a friend...

You stare at his green eyes, so deep and pure. Full of love and light, unfortunately terribly bright. You sigh at his genuine look of concern simply walking past him and heading towards your room. Izuku jolts in confusion at your reaction, well lack of one. Simply following you stuttering in his words to ask more questions

His voice grew quite .... bothersome the more it rang on in your ears. You pull the covers over your head with a loud grumble, whatever you send being muffled. Izuku, still full of worry for you; can't help but to smile and scoff.

He took a quick look around at your room and the estate it was in along with you. Crying, visibly upset and your room littered in filth.. it must be pretty bad. You've been pent up for a week or two and all alone. It hurts his heart to see this.

He sighs and puts his bag down and takes his shoes off walking towards your bed as he rips the covers off of you. You let out a small yelp to see him with a frown staring down at you. He huffed and quickly swiped the crumbs out of your bed the best he could before lying down beside you.

You couldn't really make out any words with your voice groggy from the lack of talking and kind of hoarse from the crying. Plus, you didn't really feel like it. Izuku didn't push though, he simply lied down with you pulling the covers over the both of you and bringing you closer to him without trying to appear "touchy".

You both face each other as you lie down in your bed, covers warming you both along with your body heat. You weren't too close to where it was weird, just close enough to be very comforting. His presence soothing your and even stopping your crying. As the headache still lingered you figured sleep was all you really needed.

“ I won't make you talk about it.. whatever it is. just know I'll be here, always. I love you.”

I hope this was well and you found what you were looking for, keep your head up hun please remember to take care of yourself as well! ᡣ𐭩

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mochinek0 · 4 months ago

Text

Daminette December: 8-Confessions

PART 1

Marinette held Damian's hand as they walked through the city of Paris. It was strange to her. It was like she had returned to a foggy land. Things were familiar, yet strange. Although, she remembered her parents' bakery, navigating the streets were another story. Damian carefully guided them from the directions her parents had sent them, on his phone.

Suddenly, they were surrounded by people yelling at them. She could make out 'bully', 'liar', 'date', and 'ruined', but she had no idea what they were actually saying.

"Enough!" Damian shouted loudly, commanding silence.

"Who are you?" Marinette asked.

"You're gonna ask that after all you did?" A girl shouted.

Marinette ignored them and turned to Damian, "Do you know them?"

"No." He replied, "It must have been before your accident."

"Accident?" A girl with short blonde hair asked.

"What accident?" A boy with blonde tipped hair questioned.

"Marinette saved a child from being struck down by a vehicle." Damian declared.

A girl with ombre hair scoffed, "How fake. Do you even hear yourself?"

"Yeah, right." A girl with red-brown waves quipped back quickly.

"We would have heard about that!" A red-haired male snapped back

" I didn't realize the news from the United States would make it here." Damian replied

"Huh?" A few murmured.

"Marinette has been in the United States for the last three years. She was severely injured, hospitalized, and required physical therapy to regain the use of one of her legs." Damian announced, "We came to visit her parents."

"But Lila said you texted her yesterday!" A girl with dreadlocks shouted.

"We just landed in Paris after a sixteen hour flight. " Mari answered, visibly confused.

The people who had been shouting moments ago, now seemed confused as well.

" You have no idea who any of us are?" A guy with a red beanie asked.

"No." Marinette answered, shaking her head.

A girl with purple hair nervously asked, "Does Lila Rossi ring a bell?"

Again, Mari shook her head.

"What about Adrien Agreste?" Another quipped.

Marinette shook her head again, "I'm sorry. I remember my parents and some faces are fuzzy, even family members. My parents sent me pictures but they just seem like strangers to me. I know my grandparents faces, but I don't remember anything we did together."

"Her parents asked us to visit since they have photo albums and her old belongings in storage." Damian spoke up, "Tom and Sabine are hoping some of her memory returns, as she's lost years."

"What about Nino?" The guy in the beanie asked, "Nino Lahiffe?"

"Vaguely." Marinette answered, truthfully.

"Kim Le Chein!" The boy with blonde tips shouted.

"Yes." Mari nodded.

"Alya Cesaire." The girl with long wavy hair questioned.

This time Mari shook her head, no. The girl huffed in disdain.

"We asked because Marinette knew us when we were little." Nino declared.

"You did?" Alya asked.

"Your parents should have pictures of us together." Kim responded.

"Oh, okay." Mari answered, "I'll ask."

Alya stomped her foot and growled, "That's it! You just get away with it?"

"Get away with what?" Mari asked, confused.

"Bullying Lila over Adrien!" The girl shouted.

Marinette shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know who those people are. If I did something to hurt them, tell them I'm sorry."

"But-" another boy began.

Damian silenced him with a glare, "You're expecting too much from someone with no memory. All we know about her past, is that her parents told us. They informed that she was the one who was bullied."

"No, she-" the boy with red hair interrupted.

"Did I ask your opinion?" Damian questioned, turning to him, "Tom and Sabine informed me that the school board was looking into the bullying, as they did not trust the teachers. Whomever was bullying, would be expelled. Marinette had a full ride scholarship to her school and graduated, with no issues."

The class remained silent as Lila had suddenly left the school for a trip and told them she was forced to move, due to her mother's job. The next year, Damocles and Bustier were gone. Damian could see the realization hit some of them. He took Marinette's hand to leave, Alya grab his arm. He quickly shoved her off and into the crowd.

"Touch me again and I will sue you for harassment." The young Wayne growled out, "Habibiti, your parents are eager to see you."

The old class watched as Marinette walked out of their lives again.

"Dami, do you think I was a bad person?" She questioned.

"No, Angel." He answered, "A bad person would have watched the child get hit by the car or turned a blind eye to it. You saved Michael and he loves you for it. Someone does his mother."

Marinette smiled up at him, leaving them with questions, doubt and anger.

Marinette had moved on with her life with Paris being nothing more than a forgotten memory. She had come to accept that she would never get those memories back. Damian had been a constant presence in her life and was willing to help her every step of the way. He took her to visit her parents and help arrange for family members to be there during that time.

The one thing she was glad she hadn't lost was her love of fashion. It took her a little bit longer to catch up with her muscle memory for sewing. She had already been asked by several people for new designs for next year's Wayne gala.

"Well, if it isn't the girl who stalked Adrien." A girl quipped, "Tacky clothes, as usual Marinette."

Marinette turned at the sound of her name, but didn't recognize the people in front of her.

"Lila!" The boy next to her hushed her, "I told you already she never did that!"

Marinette stared at the girl in front of her confused.

"How did this nobody get in here?" Marinette questioned, outloud.

Lila stared at her, in shock. This wasn't the Marinette she knew. She never talked to her like this.

"Mari!" Adrien shouted, "You can't talk to her like that! She came with Father!"

"And who are you?" Mari questioned.

"Adrien Agreste." he responded, confused as to why she was pretending she didn't recognize them, "We went to school together."

"Oh!" Marinette replied, "The other people in Paris mentioned you to me, a few years ago."

"Years?" Adrien asked.

'People knew, for years, that Mari didn't remember who they were.....and never told them?'

"When did you go back to Paris?" Lila pressed.

"I think two or three years ago." she replied, "I met my fiancée after the accident."

"You're engaged?" Adrien questioned.

"What accident?" Lila replied.

"Right, so from what my fiancée told me, my memory is still fuzzy from that day, I got hit by a car." Marinette declared.

"You what?" they shouted.

"Well....I pushed a kid out of the way." she continued, "He's okay. He actually visits once a week. He only had a few scratches, but I was hospitalized and basically forgot a few.......couple years of my life. Look, I don't really know who either of you are or who you so-called father is. All I know is some random bitch walked up to me and talked shit."

The two stared at her in shock, trying to wrap their heads around what she just told them. As they opened their mouths to ask her questions, Damian came from behind and wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Is everything alright, Angel?" Damian questioned. "You are not one to instigate."

Marinette sighed, "These are the two people that the Parisians hounded me about, in France."

Damian turned his glare on them, "Why are you here?"

"We were invited." Adrien spoke, "My father was and he brought me and his female model."

Lila watched as Marinette's fiancée looked her up and down, but his face said he wasn't impressed.

"We were classmates, Mari, and-" the Agreste heir tried to talk.

"You bullied me!" Lila cried out, hiding her face in her hands.

"Lila!" Adrien scolded.

"Yes. They did mention that." Mari declared, "I told them to apologize for me."

Lila smiled into her hands.

"But with that pathetic display, if I really did bully you, I don't feel sorry." Marinette announced.

Lila's head shot up from her hands. Those were not the words she had expected to hear. The old Marinette would have back down; this Marinette....it was a whole new game.

"Her parents informed us that she was bullied." Damian spoke, "The school board gave her a full ride scholarship, as they investigated. They intended to expel the bully; if it had been Marinette, she would have lost her scholarship."

Mari rolled her eyes, "You're just another glorified shit talker. You're a dime a dozen around here, Miss Model. Let's find Jon; I'd rather hear him rant about his new boyfriend."

"But Mari, please!" Adrien continued, "I just wanted to tell you-"

"Look, I don't know what you want from me, but the Marinette you knew is dead. I may not actually be, but forget you ever knew me; I apparently have." Marinette replied, before walking away from the pair.

Adrien watched as Marinette faded into the background, stepping out of his life once more. He thought of the Marinette who kissed his cheek, who gave him missing assignments, who danced with him. He missed the Mari who tried out for fencing and gave him compliments, her giggle, her smile....her mannerisms. Adrien felt his eyes blur and quickly turned and walked out of the party.

Lila hid her snarled of fury as she quietly tred after Adrien.

'It won't be too hard to play the sympathetic ear. The people he trusted, his friends, lied to him. As much as I love they kept that bitch out of my way, he doesn't. If I comfort him enough, maybe he'll see what he's been missing out on.'

As she turned the corner, she saw Adrien pacing. Just as she was about to call out she heard another voice.

'Nino?'

"Why didn't anyone tell me that Marinette forgot about me?" Adrien shouted.

"Uh, so-so you wouldnt have to worry." Nino answered, taken aback by his friend yelling at him, "Is everything alright?"

"Worry?" The model snapped, "Worry about what?"

"You and Lila." Nino responded, "You two can now date in peace."

"Date!" Adrien screamed, "Nino, I hang out with her because she's my father's model and I'm forced to tolerate her. It's like being with Chloe all over again! She is like a leech that won't go away; I see her at work and I see her with you because she's Alya's best friend!"

'Is that what he's thought of me all this time? I'm a leech?'

"Wait! What?" The DJ questioned, "Since when have you thought about her like this? Are you sure Marinette-"

"Marinette didn't recognize us and she didn't know who my father was. You guys always blamed Marinette whenever it came to Lila being wrong!" The model declared, "I have always hated Lila; I have never liked her and I would hardly call her dateable!"

'He hates me? I'm not dateable?'

"But....Lila...she...she said you guys were dating in secret because Mari was bothering you two in dates." Ni o replied, hesitantly.

"Lila Rossi is a fucking lying bitch!" He retaliated, "She always has been! Half the things she claims, don't even make sense! Even if she were somehow that.....miraculous, she is not my type. I prefer to date strong and independent people. Hell, if I found a man or woman that could bench press me and stand up to my father, I'm sold! I'll tattoo 'so and so's Bitch' on my ass!"

'I put on the wrong kind of performance from the start! Playing the sickly girl, to keep up my other personas, was the wrong move. It's very likely he would have fallen for my natural self had I not fucked everything up at the beginning. No, he quickly found out I was lying, too. Was being with Adrien Agreste a failed mission from the start?'

"Dude." Nino replied shocked.

Adrien sighed, exhausted from the confrontation, "I thought you guys were smarter that this. I thought Alya wanted to be a reporter. What happened to finding the facts? I told you guys in middle school that she was lying and bullying Mari, but you thought it was cute 'how supportive' I was being."

"You have no idea how much I wanted to talk to Mari. To apologize to her. To tell her how amazing g she is and how I aspire to be like her." Adrien spoke, "Marinette is....the most...amazing woman I have ever met. Her fiancée is lucky to have her."

'Amazing? Lucky?'

Lila forced herself into the shadows, as Adrien hung up the phone. She covered her mouth before she could speak. After what she had just heard, she wasn't sure how much more her heart and ego could take. In the span of five minutes, Adrien had destroyed her self-esteem. She had never been an option in his eyes. Marinette had been victorious, though they game had long been over. From the call alone, she knew Marinette had won Adrien's heart, even if she no longer knew she had it.

Adrien took his stance, next to his father, as Bruce Wayne took the stage.

"Welcome to this years' Wayne Gala." Bruce announced, "This year is a little bit different. Today, there's no donations; that's for another party."

Many of the attendees laughed.

"This is a celebration!" He declared, "I'd like to announce and welcome an upcoming memeber of the family."

From the far right, someone shouted "Stop adopting kids!"

That had a bigger laugh. Even Bruce chuckled.

"I didn't adopt anyone....this time." He smiled, as his boys gathered on the stage.

'It's that guy!'

"My youngest son, Damian Wayne, and his wonderful fiancée, Marinette Dupain-Cheng!" Bruce cried out.

The room erupted in cheers. Gabriel looked towards his son. He had not forgotten the designer who had been infatuated with his son and from his son's face, he hadn't forgotten her either.

"Everyone knows Gotham's Guardian Angel! " Bruce continued, "Marinette is known for her bravery, her leadership, and her kindness. My son, Damian, wasn't immune to her charms. She has not only brightened up Gotham or his son's life, but also our home. To the future Mrs. Wayne!"

As the room erupted in cheers, whistles, and congratulations, the Agreste remained steady.

"Adrien." Gabriel spoke up.

"I think I'm going to go back to the hotel." His son replied.

"You do not wish to speak to your former classmate?" Gabriel pressed.

"I already did." Adrien answered, "She doesn't remember me."

"How can she-" the designer growled out.

'That gold digger! Forget my son!'

"She got amnesia after an accident." His son sighed, "Damian has never left her side, since. He must have seen what I saw, from the way his father talks about her."

Gabriel sighed. He didn't want to deal with his son's dramatic love life.

"Very well." He answered, "Where is Miss Rossi?"

"I don't know where your model went." Adrien snipped back, "Perhaps with the others."

Gabriel watched as his son walked out. He turned towards the stage as the guests continued to praise Marinette and congratulate her. It surprised him how easily she seemed to fit into their society.

'Had I known how easily she could tred these waters, I would have allowed Adrien to date her long ago.'

@maribat-calendar-events

TAG LIST- DAMINETTE: @meme991001 @umbreon-worshipper @stainedglassm @jasmine-the-fox @psychicdelusionwerewolf @vixen-uchiha @mysteriouschar @missmadwoman @kanamexzeroyaoifangirl @dissarraymania @tundra1029 @abrx2002 @mrsjacuinde @ledalasombra @animegirlweeb

UNSPECIFIED- @animeweebgirl @a-star-with-a-human-name @alysrose-starchild @fandom-trapped-03 @dood-space @moonlightstar64 @saltymiraculer @marveldcedits20 @09shell-sea09 @icerosecrystal @insane-fangirl-of-everything @blueblossombliss @nickristus-dreamer @megawhitleycalderonpaganus @tigresslily @legodetectivemalsblog

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lookingfts · 5 months ago

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Dialogue Game - Prompts #5 and #6

#5 - "I’m pretty much fucked…" (@ottovastra)

Anthony was exhausted. Back-to-back meetings, a hysterical phone call from Hyacinth, plus he’d forgotten to eat all day, so his head was pounding and his energy was sapped. His delivery order arrived only minutes after he did, and he was preparing to tuck in to his Pad Thai when there was a knock on his door.

That wasn’t unexpected – not with his enormous family. But the woman standing on his front steps was decidedly not one of his siblings.

“Hey,” she said sheepishly. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but my car broke down and your light was on and the tow truck is taking forever, and I’m pretty much fucked without a car – sorry, that’s not your concern – but I just really need to use your loo if that’s not too much of an imposition?”

For a long moment, Anthony didn’t respond, thoroughly distracted as he took her in. He wasn’t exactly starving for pretty women, but someone this gorgeous literally landing on his doorstep still felt like a bolt from the heavens. Tall and lithe, glowing deep skin and diamond-sharp cheekbones. Thick winding curls and eyes that seemed to glitter gold.

She arched a brow, and he realized that his silence was probably reading a bit creepy. “Oh, sorry, of course. Please, come in. Second door on the left, there.”

“Thank you so much.” The woman disappeared down the hallway, and Anthony stood there stupidly, unsure what to do. But in the few minutes it took her to return, he’d resolved. “I won’t trouble you any longer, thank you again for-.”

“Do you like Thai food?”

Super smooth, Anthony. The woman stilled, sinking her teeth into her lip. “Um, yeah. I do.”

“Well, I just had some delivered,” he explained, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen. “And you’re welcome to wait in here for the tow truck and have some dinner, if you would like.”

She simply stared at him for a moment, and then she smiled, sending a surprisingly strong current through his blood. “I- yeah, that would be nice,” she said. “I’m Kate, by the way.”

“Right,” he laughed. They were standing in his living room, and he hadn’t even thought to introduce himself. “Anthony.”

“Anthony,” she echoed, rolling it around on her tongue, and he quite liked the way that sounded. “Well, maybe I broke down in the right place.”

He grinned, all his earlier exhaustion dissipating. Strange, how quickly his day could change. “Maybe you did.”

#6 - "You don't know how long I've waited to hear you say that." "I do-- almost as long as I've been waiting to say it." (@mimix007)

She was such an idiot.

Truly, she didn’t know. All this time, she thought it was Edwina. The way he tried to ingratiate himself into her family; sending them flowers, asking Kate questions about them, inviting them to Aubrey Hall. Why else would he do it, but to woo her lovely, sweet, worthy-of-being-a-Viscountess sister?

And so she hadn’t meant to hurt him, hadn’t thought she was hurting him, when she brought her coworker Ian to the Bridgerton holiday party. She thought he would ask Edwina and Kate just didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to be heartbroken and pathetic in the corner. Or at least, she didn’t want everyone to see that she was heartbroken and pathetic. Feeling it was probably inevitable.

She didn’t go home with Ian, of course – he was only a friend, and one who had agreed to accompany her for the legendary buffet and gift bags in addition to friendly loyalty. She had been laying on her sofa, relieved that the night wasn’t a catastrophe, when Ben texted her. Are you dating that guy?

Kate didn’t want to admit anything – even to Ben, who would surely understand but might tell Anthony, and then what was the point? Why are you asking?

Look, I know Anthony is an idiot, and a dick most of the time. But if you didn’t want him, you could have just told him that instead of showing up with someone else. That really hurt him.

She read the text seven times before she could stop believing that she’d read it wrong. What the hell are you talking about? Anthony has been chasing Edwina, not me.

Oh, Christ. I say this with love, but you’re just as stupid as he is.

A few seconds, and then another message. He doesn’t want Edwina.

Something tightened in her stomach. If he wasn’t interested in Edwina, then either he had a thing for older women – Mary was still gorgeous, to be fair – or…

Or she’d really fucked up tonight.

She hadn’t bothered changing out of her red sequined dress, and she threw her coat back on before hopping on the tube. This was absurd, completely absurd, but she knew she had to look Anthony in the eye when she asked him for the truth. Even when he lied, she could always tell. His face betrayed him.

He started a little when he opened the door, clearly not expecting her, and Kate swallowed. “I’m not dating Ian.”

There was a dip in his shoulders as he relaxed. “You’re not?”

Kate shook her head. “You didn’t want Edwina?”

Anthony’s eyes widened, and he closed the distance between them by a step. “No, I never- I never said that, why would you-?”

She shrugged, feeling stupid. It wasn’t hard to puzzle it out, if she really thought about it. “Everyone does.”

“I don’t,” he sighed, and she held her breath. They were standing right on the edge of something, the truth that could consume them whole, and the idea of falling terrified her. But a lifetime on the edge sounded even worse. “Your sister is great, but you were the only one I ever wanted. Ben witnessed a pretty embarrassing meltdown when I saw you with that guy tonight. I just…I’m in love with you, Kate. I thought it was obvious.”

All the tension melted from his body, and he looked…free. Kate pressed her lips together, tears pricking hot at her eyes. Maybe it was obvious, or it would have been, if she hadn’t been so blind. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.”

“Yeah, I do,” Anthony said, a wide smile forming on his face at the confirmation that his feelings were reciprocated, or at least welcomed. “Almost as long as I’ve been waiting to say it.”

Feeling bold, Kate stepped through his doorway, and Anthony took a step back to make room for her. “I’m in love with you,” she confessed, and the joy on his face stole all the air from her lungs. “And it’s not too late to take this dress off me tonight.”

Anthony chuckled, low and rich, shutting the door behind her and backing her gently up against it. “That,” he murmured, sliding her coat off her shoulders. “Is a brilliant idea.”

#bridgerton #kanthony #kate x anthony #anthony x kate #bridgerton fic #prompt game #asks and answers

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lostinforestbound · 1 year ago

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AHHH YOU'RE THE BEST THANK YOU FOR DOING MY REQUESTS 💖💖 YOUR WRITING IS TOP NOTCH

can i come at you with another request, if i could? can i request a human!tav/reader that has never seen a tiefling before the grove, and they get curious about rolan?

- 💛

Aww thank you for the compliment! I'm glad you like my silly little writings! This request was a lot of fun!

Rolan With a Tav Who's Never Seen a Tiefling

When Tav first arrived at the Grove and stared at him in a strange way, he immediately thought the worst. Great, another human who will look at them all in such disdain.

Worst of all, they convinced his siblings it would better for the trio to stay and help the other refugees. Now not only are they irritating, they butted into his family affairs.

He's snippy, when they go to speak with him. Of course he is, he's bitter. How dare they insert themselves in a private argument? How dare they look at him with that weird face? They don't deserve his time.

He doesn't realize that look is wonder until they manage to speak civilly.

They explain, while a bit embarrassed, that they've never actually seen a Tiefling before. Whether it's living a sheltered life, never coming across them, or only seeing them in illustrations, they've just never come across them.

Their weird looks finally make sense to him: they were just curious about him.

When they become a little more comfortable with each other, they'll ask simple questions if he'll allow it. Are his horns heavy? Does his mouth feel crowded with his sharp teeth? How about his ears, are they sensitive? His tail?

He'll answer in vague terms, sometimes because he's annoyed with the questions, other times he's just embarrassed about explaining Tiefling biology.

No, they're not allowed to touch any of his traits.

Sometimes he wonders why him? Why not Zevlor? He's probably more than comfortable explaining their unique traits. But no, they want to talk to him.

Lia and Cal know exactly why, giving each other amused looks anytime those two talk. They love their brother, but sometimes he's an idiot; they hope he figures it out, for all of their sakes.

Writing Blurb

"So the base of the horns would be more sensitive than the tips? Would that apply to the tail as well?"

Someone please kill him.

He feels as though they're driving him into insanity. Why are they even interrogating him with these questions? He was sitting peacefully with shitty wine before they decided to saunter over. Why him? Zevlor would be more receptive. What is their game?

They don't seem discouraged by his lack of response, chatting away as he stares longingly at his now empty wine bottle. "How about the ears? I actually heard Elf ears are sensitive at the tips and use that advantage during foreplay."

He wants nothing more than to sink into the ground. Or get drunk, whichever comes first.

"What about-"

"Can you not ask your Tiefling friend these questions?!" He shouts, dropping the empty wine bottle.

"Oh, I could."

"Then why don't you? Surely she would be happy to explain things to you."

"I want to hear it from you!"

"I'm not answering these idiotic questions of yours, you absolute degenerate!" He hisses, not noticing how flushed his face is, "Gods, it is not helping that you're asking these so damn loudly."

"Would you answer them if I get you another wine bottle?"

"No."

That makes them burst into a laughing fit, and Rolan's blush gets even worse. He's embarrassed, ashamed, pissed, and flustered all at once. They're clearly making fun of him, and he doesn't appreciate it one bit. He's tempted to bare his teeth at them but they manage to calm down their laughter.

"Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"Clearly." He states sarcastically, tail thrashing in his irritation.

"I mean it, I swear. I enjoy talking to you. A lot."

He looks at them in confusion, almost exasperated. "What?"

"I like hearing you talk."

Before he could respond, they gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek, which silenced him on the spot. He had no idea what to say, and they didn't even give him a chance to speak before they got up. "Let's talk later, yeah? I have plenty of questions for you."

As they walk away from him, he idly touching the place they kissed. Hells, he's done for. He internally prays any god willing to listen for their strongest alcohol as he goes to search for another wine bottle.

#rolan #forest-writes #rolan x tav #bg3 rolan #holy rolan empire #rolan x reader #rolan bg3

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deerbourne-if · 5 months ago

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nooo now im sad 😭😭 how would the ros feel once the misunderstanding was cleared up, maybe from mc directly asking them for bug bite cream or complaining about it?

this is in response to this ask!

sorry this took so long. The start of 2025 has been ..........

It's been. 🙃

It's taken all your self-control through the day not to claw the itching bite on your neck. You knew you shouldn't have left the window open last night, but what did you do?

Yeah. Great thinking.

You find --

…Silas to be the first one in the dining hall that night, lazily bent over a book on one of the window seats overlooking the back garden.

"Have you seen Nadia?" you ask on leui of a greeting. "Or do you magically have calamine on you?"

He raised a brow, closing his book and leaning back to study you. "Can't say I have seen her or carry a super specific medicine in my back pocket."

You groan, hand hovering over the spot on your neck. "Then we need to fill in that pond behind the dorms and kill every mosquito as retribution."

"Retribution?" he repeats, a slow smile spreading.

"For me tearing all of my skin off."

Siilas' eyes settle on your neck and, to your surprise, he grins. He looks much too pleased with your situation.

Getting to his feet and leaving his book, he steps toward you. "I have some aloe vera plants in my room," he murmurs, voice soft. Pressing the softest touch to your shoulder, he adds, "Don't tear off your skin while I'm gone."

…Annika tending to the herb garden just outside the kitchen's back door, her hair gleaming in the rapidly setting sun. She gently touches each plant, fingers the barest whisper, and the plants respond in kind. Leaning into her touch. Growing just a fraction more to reach her.

She glances up when you come through the door, her face a mix of welcome and discomfort.

"I'm sorry to bother you," you say, assuming she's uncomfortable with you interrupting the moment. "But these bug bites are driving me insane. Do you have some aloe or something? I can't find Nadia."

Annika looks bemused for a moment, and then she grins. With deft motions, she gently cuts sprigs from a few plants with her sharp nails, motioning for you to follow her into the kitchen.

She makes quick work of crushing her chosen plants into a thin paste. She raises a brow at you, motioning to your neck, and you dutifully tilt your head to give her access.

Annika smoothes the mixture against your skin with delicate, slow strokes. Her fingers are warm like sun-drenched soil, but the paste is cool.

The itching disappears almost immediately. You let out a relieved sigh and grin at her once she secures a bandage over the site.

"Thank you," you say.

Annika shyly drops her gaze, but her smile is wide when she nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

…Vardah leaning against the serving counter, watching the cooks moving about. She swivels to grin at you as you approach, her eyes lighting on the blemish on your neck.

"That bug must have really liked your taste," she teases with a wink.

"You're making fun of my suffering?" you snort. "Typical."

"Mhmm. Where's the fun in being sweet?"

You can't bite down the smile. "Sure. Do you know where Nadia is? I need something for this thing before I tear my skin off."

Vardah's lazy smile stretches, a little unsettlingly wide, and she sways closer to you. "I can fix it for you."

You raise a brow. "By tearing my skin off for me?"

She laughs, the sound rich and low. "Well, that. But I was thinking of something a bit more… pleasurable."

You can't help the little chill that shudders down your spine. "That's… vague."

"Do you trust me?" she asks.

That is a loaded question. "Are we still talking about the bug bite?"

Vardah steps even closer, a hand hovering behind your neck as if to pull you closer. As if to kiss you. "For now."

You nod, heart in your throat. The woman grins that sharp, alien grin and pulls you to her.

Her mouth presses against the bite; a flare of sharp, hot pain lances through the site before it's blissfully… normal. Warm from her lips and breath, not a hint of the bug bite left.

You touch the spot when she pulls back, a bit lightheaded.

The bite is gone.

"There!" Vardah grins. "Told you I could fix it!"

…Jordan watching the back garden through one of the bay windows. They angle their body toward you but don't look away from whatever they're studying. "You're earlier than usual."

You groan a little, sitting at the long table. "I've been looking everywhere for Nadia. I need something for this bug bite, or I will literally go insane."

This does make Jordan glance at you. Their eyes flick from your face to the blemish on your neck. Per usual, their expression doesn't shift from boredom, but their lips tilt a little.

"You're such an idiot," they chuckle. It almost seems fond.

"Excuse me?"

Jordan sighs, leaving the window. "Give me five," they say, walking out of the cafeteria despite your spluttered questions.

When they return, it's with a small bottle of calamine lotion. They hand it to you, saying, "Crownie's Store."

You wince, finally remembering the entire wall dedicated to medical and health products. "Oh," you mumble.

Jordan snorts good-naturedly before jostling your shoulder.

...It almost seems fond.

…Hunter in the kitchen, leaned over an array of cookies that he's icing. When he glances up to meet your gaze, you groan, "Please tell me you have something to get rid of bug bites. Or make them stop itching. Or burn off my skin. Anything."

Hunter looks alarmed, then he glances at your neck and grins wide. "Oh. It's a bug bite."

You frown at him. "Yeah…?"

"It's just -- at breakfast it looked -- I mean, I thought --" he breaks off, wincing, and visibly decides to drop it.

Hunter clears his throat and removes his gloves, tossing them into the trash before moving toward the back wall. "I'm sure I have something."

He comes back with a medical kit, rummaging around the massive assortment. He eventually pulls out a small packet with acetaminophen and a second with pramoxine lotion. "Here," he says, offering them to you. "I'll get some water, hold on."

You apply the lotion while he does so, which is a mistake. Now, you are standing there with medicine-coated fingers and no way of opening the acetaminophen.

When he returns and sees your predicament, he chuckles. "Here, let me-" he grabs a clean towel from a drawer, wets it at the sink, and gently uses it to clean your fingers instead of handing it to you. It's oddly intimate, and you can't help that your mouth goes a little dry.

Only when your hand is clean does he seem to realize what he's done. He looks from your hand to your face, mildly alarmed. "I should have just -- I'm sorry, I didn't --"

"Hunter," you grin, reaching out to gently touch his wrist. "It's fine. Thank you for your help."

…Nadia cleaning, scrubbing at one particularly grimy spot on one of the children's tables.

"Nadia," you call; she doesn't look up, but she does stop scrubbing. When you get closer, you say, "this bug bite is going to kill me if I don't get some relief."

Nadia glances up and away, a muscle tightening in her jaw. She drops the rag and cleaner, wipes her hands on the kitchen apron she's donned, and mutters, "Stay here."

She disappears into the kitchen before returning with a small, unmarked tincture bottle. "Sit."

You do so. Nadia's hands are cool and shockingly gentle when she takes your chin and tilts your head to the side. Her motions betray her feelings for you, just like they have since you first began to gain her trust.

"What's in the bottle?" you ask.

She unscrews the bottle, the glass making a gentle tinkling noise as she taps excess liquid from the dropper. Her voice is soft, barely audible as she leans down to inspect the bite. "A mixture I make for the Initiates. It works better than anything you can buy. Hold still."

The first drop of liquid stings. The second feels like ice. The third soothes your skin in an instant.

You breath out a sigh of relief, expecting Nadia to pull away.

She doesn't.

Pretending to keep working on your neck, she whispers, "That will work for six hours or so. I'll come by your cabin tonight when the others are asleep."

"For another dose?" you ask.

She pauses, warm breath on your neck and words tickling your ear. "Among other things… If you want."

#deerbourne if #answers #dbif: annika #dbif: nadia #dbif: silas #dbif: jordan #dbif: vardah #dbif: hunter

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v-dkja · 1 year ago

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take a chance with me

“Oh, why can't we for once, say what we want, say what we feel?” kamisato ayato x gn!reader. slight angst, arranged marriage, hurt/comfort, arguing, mentions of death, open ending.

Those vague memories flashed through your head; young Ayato who smiled at you. A smile that makes you willing to die for him. he flashed a sweet smile, while his hand gave you a flower he had just picked. You remember that moment well, reluctant to ever forget it.

You also remembered young Ayato's face when he found out that the two of you were engaged— and would be getting married someday in the future. You don't know whether it's a good thing or not. Actually, at that moment you felt happy, because you had kept your feelings for him, without thinking about Ayato's true feelings for you.

And here you are, waiting for Ayato— who has now become your husband, to come home. You haven't seen his beautiful face that looks like a painting by a famous and skilled painter, and you should be used to it. You wait for him with sadness, knowing that when he comes home, he won't hug you and say, "I'm home” like he used to do.

And here you were, looking at Ayato who had just arrived; his face showed clearly that he was exhausted, and needed rest. This can be seen from the start of the appearance of eye bags. You've always refrained from telling him all your thoughts all this time, but seeing him always come home like that, your heart couldn't bear it and decided to hold it for another day.

“Welcome home, Dear.” to which he only responded with a ‘hm’.

He then walked past you without saying anything. Leaving you alone, again.

Feelings of anger suddenly appeared suddenly. You didn't really want to feel that feeling right now, not with Ayato's current condition.

The mouth that had opened unconsciously now closed again, giving up the intention of saying a word. Maybe another day, you thought.

And here you were, lying on the bed facing Ayato's back. His breathing started to become regular, indicating that he was asleep. Doesn't he intend to sleep facing you and hold your hand just once?

Your eyes start to feel heavy, not because of sleepiness but because you are holding back the tears that want to come out. You don't want to look pathetic now.

Your hands want to hug him from behind and whisper ‘i miss you’ just once. But you don't want your ego to win this time.

Your tears just came out without your permission. That fragile body that was originally standing upright is now starting to shake from crying, your breathing is starting to become irregular and even your mouth is almost making a sound, but luckily you can hold it in.

Your hand moved of its own to wipe the tears that had come out, but a strong hand that was bigger than yours prevented you from wiping them. You vaguely see the figure of the man who has made you happy all this time, also suffering at the same time. Ah, it turns out he's still awake.

“Why’re you crying?” The audacity to ask like that after his attitude all this time.

“It’s nothing..”

“Don’t lie,” His voice was commanding. How much you hate that voice, but that voice was once your savior.

“I said— it’s nothing!” Your voice rises, your hands trying to free Ayato's grip.

“Then why’re you crying?!” Ayato's voice also rises. It was clear he was also angry.

You remain silent. Your voice wanted to come out to explain but it could only be replaced by sobs. “T- tell me..”

“Do you… actually l- love me? Do I have to die first so you can pay attention to me? Tell me.. Ayato.”

Ayato looked confused in response to your question. "What do you mean?”

“I'm sorry for feeling neglected all this time. I'm sorry... Please, forget about this.” And i thought love will always feel beautiful.

“I can't just forget this! My wife is crying,” Ayato shouted. “Look, i’m sorry for making you feel like that, okay?”

“I…” Ayato's voice trailed off. For some reason not a single word could come out of his mouth, as if he had been bewitched. “I love you. I always love you. Please forgive me. I don't know what happened to me that time. I’m sorry, love. I’m sorry.”

“Maybe because I was tired, I became like that. I never meant it like that. I just want you to know that you’re appreciated, okay?” Ayato's hand wiped away the tears that had fallen from your eyes.

#genshin x female reader #genshin scenarios #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #kamisato ayato #ayato x reader #ayato angst #kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x you #genshin ayato #genshin x gn reader

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violetmuses · 8 months ago

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Terry Richmond + Female Reader ❤️‍🩹

Fandom: “Rebel Ridge” Film Universe

Character: Terry Richmond

Main Storyline: Your “best friend” offers some news.

@episodes-ff @becauseimswagman1 @helloncrocs @diaries-of-me @liquorlaughslove @babybratzmaraj @cloveroctobers 🏷

This Idea 📞

====

2024

Blocking time off from work, you noticed that your cell phone started ringing out of nowhere.

Officer Jessica Sims from the Shelby Springs Police Department called.

“Jess?” Picking up this afternoon, you definitely responded.

“Girl! I'm so sorry for not reaching out, but guess what?” J's Southern accent revealed itself.

“Don't worry.” You're fully aware that the rural precinct struggled now. “What happened?”

“Think I found your husband.” Despite that police station keeping vintage technology, you noticed Jessica's humor loud and clear.

“Oh, God!” You nearly laughed out loud. “What are you talking about?”

“I helped out this man earlier and…” Jessica wouldn't go on.

“Spit it out, J!” You kept listening to her no matter what.

“I'm working, but we don't have reception outdoors.” Jessica cleared her throat for a moment. “He's fine.”

“Don't play matchmaker again.” You quickly rolled both eyes.

“Listen: Light eyes, in shape with service tattoos, and acts respectful.” Jessica detailed this man.

“Sounds too good to be true.” For once, you don't believe her.

“Visit tomorrow. He's still in town. Bye!” Jessica dropped the call before you could say anything else.

Here we go. You thought.

*****

Uniformed once more, Jessica traded this brief smile when you entered the department.

“I'm here. What's going on?” You spoke quietly en route to her desk.

“I'll explain everything.” Sims then faced your direction.

Just before you could sit down and learn gossip, the door opened again.

Leaving her desk behind, Jessica held your wrist and you both hid near one corner, watching whoever arrived.

“What's wrong?” Your voice immediately whispered to Jess.

“That's him!” As Jessica pointed upfront, her accent pulled all over again.

Uh-oh. This time around, you finally realized what Sims meant.

Remarkable eyes noticed the building and service tattoos inked along his muscular frame.

This morning, the handsome individual paired another tight shirt with jeans and sneakers.

“Go back to work. We'll talk soon.” You prompted Jessica to speak with this man.

“All right. Pardon me…” Jessica excused herself from your side and sat down, addressing the man.

******

“Who was that?” When Officer Jessica Sims found her longtime desk this morning, veteran Terry Richmond chuckled through his deep tone.

“My friend…” Jessica would pull this vague response.

“I could use some good news at this point.” Terry encouraged Jessica. “What were y'all talking about?”

“Nothing.” Jess shrugged while beginning to work as usual. “How are you holding up with the case?”

“No better than before.” Richmond lost bail money for his cousin during an altercation with law enforcement. “Know any lawyers if I can't reach out on Monday?”

“Attorneys pool from the local courthouse, but workloads get swamped over there.” Jessica declined.

“Fair enough, but you didn't answer my other question.” Terry arched his brow.

“Which question?” Jessica asked.

“What were y'all talking about?” Catching Sims red-handed, Terry's smile offered brightness.

“Should I tell the truth?” Jessica spoke up for many reasons.

“I don't appreciate falsehoods.” Terry crossed both arms.

“You.” Jessica stopped playing around and headed out for lunch. “Good luck with your case.”

Right when Officer Sims walked away, Terry glanced down and noticed a sticky note waiting on her desk.

Jessica had discreetly written your phone number on paper.

******

“Sorry.” Terry apologized when you first met him up close. Drama flew all over the police station now.

“Everyone hopes for better circumstances around here.” You picked up Richmond and started driving away from this hospital.

On the other hand, medics helped legal assistant Summer McBride for various reasons.

“Sims told me about you.” Terry changed the subject.

“Surprised you didn't call me first.” You know that Jessica slipped your phone number by this man.

“Chief got in the way.” Richmond almost laughed and chided Sandy Burne.

“Where should we go since you're free?” You learned that Terry confirmed this settlement for this case, especially with his cousin Mike gone.

“Anywhere you want.” Terry grinned toward you and watched the city limits disappear.

#movies #terry richmond x black reader #terry richmond x reader #terry richmond x y/n #terry richmond x black female reader #terry richmond #aaron pierre #slight angst #❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹#fanfiction #au fanfiction #my writing #violetmuses #💜💜💜#rebel ridge

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i-spit-on-your-garage · 24 days ago

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Temporary Strangers

NOTE: Lmao I thought I would spend a couple days writing and refining this, ended up cranking it out in a couple hours. I believe this is my first request so thanks to the Anon who suggested it, thank you and I hope this is worthy. I rarely write but I didn't see any reason to not try, kinda felt like I cooked with this considering my low story count, but y'all will be the judge of that.

NOTE 2: Double LMAO I wrote this under the wrong Bob(Thinking of Reynolds not Floyd) Anon IM SORRY, I will start work on another for our boy Floyd once i get some sleep(you can tell I need it😭). Please forgive me >-<

Bob Reynolds x reader

TW: some angst, vague mention of an injury, SFW

Please Enjoy <3

The injury shouldn't have happened. Bob tried to be aware and cautious; he had a new team family to lookout for after all. He became even more alert at every stage of the relationship, ever since y'all (pardon my Texan) had a small ceremony not too long ago it grew tenfold. But accidents still happen, and after taking a nasty hit to the head, resulting in a concussion, Bob is stuck staying in the Infirmary instead of your marital bed, not that he can say he misses it. How can he miss something he doesn't even remember?

Outside of his room, the nurse on duty informs you that his overall physical health was well, but he was concussed, specifying that he is leaning towards the docile and loving side rather than the violence and aggression some people suffer from. Amazed at the fact that this God like man could actually sustain such an injury, you count your lucky stars hearing that, after everything he went through with Void, you can't imagine how those unpredictable behaviors would affect him, how he would feel after getting better and realizing how he acted against others while recovering. He would still be your sweet Bob.

That is when you hear that another one of Bob's symptoms is post-traumatic amnesia, your heart sunk at that. Amnesia is a scary idea already, but the support Bob got from you and the team was crucial for so many reasons. Before your mind runs off too far, your attention is called back to the nurse when she mentions that things like this can last a couple days, maybe a couple weeks, stating that she isn't too worried about Bob seeing as he did remember one person right now, Yelena.

You let out a small breath nodding at that, part of you feeling like you should be a bit hurt, but you shove that idea aside, Yelena had been the first person to show him support and care after years of mistreatment and struggle, and when you couldn't be there for Bob, she was. You also tell yourself there's a chance he'll recognize you, just because he hasn't asked about his wife doesn't mean you'll be a stranger to him. The nurse finishes her recount and opens the door to let you into the room. Times slows and your stomach buzzes with nerves, you absentmindedly start picking at your nails, a habit Bob had been helping you drop. You step quietly into the room, and he sits up in bed turning to face you as you sit, though he slows as his eyes lock onto you. You're hopeful for a moment, he looks surprised to see you maybe he does recognize you. He's giving you the same wide eyed enamored look you often found yourself on the receiving end of before you were even a couple, mouth slightly dropped like he had lost his words, eyes bright and focused on you. You smile as he breathes out a soft "Hi" still staring like a deer in headlights. You respond in kind, and you swear you see his ears perk up in the slightest at your voice "I know you", his words sound like both a question and a statement. It's clear you aren't a nurse, and they don't just let anybody in here, but you can see behind his not-so-subtle adoring gaze, his gears are turning, trying to place you in his mind. While you do feel a slight pang in your heart you remind yourself it is only temporary, and that your husband needs your love and support, especially now. "You do." you nod, still picking at your nails, you feel nervous to touch him despite how he's looking at you, you don't want to risk upsetting him on accident. "Do you work with Yelena?" he asks. "Not in the field like you, I work deskside, but yes, I'm often your guiding voice on missions," you say motioning to your ear with a finger that has been taking the brunt of the damage from your compulsive picking. His eyes follow your hand, his brow furrows just a bit as he notices the irritation on your finger, but he feels it's not his place to comment on it, so he asks his next question to voice a bit quieter "what are we?" he doesn't quite know why but asking you that question makes him a bit nervous. Like Yelena, from the moment you entered to visit, he felt a comfort from your presence, but there was something extra with you, butterflies had been multiplying in his stomach as you two spoke. Without realizing it, he's slowly leaning forward towards you like there's a gravitational pull he can't escape.

You pause your nervous habit, to look at the ring on your finger, it's a simple ring, you didn't want anything gaudy or crazy, you rub your thumb over the cool metal before lifting your hand to show him, a shy smile on your face as that special day replays in your head. For once Bob is not staring at you, his gaze shifting to your hand, to the ring. His brows furrow deeper this time, and his stomach drops as he realizes it's a wedding ring. You're taken, he says to himself, not quite putting the pieces together yet, forgetting what he had even asked you. You take in his reaction and look down to his hands, seeing that his wedding ring wasn't on his hand, they must've removed it when they did his scans. You look around, they must've put what items he had somewhere nearby. Your eyes land on a small nightstand on the opposing side of the bed "Bob" you say softly, he looks up, and oh my goodness, you think to yourself, he looks like a puppy who's been sent outside, pouting at the door for his owner's affection. You nod softly towards the drawers to his side, "check it". His gaze shoots over to the stand, hand quicky following and he opens it. It looks pretty empty to you, but he reaches in and comes back out holding a small object wrapped in a tiny scrap of cloth. He unfolds it gently as you look on, nervous. Now unfolded, you both stare at the matching dark silver band that looks so small in his hand, he looks really confused now, struggling to keep track of the conversation, giving him the best hint you can without blurting it out, you reach you hand out gently setting it on his palm beside where the his ring is sitting. His eyes flitter back and forth, and you realize in his focus his breathing has slowed to a stop. He slowly looks up to you, the wide-eyed enamored look back on his face and cranked up to 100. "Are we…" he trails off, as you slide your hand from his. You nod, "We are", you can't help but smile even though your resumed picking at your nails betrays any nerves you still feel. Bob quickly sets aside the scrap of cloth and slips the ring on, a small laugh of relief, or maybe its excitement escapes him, realizing that while yes you are taken, it's him who has you. And though right now he might not remember what the two of you have shared, you are both wearing proof that what you have is real and eternal. He glances over to you, feeling a bit giddy if he's being honest, and sees you abusing your nail beds. He reaches out a hand slowly, gently covering both of yours with his, giving them a gentle squeeze. You smile up at him eyes tearing up a bit and nerves dissipating completely at his soft gaze and gentle touch. It's not that he remembers in the moment how he always helped you with the habit, but that his instinct is to protect you even in the smallest ways, even when you're a temporary stranger to him.

Jesus Christ cut to the next couple of weeks as the two of you spend all your time together and he throws out the memories to as they slowly come back, checking their accuracy a la Real or Not Real like Peeta after the Capitol messed with his memories.

#bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts x reader #lewis pullman #x reader #angst #🦆writes

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